The Sum of All Our Fears

After the quick breakfast, as the luggage was ready, we headed to the train station, Gare de Lyon, where we bought the train tickets. For now, Heather gave the order to travel to Montpellier with Romeka, and Whittingham. Beauregard would remain in Paris for the next two days, or at least until he manages to get enough information from Joris’ mouth, after coming with us to follow up with the investigation. It must be two days because, by law, Joris’s custody cannot be extended for more than forty-eight hours. Heather left me an iPhone on the table, and it was actually for us, on our way to the station, we managed to recover our phones as she gave us new SIM cards. Now, this time, Romeka ensured us they were safe to use. And, for the first time in four years for me, and the first time in Claire’s life, back to my hometown. The city where I was born eighteen years ago. Montpellier.

But we were in the train for the past two hours now, nearly, and it speeded through the French countryside. I could feel a gentle lullaby in the rhythmic movement of the carriage, nearly rocking me asleep. The muted sounds of the quiet conversation of other passengers and the occasional clinking made by the movement of the coach created a soothing background noise, almost hypnotic. The seats were plush, and comfortable, with ample legroom and a recline feature, already fully used, and that was badly tempting me to drift off into a deep slumber. The sun was rising, and another morning was lightening up France, allowing us to admire the stunning scenery that whizzed past us in a blur. Fields of sunflowers and lavender stretched as far as the eye can see, while quaint little villages nestled amongst lush green hills offer a glimpse of the idyllic French countryside. But at the near speed of three hundred kilometres per hour, everything went very swiftly. Faster than a Cessna in overspeed. But, despite the beautiful scenery which, from time to time, caught our attention with my girl, sat right next to me, my eyes grew heavy as the fatigue of the past few days badly caught up with me. Even Heather, usually alert and ready for action, seemed to be struggling to keep her eyes open, as she sat in the seat in front of us, with Whittingham. Claire, however, struggled to remain the only one still wide awake, her eyes darting around the carriage as if she were looking for something. She never really took a high-speed train, as she never really left Paris. It’s a first time for her. But as I took the window seat and she took the corridor one, (because, indeed, we were travelling in first class), Claire said that she’d rather take the corridor, fearing of being sick.

The train’s gentle sway was getting hypnotic, and I found myself struggling to keep my eyes open. Fact of the constant, rocking noise of the train in movement, the quietness inside the carriage and the certain comfort that was in there (those trains have always been very comfortable, even in second class), my thoughts were all on what was yet to come when we are to arrive, physically and emotionally. As the events of the previous day continue to replay in my mind, I know that sleep will not come easily.

We were in the 06:23 train for Montpellier, and we were to arrive by 11 o’clock. As we departed 10 minutes late, I believe that it is still likely that we’d arrive on time. The train was to call at Valence, a city which is about halfway towards our destination, then at Nimes and straight to Montpellier, which wasn’t where the train terminated, it was to go all the way to Perpignan, a city in the south of France. The weather in Paris was shitty, but it was forecasted to improve as we arrived in Montpellier, and warmer indeed. I managed to text my father as I recovered my phone, and he said he would welcome us all at the station.

But now, according to Maps on my phone, we passed the city of Lyon, and Claire and I were slouched in our seats, struggling with fatigue. Claire’s brown hair falls in soft waves around her face, her striking green eyes drooping with exhaustion. She was wearing a simple green t-shirt, a white sweater and jeans, her clothes wrinkled and creased from the long journey. She wanted to take her big winter coat, but I told her, darling, we’re going to Montpellier. It ain’t like Paris, the climate there is far warmer. Today, I chose to wear a yellow sweater, a black blazer, a bit like Claire's, some black jeans, as well as some trainers, but I know that, since I don’t have anything there, eventually I’ll have to buy some clothes there. My dad said that Odysseum was a nice place for shopping, as they opened a nice shopping centre out there, and I may find what I need, even though the area is undergoing some extension work. The coach was fairly busy, other passengers in the carriage were a mix of tired-looking commuters and vacationers as we were nearly in a holiday season in France. Some are dozing off with their heads drooping, while others are engrossed in their books or laptops. Heather, with her posture straight and alert, struggling not to fall asleep, was working on her laptop. The atmosphere is quiet and serene, with only the faint hum of the train’s engine breaking the silence.

