Chapter 18

POV Coraline

My first mistake was not calling the police immediately and handing over the bone he gave me. For some reason, I couldn’t handle the thought of giving them something that had belonged to Andrew. More than anything, I wondered how I would explain the bone without telling them everything else—the calls and the break-ins. I didn’t know how to do that.

My second mistake, though less harmful, was just as dangerous: I decided, almost impulsively, to go back to therapy.

"You said you sought therapy to deal with your friend’s death. Do you want to talk a little more about that?"

I nodded. In theory, this was my first session with Kristen, since I was returning after nearly a year-long break. I called her the morning after my conversation with the killer, but I already regretted it by the time I walked into her office. She was too familiar with the good old Coraline, and talking to her would inevitably lead me to parts of my past that I didn’t want to revisit. Kristen had been my therapist for two years before I decided to take a break.

The truth was, therapy made me deeply uncomfortable. Essentially, it forced me to confront things about myself that I preferred to keep buried—not because I couldn’t handle them, but because… I don’t know, I just wanted to move on without constantly digging up the past. There was nothing good about analyzing what had already happened; it was frustrating to deal with something that could no longer be changed. Still, I was willing to try anything to get rid of that suffocating sense of loneliness, the one that kept me trapped in my own mind.

"Andrew was murdered because of me," I admitted. "The two murders that happened in New Hope are perfect copies of my books."

Kristen tried to maintain a neutral expression, but I noticed when her professional facade faltered. Maybe I had been too blunt, but there was no other way to address what had happened. There was no gentle way to talk about death, especially one so violent. I felt a certain satisfaction in seeing her surprised, for a change.

"They used my friend to recreate one of the most grotesque scenes I’ve ever written." I said it with a smile, as if that could somehow soften the weight of my own words.

But it couldn’t.

"I’m sorry for what you’re going through," Kristen said. "You said he died because of you, but your only connection to this crime is having written the book, right? You didn’t do anything to harm Andrew."

I nodded.

"Not directly." I paused to take a sip of water and organize my thoughts. "Writing is still both a blessing and a curse. It’s my whole life, it’s what I love to do, but at the same time, it takes a piece of me every time. What happened to Andrew only reinforced that."

"What do you mean?"

I looked at the floor, searching for an answer that was honest enough.

"Writing eats me alive," I said. "Every time I start a new project, I start having nightmares again, I don’t sleep well, my thoughts get darker than usual. Andrew died, and I saw, in real life, what my books are."

They had been recreated with perfection.

"What have you been writing about?"

I thought about it.

"The same as always. Suspense. Serial killers, mostly. I think my stories have been getting more violent. I write a lot about death, sex, and domination. I like to bring the villains’ perspectives, which forces me to get into their minds and try to understand them."

Kristen nodded slowly and lowered her gaze to the notepad in her lap, where she loved to jot down notes about me. I always felt a little judged whenever she wrote something.

"Why do you think abuse and violence are such recurring themes in your stories?"

I took a deep breath.

"I’m a woman. My life story will always be intertwined with violence and abuse. I write about what I know, and every single woman I’ve ever spoken to has told me a terrible story. Every single one. I think it’s natural for this kind of thing to come up."

"Come up," she repeated. "But you’re the one creating the stories, Coraline. They don’t just appear—you write them. They all come from your mind."

"Right," I agreed. "So that means I’m constantly thinking about violence?"

The therapist didn’t react to my outburst. Instead, she made another note. I sighed, frustrated with how tangled my emotions were becoming. I tried to organize my thoughts because Kristen certainly wouldn’t let this go. Those long silences of hers were always meant to push me into speaking, and even though I was aware of it, I could hardly stop the words from spilling out.

Did everyone feel this way? Slightly judged by someone else’s silence?

"They say characters tell their own stories, that writers have no control over them."

"Who says that?"

I looked up.

"Writers." I laughed. "They all have some magical story about how characters invade their minds and force them to tell their stories."

"And you don’t agree?"

"A little too fantastical for my taste, but I get it. It’s easier to pretend all of it doesn’t come from you."

"What do you mean, Coraline?"

That answer required more contemplation.

"Every one of my characters reflects a part of who I am," I murmured. "And others are heavily based on people I’ve met."

People I had met.

People I had loved.

People I had hated.

People I had feared.

Kristen nodded.

"I wish they were just ideas that came to life and took control, but no. Believe me, telling these stories, thinking about them, comes at an emotional cost for me."

"Emotional cost?" she asked.

"I don’t walk away unscathed when I write books. They affect me. I think there’d be something wrong if they didn’t."

Kristen nodded again.

"Your characters are all similar in some way." I frowned. "You told me that once—you said it bothered you."

"I…" I smiled. "Yeah."

"Do you think it bothers you because they resemble you?"

I felt uncomfortable with the topic.

"You can’t create a human being from nothing," I explained. "They’re a collection of personal experiences, of stories I’ve heard from friends and strangers. It’s impossible not to put something of yourself into something that comes entirely from you. No one strays that far from who they really are."

"So, you think your characters reflect who you are?"

I nodded.

"Which characters, Cora—the villains or the heroines?"

I smiled.

"I don’t think any of them are just one thing. They’re all both good and bad."

"Do you see yourself that way too?"

"I tend to think I’m more bad than good."

She stayed silent, urging me to continue.

"Sometimes, I’m very irritable, I don’t like company, and I have serious issues with intimacy. Most of the time, I feel very different from the people around me."

"Do you feel bad right now?"

"Yes."

I took a careful pause, which Kristen wisely didn’t try to fill with another topic. She liked to let these silences corner me until I finally let out whatever was in my head—or at least, that’s how I felt when she did that.

"We all deal with our feelings in different ways. The fact is, Coraline, your stories elevate your stress levels."

"They’re the only thing keeping me from losing my mind," I said.

I don’t really like talking about my problems, so I write. But I haven’t been able to produce anything in the past few weeks. It’s been bothering me.

"You haven’t been sleeping well, you can’t eat properly."

"Maybe it’s not because of my books, but because my friend was murdered. Him being murdered makes me feel responsible," I admitted. "Would he be okay today if I had never written that? I wrote all these books, Kristen, but I never imagined they would become part of my life. I would never have done it if I had known."

"Neither of us has the answer to that question." Kristen took a deep breath and folded her hands in her lap. "But it’s important for you to remember, Coraline, that you weren’t the one who hurt Andrew—someone else did. You had no way of knowing."

Hurt him with the help of my book.

"I know that."

She seemed just as convinced as I was.

"We’re reaching the end of today’s session. Would you like to add anything?"

I looked at Kristen.

"Do you think Andrew’s killer wanted revenge on me when he hurt him?"

"Is that what you think?" she asked in return.

"It’s what the investigator thinks."

Kristen took a moment to respond—maybe because she didn’t have an answer, maybe because she was deciding whether she should give an opinion. In the end, she did.

"If he wanted revenge, why not hurt you?"

"Maybe he still will."

Kristen shook her head.

"I wouldn’t risk assuming you can figure out his intentions, Coraline, but based on everything you’ve told me, what really matters is knowing that his actions are not your responsibility."

I wet my lips.

For some reason, I couldn’t focus on anything else she said after that. All I could think about was our phone conversation and the way he acted. Understanding his logic might drive me insane, but I couldn’t stop myself from trying. It was impossible to make sense of why he would be so violent with Andrew and, at the same time, give me a pet as a gift.

The contradiction threatened to drive me mad.