CH53
Peter leans back in his chair, his hands running through his hair, leaving his blond curls standing on end. “What are the chances Lily knows nothing about this?”
I scoff, the bitterness in my voice hard to hide. “What are the chances a meteor the size of Texas crash lands and wipes us all out so none of this bullshit matters anymore?”
He lets out a hollow laugh, though it’s clear he’s just as shaken as I am. “I don’t know those odds, but that sounds preferable right now,” he says, before his expression darkens again. “Do you think that’s what triggered Marina? The memory of the night the beach was stormed?”
“That could be it,” I say, trying to piece it together. “It must’ve been traumatic to have her life upended like that.”
Peter’s lips curl into a sneer, his anger palpable. “If I could reach back in time and throttle Felix Becker myself, I would. Fucking coward.”
Tears prick at my eyes as the reality of it all sinks in. “They must have been so scared,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “But that can’t be the end of the story. Is there more?”
Peter scrolls through the list of files on his laptop, his expression bitter. “Oh yeah. There’s more.”
I take a deep breath, bracing myself. “Play the next one.”
He clicks on the file, and the room fills with the crackling sound of another old audio recording. This time, it’s an interrogation.
“Felix Becker, how long do you think you spent on the island?” the interrogator asks, his voice stern and clinical.
Becker’s voice comes through, shaky and unsure. He sounds like a man on the edge of sanity. “I… I’m not sure. It could have been weeks… or years.”
“And why did you wait so long to signal for help?” the interrogator presses.
There’s a tense silence before Becker answers, his voice strained. “I… I don’t know why. I don’t know what stopped me.”
“Do you believe you were in your right mind during your time stranded?” the interrogator asks, pushing further.
Another silence follows, longer this time. Then, Becker lets out a strangled sob, his voice cracking with despair. “No,” he chokes out. “I believe… I may have been ensorcelled.”
“Ensorcelled?” The interrogator’s voice carries a hint of skepticism. “By whom?”
There’s a sudden, violent sound—the sharp thud of fists hitting metal. Becker’s voice bursts out, frantic and filled with rage. “Not by whom, but by what! Those witches, those creatures who saved me only to toy with my mind and body!”
“Are you referring to the sirens?” the interrogator asks, sounding intrigued.
Becker’s voice becomes feverish, desperate. “Yes! Have you seen them? You must not let them get too close, or they’ll steal your mind too.”
The interrogator snorts dismissively. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye open, though I’ve yet to see anything odd about either woman, save for how they ended up on that bloody island in the first place.”
“They’re lying!” Becker’s voice cracks with frantic urgency. “They can conceal their true forms, hide the monsters they are. They’ll do anything to deceive you.”
The interrogator’s tone becomes more pointed. “The only disturbing thing we’ve found about either woman is that one is pregnant. Who’s to blame for that?”
There’s a sudden, guttural shout from Becker, followed by the sound of a chair scraping violently across the floor. “You lie!” he bellows.
The interrogator’s voice rises sharply, commanding someone to restrain him. Becker’s voice grows more frenzied, laced with hysteria. “Any child born of that sea serpent is a demon and must die! You must listen to me—if that devil spawn does not die, it will destroy everything we’ve built!”
The transmission cuts off abruptly, leaving an oppressive silence in its wake.
By the time the recording ends, my eyes are squeezed shut, tears streaming down my cheeks. The weight of Becker’s words, the horror of what those women must have gone through, presses down on me like a vise.
“What’s next?” I ask Peter, my voice barely holding together.
He replies, his tone bleak. “Nothing good.”
I sniff back the tears and wipe my cheeks, then lean over Peter’s shoulder to see the next file. This one is a video titled “The Becker Incident.” The thumbnail is a mugshot of Felix Becker, his eyes hollow and haunted. A sinking feeling grips my stomach, knowing we’re about to see something truly horrific.
“Play it,” I say, steeling myself.
Peter hesitates for a second, then clicks on the file. The screen flickers, and the video begins to play.
The footage is grainy, the colors washed out as if time itself has eroded the image. It shows two women in white patient gowns, one with blue hair and the other with purple. They’re locked in a cell with no water in sight, and from what is visible, they look dejected but unharmed. Marina paces restlessly around the room, while the other, Coraline, sits with her head down, cradling her belly.
Marina’s pacing becomes more agitated, and she suddenly rushes to pound on the door, shouting something inaudible. The door bursts open, slamming Marina in the face and sending her sprawling onto the floor.
Felix Becker storms into the room, his facial expression wild. Coraline looks up at him, her eyes wide with fear as she sees the 12-inch hunting knife in his hand. She begins frantically backing away as Becker stalks toward her.
Without hesitation, Becker grabs Coraline by the hair and drags her to her feet. The knife flashes, and he stabs her in the abdomen, once, twice, three times. Coraline’s scream is a piercing wail that echoes through the room.
Marina jumps onto Becker’s back, clawing at him with a ferocity I’ve never seen. Security personnel rush in, struggling to separate them. Marina rips free from the guards’ grip, rushing to her sister’s side.
Becker, his face a mask of madness, points frantically at Marina, screaming about the deep claw marks covering his face and back. But Marina isn’t paying attention to him. She’s focused entirely on Coraline, her hands shaking as she tries to stop the bleeding.
Someone rushes forward, but stutters backward as Marina bares her teeth in a snarl, warning them off. Even through the grainy, old footage, I can see the beginning of scales rising from her skin, the elongation of her fangs, the way the room seems to vibrate with an ominous, otherworldly energy.
Marina is on the brink of an attack, and the humans in the room finally realize that Becker’s story is more than just the ramblings of a man driven mad by weeks stranded at sea.
Marina picks up her wounded sister and walks toward the door. A few guards make weak attempts to stop her, but they quickly retreat when she bares her teeth, her eyes blazing with fury.
The camera switches angles, showing the view from the ship’s deck. Marina bursts into view, carrying Coraline’s limp body to the edge of the ship. She rests her forehead against Coraline’s, murmuring something inaudible before tipping her sister’s body over the railing and into the sea.
Marina begins to transform, her body contorting as she grabs the railing, clearly preparing to follow Coraline into the water. But before she can escape, her body jerks violently, riddled with tranquilizer darts. Half-transformed, she slumps to the ground as dozens of Enigma soldiers and researchers slowly surround her, their faces a mixture of fear and awe.
The video cuts off abruptly, leaving the room in oppressive silence.
“What’s next?” I ask, my voice trembling.
Peter shakes his head, his face ashen. “There’s nothing left,” he says, scrolling through the remaining files. “Just some photos.”
“That can’t be it,” I say, my heart pounding. “What happened to Coraline, to Marina?”
“We know what happened to Marina,” Peter replies, his voice flat. “She never left Enigma custody. We’d have to ask Hiro to look into the research done on her.”
My heart breaks for Marina, but Coraline was the loose end, the blazing question that needed to be answered.
Peter scrolls through the remaining photos, and my breath catches in my throat when the next image appears. It’s an intake photo of Marina, and I’m struck by how little she’s changed in over a hundred years. Peter stares at the image, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and longing.
I place a hand on his shoulder, offering what little comfort I can. He clears his throat, visibly struggling to keep his emotions in check, and moves to the next photo.
The air in the room turns electric as the image loads. My heart seizes in my chest, and I gasp as I see Coraline’s face clearly for the first time.
It’s almost identical to my own. And worse, even with the minute differences, it's one that I know.
“That…that's my grandmother!”
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