Claire suddenly shivered; she was feeling cold. I took off my blazer and gave it to her, but she refused my gesture. She leaned her head against my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm around her, offering her some warmth and comfort. I was feeling grateful to have her with me today, and grateful for the company of Heather and her team… or my new colleagues, in this moment of uncertainty and exhaustion. Events made me break the ice with my father, whom I haven’t been speaking to for the past four years since my mother and his new wife split us. In the grand scheme of things, I’m glad to see him again. I’d rather have buried the axe under better circumstances, but, sometimes, events just force destiny.

It was on those thoughts that I reflected on this. Montpellier. So long. In the city where I was born and lived ten years before moving to Paris, I felt a sense of nostalgia taking over in my thoughts. Memories of my childhood flooded my mind, and it somewhat drew a smile on my face as I remembered the times I spent with my dad in the city. I recall the grand Peyrou garden, with its wide, green lawns and towering arches. My dad used to take me there when I was a kid, and we would sit on the walls, eating ice cream and enjoying the warm sunshine of the nice summers there. The Montpellier Cathedral, not far from those gardens, the Place de la Comédie with its grand fountain, an iconic spotlight of the southern city, and the rows of colourful houses lining the streets.

It’s a nice city, but perhaps a place that I didn’t love enough. I grew up there, went to school there, where my parents met and fell in love and where they had us, all my fond memories of a time when I never expected that one day, I’d fall in love with. The time when we were all innocent. When the world was set in a way, you’d never believe it would change. I felt a sense of comfort, despite the current situation with my mother, the city holds so many memories for me, from the times spent with my dad to the lazy summer afternoons spent wandering the streets with friends. I know that this city will always hold a special place in my heart, no matter what the future holds.

From the Peyrou Gardens, I remembered another fond memory: my years of fencing when I was younger. Mum wanted me to do some sport because I wasn’t active at all when I was a kid, (but she told me, I let you choose whatever you wish), so I chose fencing after the 2008 Olympic games. I recall the countless hours I spent training, perfecting my form and technique, and the exhilaration of competing in tournaments. The tip of the blade hurt me when it was touching me. I remember the sound of the foil striking against my opponent’s blade, the sharp metallic clang echoing through the air. The thrill of the sport, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I lunged and parried, was something I couldn’t find in any other activity. And it was eventually after my time there that, with my father, we used to eat ice creams at those gardens. He was hiding from Mum because she wanted him to do some regime, a regime that he said, he never needed. And he begged me to never say to Mum what we were doing, which was… cute, in a way. I was wondering if the club is still open and if any of my old coaches or teammates are still around. I made a mental note to check it out later if time allows.

Despite the hardships of the present, these memories brought a smile to my face. I believe, I would have probably been different if I remained with my dad, especially before my grandmother died and I inherited all that money, which created so many problems between him and me. Probably I’d have been a better woman. But things are now done, and we can’t go back in the past, indeed.

I also remember the tense atmosphere when we were going out in those posh restaurants in Antigone, right in front of the imposing Hotel de Region, because my dad liked nice and fancy restaurants and showing off whilst my mother disliked that lifestyle, the French lifestyle as she called it. Or this flat in Celleneuve where we lived for so long, close to the primary school, called Sainte-Genevieve, where my sister and I used to go. It was always the same routine: we would come back from school Clarisse and I, and my parents would start arguing, sometimes in the car on the way back home. Sometimes it would escalate to shouting and breaking things once arrived there. I was always scared they would break up, and my world would fall apart. My parents pushed so hard on my childish fears that I got scared they’d divorce. I wonder why they decided to pretend everything was fine towards everyone, whilst at home, it was always a battlefield. And why did they want to move to Paris?

