CH52
The file crackles to life, static filling the small room like an unwanted guest. Peter and I exchange a tense glance as the distorted audio from April 12, 1883, begins to play. It’s an old report, the voice grainy and distant, but there’s a weight to it that makes my skin crawl.
"Strong storm in the Devil’s Triangle," the voice recounts, words clipped and professional. "A rogue wave sank the Enigma vessel that paramilitary officer Felix Becker was stationed on. Becker was presumed the lone survivor after being stranded at sea, clinging to a strip of the ship’s hull in subfreezing waters."
I shift in my seat, the room growing colder as I listen. There’s something haunting about this story, something that tugs at the edge of my thoughts like a loose thread. Peter leans forward, his fingers white-knuckling the edge of the table, as Becker's tale unfolds.
"Becker reports being afloat for hours when, just on the brink of giving up, he began to hear the most lovely melody. At first, he feared he was being circled by sharks, as he would occasionally see shadows moving below the water. Convinced that he was succumbing to hypothermia and delusions, Becker drifted off to sleep, planning to allow the music to lull him into oblivion."
I can almost picture it—this lone figure, adrift in the vast, unforgiving ocean, teetering on the edge of death, only to be saved by the strange beauty of a siren’s song. My heart pounds in my chest as I wonder what it must have felt like, to be so close to the end and then pulled back by something so…otherworldly.
The recording crackles again, and I lean in closer, desperate not to miss a word.
"An undetermined amount of time later, Becker awoke on a strange beach surrounded by two strange naked women—one with green hair, the other with purple. Despite being unable to communicate, the two women nursed him back to health. Eventually, he taught them German, his native tongue, and they taught him how to harvest the local sealife to provide for himself. He came to name them Marina and Coraline."
Marina. The name echoes in my mind like a bell, and my breath catches in my throat. So, this is how it began. This is where she came from. But who is Coraline?
"Becker admits to falling in love with Coraline," the voice continues, its tone shifting, becoming more personal. "Even going so far as to initiate an intimate relationship with the unknown female, despite their peculiar ways."
I glance at Peter, but his eyes are glued to the screen, his expression unreadable. The recording crackles back to life, and the voice continues.
"Becker reported that, despite their delicate appearances, there were subtle differences about the women that he could not ignore. They could crack coconuts with their bare hands. On the coldest of nights, when Becker shivered beneath layers of makeshift blankets, the women never seemed to feel the chill. One or the other would disappear into the ocean for hours, returning with a bounty of fish that far exceeded their needs, yet their petite bodies never seemed to gain weight, their bellies never truly full.
Becker became increasingly convinced that their grasp of the German language was too quick, too thorough to have been learned from him alone, though they would not admit to any prior knowledge. Most unsettling of all was the way the sisters, as Becker came to think of them, could communicate without words. A single glance between them, and Becker swore they could have entire conversations, their expressions shifting ever so slightly, their lips never parting."
"Becker estimates that he was stranded on the island for two months, living with the women, when Coraline took him to a lagoon in the heart of the island where they could be alone. Before only him and the eyes of God, Coraline stepped into the water and began to change. Her body contorted as scales of vibrant amethyst and quartz burst forth from beneath her skin. Fins began to take shape, and then a tail, until before him floated a siren of myth."
The room feels like it’s shrinking, the air thickening with the weight of the revelation. My thoughts spin out of control, trying to piece together the fragments of this story, to understand what it all means. How many others are out there? What have they done with Coraline?
"That night while the women slept, torn with disbelief and betrayal, Becker snuck into the jungle and lit a signal fire. On its final scheduled sweep, Enigma rescue vessel Poseidon spotted Becker’s signal as follows: DANGER. HOSTILES. SOS."
The recording goes silent for a moment, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Then, the voice resumes, colder now, more clinical.
"At approximately 0345 on the 3rd of June, 1883, Enigma forces stormed Becker’s beach, captured the alien hostiles, and rescued officer Becker."
The audio cuts out, leaving us in a deafening silence. My mind reels from the implications of what we’ve just heard. It’s not just that Marina was captured. It’s that she wasn’t alone.
Peter is the first to break the silence, his voice a whisper, like he’s afraid saying it out loud will make it real. “Did that just say what I think it said?”
I nod, my own voice shaky. “Marina wasn’t alone. There’s a third siren, one that Enigma won’t even acknowledge.” I turn to him, my mind racing with the possibilities, with the fear of what this could mean. “What are they hiding?”
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