And Sainte-Genevieve school. It was a beautiful old building with a large courtyard where we would play during recess. The white walls and the blue windows, I believe I’d love to go there, pass in front. But the memories of my parents’ fights still haunt me, even in this place where I used to feel safe. I remember the anxiety and the fear that I felt every time I heard them shouting and slamming doors. I hug my soft toys to try to feel comfort. When I heard French speaking at school and English at home, where French was all about poetry and regular communication, whilst English was all about swearing and insults towards my mother. Or my father. And Clarisse and I used to be at the post office in their regular piddle-arse dramas. When I struggled to speak French, as English is my native language. I remember, the school principal, I don’t remember her name. But she was such an amazing woman. When we cried, as she knew our situation, she was always very supportive.

And this modern church next to the school, Saint-Esprit, used to be a place of solace for me. Whenever I felt overwhelmed or anxious, I sought refuge in one of the many beautiful churches scattered throughout the city when I was free to roam there with my sister. I guess, being now an agnostic, always thinking that the bible was a pile of bollocks, even though I read it, from the first to the last word, it gave me solace. I particularly loved the Saint-Roch church in the city centre, with its striking Baroque architecture and intricate decorations. The organ music that filled the air was soothing, and I would often find myself sitting in a pew, lost in thought. It was a peaceful escape from the chaos of my home life. But Clarisse preferred the Sainte-Therese church.

And then, this. Because everything leads to death in life. The Saint-Lazare cemetery. The first time we went there was when my grandfather passed away, as the Kominsky family vault lies there for about three generations. The cemetery is a quiet, peaceful place, with rows of graves and tombs lining the narrow pathways. As we walked through the cemetery, my father pointed out the different graves and tombs, telling us stories about the famous people buried there. But it wasn’t until my grandmother passed away four years ago that we had to visit the cemetery again. It was a sad occasion, and we were all grieving. We have one of the biggest, and oldest still standing vaults of the cemetery, and they did some maintenance work a bit before my grandmother’s burial. It is a large, imposing structure, with a wrought-iron gate in front and a small courtyard with benches in front. As, since we are rich heirs, our vault is, of course, one of the most imposing of the entire cemetery. This is where I am supposed to be buried if I die in France or Montpellier. And besides its spooky significance, I always loved going there. Thinking that, one day, I’ll also end up there permanently.

As a Mediterranean big city, Montpellier is one of the few places where the sun shines most of the time, even during the winter months. Perhaps not always, they’ve got their months of shitty weather and fancy floodings during autumn, sometimes bringing the city to a full stop, paralysing the most important infrastructures. The palm trees that lined the streets gave the city a unique charm. I also remember spending lazy afternoons with my mum at the Place de la Comédie, the bustling heart of the city. We used to sit on the steps of the fountain and watch people go by, soaking up the warm sunshine. The narrow streets of the old town called the Ecusson were also a favourite spot of mine. I used to love wandering around and getting lost in the maze of alleys and passageways. The colourful buildings with their shutters and balconies added to the charm of the place.

Despite good and bad memories, Montpellier will always hold a special place in my heart. It’s where I was born, where I grew up, and where I learned some of life’s most valuable lessons. And I got both my childhood memories and grew my childish fears. But as I daydreamed, thinking back over the past, the crackling sound of the intercom breaks my train of thought, and the train driver’s voice booms through the carriage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching our first stop, Valence TGV train station, where we will be stopping for five minutes. Please ensure that you take all your belongings with you as you leave the train. Change here for regional trains towards Lyon, Grenoble, and the Alps. The next stop will be Nimes. Valence TGV, five minutes stop!”

I glance at Claire and Heather, who seem to have stirred awake at the sound of the announcement. And, right after the announcement, we started stopping travelling at maximum speed. But the thing was, there was a screen at the bottom of the corridor showing the exact speed, and we could see that we weren’t travelling at 300 kilometres per hour but at 150. But speed was decreasing, at a constant rate. Disembarking passengers began to gather their belongings and prepare to disembark, when Claire, somewhat emerging from an unexpected and surprising lethargy, started to yawn and raise her head:

“Are we there yet?” she was groggy.

“No baby. We’re just stopping at Valence for five minutes. We still have about an hour and a half to go, if not more.”

“Oh… I feel like I’m sleepy. I should probably get some coffee…”

Claire yawned, stretched her arms and legs, and rubbed her eyes. Heather, who seemed to have been lost in her thoughts in front of her iPad, looked up at me and nodded in agreement.

“Taking the plane would have been faster and far better, but unfortunately, I can’t fly with my weapons. We had to go there in a rush, and asking for authorisations would have taken ages and ages. Especially in here, with their fantastic administration.”

“Welcome to France, darling. It’s always been a mess, but I believe that administration is a mess in every single country. In France, it’s just a bit more highlighted.”

“So… how does it feel for you now? You were born in Montpellier, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” I nodded. “It’s been six years since I last visited though. I used to live there with my family before my parents’ divorce. It’s a bittersweet feeling, I’m not gonna lie.”

“I can relate,” she nodded sympathetically. “I always feel the same when I come back to Dublin. I feel like everything seems to be from a distant past, and my mother never truly accepted my choices in life. The last time I went there was probably two or three years ago, and still. Same feelings.”

“I bet. You were born in Dublin, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, near Liffey Valley, but it’s close to Dublin. In the middle of a Catholic family, a bit like the same spirit as your mother.”

“Yeah. And coming out as transgender must not have been an easy thing, I believe,” I wondered.

“Not really, no. It’s why I came to London. But I never really had the same challenges in the Gardai back in the days.”

It’s the first time she comes about her past. And it felt, strange. I’m quite impressed by Heather, considering that she’s herself a genuine piece of social advancement. A trans woman, leading a police team, working for Interpol, it’s huge. When we are still here, across Europe, wondering if we should allow gay people to get married. On the other hand, Ireland has always been leading when it came to gay people’s rights. Would be great if abortion was legalised there, but, erm… anyway.

“So, how is Montpellier, baby?” Claire stretches and yawns.

“It’s a nice city,” I paused for a moment, thinking of how to respond. “I mean, not as big as Paris, indeed, it’s tiny compared to there, but it’s all right. Like I said to Heather, many memories there, sometimes great, sometimes bad, but you know…”

“Are we going to stay somewhere inside the city?”

“No. I believe we will go to my father’s place, in a place called Saint-Clement-de-Rivière, or Saint-Clement. It’s on the hills surrounding the city, it’s where my grandparents used to live in the past. As you remember the battle, he managed to get the house, so…”

“Oh. I’ll finally see what Kominsky City looks like!”

Kominsky City is the name I gave to that manor. It’s the house we have in Montpellier, on the outskirts of the city. As I said earlier, my father and I used to have a strong and good relationship before the shit hit the fan. It’s kind of a long story.

Back in the days, when Clarisse and I finished primary school, my parents’ marriage was largely faltering. What I believe caused this was, that both my father and my mother were two ambitious, and this came to a clash. Dad was an investment banker and had a promotion in a big bank in Paris, whilst my mother was already planning to create a company, but the big problem was, she was seeking money and, even though my family could give her what she wanted, they found her too invasive and not serious enough to grant her money, even if she was married to a Kominsky. Too superficial. As she finished her studies and had a job in a bakery in Montpellier, they moved together to Paris, and she followed him to the capital city. But there, one day, a kid came to knock at our door, saying she was the daughter of my dad. That day I realised that I had a stepsister, younger than me. Of course, this led to the immediate explosion of their marriage.

But my family is extremely wealthy, they were running factories in Russia during the Imperial Russia era, and fled during the October Revolution to avoid the fate that was reserved for wealthy people back there when the USSR started. As they moved to France, they started investing in real estate and companies, creating a quite big conglomerate that they sold when World War II broke out. They just managed to keep their properties, given back to them after Nazi Germany took everything. As a result, our fortune declined, and my grandparents had a total of a hundred million euros worth of assets and fortunes as we still have our properties.

Back to my parents, when they divorced, my father was still not an heir, as my grandfather may have died, but my grandmother (the Kominsky direct line) was still alive, and we were all joking that the Russians never died. But as my parents, rather than battling at home, they were now battling in courts, trying to play at who pees the farthest, started an extended legal battle about, who keeps the flat, who is in charge of the kids’ educations, and who has what as a result of the separation. As Clarisse and I were at school in Paris, they left us the choice, and Clarisse wanted to return to Montpellier for a year or two, whilst I had already Claire (we were best friends back in the days, and I didn’t want to go, because she was… certainly a bit more than a best friend). Meanwhile, my mother launched her company, managed to be successful, and managed to make herself a name as she worked with world-renowned fashion designers and signed contracts with them, she became the true capitalist she is nowadays. She didn’t make as much money as the Kominsky still had, but she made a substantial amount of money.

And, four years ago, my grandmother died. She was nearly 83, and, despite being a strong woman, lung cancer put her to sleep for good. The problem was, that she witnessed what happened during their divorce, and saw what my parents did with their kids, using us to target and attack the others, and so on. So she wrote a will, and, on it, as we were all invited to go to a solicitor to do that, she mentioned that, if my father would inherit Kominsky City, a 13-bedroom manor they had in this city in the outskirts of Montpellier, Clarisse and I would inherit of all the money and the assets, this being blocked into accounts and available to us on the day we turn eighteen.

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that. Especially since I was the one taking the biggest share. Clarisse taking the lowest. There were sixty million, on those forty for me to grab.

My grandmother was barely cooling down in Saint-Lazare when he started legal proceedings. He said that this was unfair, I wouldn’t be prepared to welcome such wealth especially since I was a bit immature, and on the other hand, I started replying that it was a disgrace for a man to have a daughter with another woman whilst he’s married. The lawsuit didn’t go ahead, but as a result, we started a cold war. And the fact that he married this other woman right afterwards made me more than upset. In the end, the succession crisis terminated reducing our family into ashes. And, if we agreed that, it was certainly really selfish and genuinely immature for a father to claim the money his daughter inherited from a grandmother whilst he still had the house, the person who caused the most trouble between my father and I is Oceane, his new wife. What pisses me off is that she has my name now. And, this being said, this house still belongs to me at twenty-five per cent. So, I have my word on it.

“I just hope Oceane won’t be a problem…” I was thinking about that, to Claire.

“I don’t think so,” Heather concluded. “It’s not the time to speak about that, I think you guys have more pressing concerns rather than talking about your money and succession.”

The train came to a stop in the dark station and passengers began to disembark, I glanced out the window and took in the sight of the train station. The station at Valence is a modern and spacious building, with large glass windows that let in the natural light. But as from the platform, the weather may be nice outside, we felt like in a hangar. I watched as people hurried past on the platform, some dragging suitcases behind them, while others carried backpacks or small bags. The air was filled with the sound of chatter and the rustling of bags, as people made their way towards the exit. Even though the station was certainly something like twenty years old, it was maintained quite well and still looked like it was new. The platform was quite long, with multiple tracks branching off in different directions. But it only welcomed high-speed trains, most of them heading from Paris and going to either Montpellier or Marseille, it’s quite a big hub. There are platforms above, but these are just for regional trains.

Despite the hustle and bustle of the station, there was a sense of calm and order on board that prevailed. Everything seemed to be running like clockwork, with people moving in an orderly fashion and the station staff keeping everything under control. Life, as normal, on a normal day on a normal planet. It was why, I was kind of measuring the dimension of what was happening on that day for me. As the lights were on in the trains, Claire started typing Montpellier on her phone, and I could see pictures on Google Images of the Place de la Comédie popping there. And suddenly, she showed me, amazed, a picture of the tramway in Montpellier.

“Oh, that’s quite peculiar!” she looked at it.

“Oh, yeah. They’ve got a tramway system. When I left Montpellier, they had two lines in service. The first one was this one, the blue one with birds painted on it, and they had another line, with flowers painted on it. The first line is quite cool, and unusual, I like the design, to be honest. But the second line, it’s like diarrhoea painted on tramways, not even art. It’s awful. The colour choice is a disaster.”

“Ah, it’s not because you don’t like it that it’s not beautiful. Some people find it nice, you know!” Heather remarked.

“Oh, yeah, indeed, it is some sort of art just a bit too strong for my taste,” I added. “I’ve never been accustomed to this form of new age art, modern art and other rubbish.”

“They said they had three… no, sorry, four lines,” Claire was reading on her phone.

“I don’t know about the two others, though,” I summarised. “I told you, when I left the city, they were barely finishing the second line. I think they were still testing it. I never understood why, in such a big city, they invested so much into their tramway system, whilst bus services are an appalling disaster and unemployment is skyrocketing. But that’s Montpellier, they’re a bit megalomaniac there.”

At the same time, Heather’s iPad made a chime. Notification. And, when she saw it, after a glance at it, she started to have a smile on her face. Good news?

“Well, Joris will just have twenty-four hours of custody. The prosecutor has decided so. He will be remanded tonight.”

“This bastard will get what he deserves!” Claire smiled.

“Indeed. Has he said something?” I asked Heather.

“No. Considering that he has the right to remain silent, he just confessed to assaulting Claire, but nothing more. He said he had no idea who this Kelly Royer was, as well as his involvement in managing the cluster. And who was involved.”

“Son of a bitch!” Claire added.

“Yeah, but at this stage it doesn’t matter whether he confesses or not. They already found all the incriminating evidence in his flat after they searched it yesterday. So, whether he speaks or not, plus there are us, plus your statement… He’s screwed. He said to Beauregard that he won’t speak,” Heather added.

“Well, I hope he remembers what I told him. To cough…”

“I couldn’t care less about that, you know,” Heather looked at me. “My concern is, we know that you were not the only two in his network. We need to find who else is involved, as their lives could be in danger. And the problem is, it’s certainly gonna take longer. Unless we catch Kelly.”

“You said Kelly was hiding in the south of France, right?”

“Yep. After, where precisely, it’s still a mystery. We heard about Montpellier, she’d be there too, but, likely, she fled already. I am on it with Romeka now. According to the evidence we had, texts from Joris to Kelly were sent in the afternoon, she’s in a villa near Marseille but travelled to Montpellier last night. So, we haven’t got a clue.”

“It’s a funny coincidence that Clarisse has a heart attack in Montpellier, and she’s there too. Right?” I wondered.

“Yes. That’s why we’re investigating there. Either way, that’s the plan for now: Whittingham and you, you’ll go to your sister, then he will go to the train on which your sister travelled last night, and then he will stay with you as a precaution. Romeka and I will be looking at where Kelly could be.”

“To be honest, I believe that, Claire and I are the primary targets of the arsehole leading this network. What did the investigators find yesterday when searching his apartment?”

“They found a stash where a lot of money was in there because obviously, this moron got paid for the girls’ activities in cash. They also found a phone where he communicated with Kelly, and only with her, so once we manage to get more of this, we are likely to identify where Kelly is. But we have serious reasons to believe that she is in Marseille, or near Marseille. We need to find out where she is.”

“We also need to find out who’s the guy who pushed my sister on the train.”

“Yes. Romeka is already on this. She managed to have all the people paying for their bookings on the train, as well as their identities. After the problem is, we need to find where this guy travelled, and that… It could be taking a while.”

“And about Mum?” I asked Heather.

“They said they’ll call me before noon, I’ll give you a call by then to let you know. But all I know for now is that her operation has been successful and she’s stable.”

In a way, thinking back on this, everything has a strange connection, and we just need to find the missing link in all that. This makes some sort of shady puzzle, whose pieces are all waiting to be placed in order, but that still highlights one thing: whoever my enemy is, this blackmailer is somewhat clever and well-organised. I’d likely face a master manipulator. It’s gonna take us a while to get to have all the first pieces together, but it’s gonna take us even more to get back at him. This guy is playing well. This confirms one thing: now that his attacks are stopped, he won’t attack me personally. He’s unlikely to attack Claire now, he’s just waiting for the next move. It’s like playing chess. But with human lives. But he manipulated the pawns he has in his possession quite well, now that I managed to get rid of one of them.

Kelly, the main pawn in the checker now, is still on the loose somewhere in the Riviera, and we need to find her, because for sure, she’s less trained than Joris, and it’s gonna be far easier to get info by her. As she’s hiding, it won’t take very long to find her as she will make mistakes, that’s for sure, I can even bet on that. But I believe she will remain there for a couple of days, the time to lay low, perhaps she will travel somewhere nearby, but will remain near the Riviera. Whatever she believes, for sure now, she must know that something happened in Paris, she must have been alerted that things aren’t going as planned, but we need to let her make a move and not force destiny, we need to give her the illusion that she won the game for now. It’s a race against time, as we fear that now we have the lead if we don’t manage to gather all the evidence we have, they’ll eventually scatter again.

“Is there still a long way to go?” Claire stretched and asked.

“Not too much longer now. We should be in Montpellier in about an hour,” I replied.

“We will be staying at the Hotel the Police near the area called Rives-du-Lez, you probably know there, they gave us some space to work there” Heather added. “Listen, Charlotte, I know that you need time to process what happened to your sister, so, I think you should go there, to the hospital, find out about her. Whittingham will go to the train depot, and see what he can find, Romeka will remain investigating who this guy is, and I will focus my search on Kelly, and try to contact Marseille if they have something. Whatever happens, I’ll keep you posted. If you need me, I’ll be around in Montpellier.”

“Okay,” I nodded. “I think I should be focusing on the guy who poisoned her. I believe it’s the only way we can get to who paid him to poison my sister.”

“Just, erm…” Heather looked at me, more serious. “Try to go easy on yourself. I know that you can bear a lot without being affected, but still.”

“Don’t worry about me. Really,” I take a deep breath, trying to keep my emotions in check.

Claire and I looked at each other, lost in our thoughts, as Heather grabbed her iPad and resumed what she was doing. Whittingham, meanwhile, grabbed his phone and started doing something on it. The train started leaving Valence train station, now, inbound to Montpellier. As we saw the train leaving and accelerating, and the countryside scrolling again before our eyes as anxiety grew even further because we got closer to our final destination, she spoke up.

“Do you think we’ll be safe there?”

“I don’t know,” I turned to her, thinking for a moment before answering. “But we can’t let fear control us. We have to face what’s coming, no matter what, but I believe it is still quite unlikely he would attack us straight now. I think, now, he wants to see what happened. But I don’t have a good feeling for what’s about to happen to Clarisse.”

“You think she’s gonna die?”

“I hope not. I trust not. But realistically, I don’t feel that something good will come out of it.”

“They’ll come up with a solution for her. I wouldn’t be too worried, my love.”

As the train began to move again, I looked out the window and watched the passing scenery. The rolling hills and quaint French towns flew by, but my thoughts were still consumed with the events of the past few days. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something big was coming, something that would challenge us all in ways we couldn’t even imagine. But despite the uncertainty, I felt a sense of comfort knowing that Claire and Heather were by my side. We had been through so much together already, and I knew that we could handle whatever lay ahead. Thoughtful, I concluded: