March 2012

CHASED!

A collection of short stories

that will give you the creeps!

Rocroy Saint-Vincent de Paul

Class of 2011-2012

Seconde 7

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Table of Contents

1. Goodbye, by Gaïa Grandin p.3

2. The Diary of a Cop, by Sarah Jarraya p.7

3. Ain’t no Rest for the wicked,

by Ossiane Houllevigue p.11

4. The dangerous Seducer, by Inès Chouaieb p.17

5. The last recording, by Maxime Sanchez p.21

6. Trafalgar, by Mathieu Bauchard p.26

7. Paris by night, the other side,

by Zulmée Poupard p.30

2

Goodbye

written by Gaïa Grandin

r Colfer was a reputed surgeon. It was 9 p.m. and, as every Friday, he put

his coat on his shoulders and locked his office. The surgery department

was empty. The atmosphere was gloomy in the clinic. Long corridors were

enlightened by the neon lights. Not a sound except for Mr Colfer’s footsteps. In

short, night was normal for the surgeon. Just a few more steps and he would be

out of the building. Suddenly, the lights went off, and another sound of footsteps

was audible: fainter, but faster. Mr Colfer, seized by fear, accelerated. He could

discern the door, he knew he could reach it. One meter left, and it would be all

right. He finally grabbed the handle and, as he was opening the door, someone

took a hold on him and whispered: « Goodbye Mr Colfer».

M

The next morning, Detective Criss, discrete and incisive, was on the crime

scene. The scene he was confronted to was striking. At the entrance of the clinic,

right in the middle of a tiled floor, surrounded by high white walls, was the corpse

of the surgeon. The detective peered at the body, without any emotions. Through

those years, he had simply gotten used to it.

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As he was scanning the place, a man called him: «Detective, we found the murder

weapon ! Check it out, that’s the first time I see that! ». Interrupted in his thoughts,

Mr Criss came nearer to the young man, glanced at the weapon and said, a bit

disappointed « that’s a rope, not that original. » «Not a rope », answered the

youngest, « That’s a piano string ! » he declared. « That’s interesting… » said the

detective with a smile on his face.

Mr Criss decided to interrogate the victim’s wife first. He arrived in a

luxurious neighbourhood and finally reached Mrs Colfer’s house. She was in tears,

and seemed totally devastated. « So, Mrs Colfer, did your husband have enemies? »

asked Mr Criss. « Well… my husband was a great man, polite and careful…

Everybody loved him, b-but… you…you know… », she stuttered « He was a

famous surgeon, and, well, some people died in surgery… Families got upset…

Some others surgeons may be jealous of his career and could have… have…» She

started to cry and so Mr Criss decided to leave.

He then went to the office of Mr Anderson, a friend of the victim who had

seen him two hours before the murder. He started questioning him. Everything

was normal until Mr Anderson asked the detective: « Did you find clues on the

crime scene ? » « Well, for the moment the only thing we have is the murder

weapon, a piano string… ». Anderson’s face changed. He was lost in his thoughts,

trying to remember something,

« A piano string, you say… », he whispered. « But yes! I remember now! »

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Anderson declared. The detective became more and more curious: «What? What

do you remember? ». « Well, yesterday, he told me that he had operated, a few

days earlier, a famous pianist, but the surgery didn’t end well. He seemed really

sorry for this young girl and he felt gloomy all day long… ».

That was it! Something terrible must have happened to this patient and a

member of his family may have decided to avenge her, thought the detective. As

the man continued his story, the detective interrupted him, and quickly left,

mumbling « I have to find her ».

Mr Criss obtained the address of Miss Berry, the famous pianist recently

operated by Mr Colfer. What could have happened to this girl? She may be

paralized, or… even worse.

256 Rose Street. The taxi stopped in front of a giant skyscraper. He knew he would

discover the truth about Mr Colfer’s death. He rang the intercom of Mrs Berry for a

while, but no answer. Impatient and worried, he broke the door open.

Once in the building, Mr Criss started running as fast as he could. A few more steps

to go and he would know the truth. And here he was, on the twenty-fourth floor.

He didn’t even knock on the door and decided to charge into it. As soon as he was

in the flat, he came to a standstill. The atmosphere was peaceful. Some classic

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music in the background and a relaxing odour of incense in the apartment.

Detective Criss started to prowl in the room, gazing at this beautiful place.

Suddenly, he saw her. On the balcony, a figure. Mr Criss, noiselessly, came

nearer to the girl. She was sitting on the fence of the balcony, motionless, staring

at her right hand, feet in the void. « Hello Mrs Berry, I’m Mr Criss and I’m here to

help you » he whispered calmly, « Come with me, it will be all right ». « Lies,

nothing will be all right.» she said quietly, still peering at her hand. She continued

« I have no reason to live anymore, and this surgeon got what he deserved, he

destroyed my life, he had to pay… ». « Why? What did he do? » said the detective,

as he was trying to get closer to the girl to grab her. « The piano was all my life, I

lived for my career. He said this intervention was a routine, that he had to operate

on my hand and that there was no risk. But when I woke up… I couldn’t control it

anymore. No more piano, no more career, that was the end for me. And so it had

to be the end for him too… Goodbye Mr Criss ». As she finished speaking, she

glanced at the detective and jumped from the twenty-fourth floor.

6

The Diary of a Cop

Written by Sarah Jarraya

put the clothes in the washer. I took a shower. I turned on the TV “A

nineteen year old girl, Ashley Johnson, was found dead this morning

lying on a park bench”. I turned it off. It was a cold night of December. It was three

in the morning. The wind was blowing. My cell phone rang. It was my boss telling

me to show up to investigate the crime of this nineteen year old girl. She was the

seventh victim of the month. I told him that I would be there in two. I grabbed my

police badge and my gun. As I was driving to the crime scene in my blue Ford

Mustang I stopped by “Donut’s King” to buy coffee and donuts for my pal Santos.

I was queuing up when an old lady asked me to catch a plastic spoon for her; I

handed it to her.

I

“Thank you so much young boy! I’m getting old and I’m not six feet tall like you!”

she said with her faint voice.

“Don’t worry ma’am, it’s a pleasure for me to serve you” I replied nicely.

“Oh! How sweet! You look just like my grandson, brown dark hair and those green

eyes are just like his!” she told me while she was gazing at my back.

“Thanks madam! I hope you don’t mind but I’m kind of in a hurry” I told her

smiling.

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“Sure! Goodbye! Have a nice day” she replied stuttering.

I walked down the street. I went to my car. I tasted one of those sweet donuts.

“Delicious” I thought. I eat one every day at 8am. It is kind of a habit for me. I

drank a sip of coffee as usual. I reached the park, strained my ears. Journalists

were already there!

“Hey pal what’s up?” Santos asked.

“Nothing, just can’t believe he is continuing” I replied. “I mean hasn’t he already

killed enough? When will he stop?” I shouted.

“I don’t know but don’t worry we will catch him. The corpse was found out there

on the bench.” Santos said.

We rushed to the bench. I gave him his donut. There was a smell of cold coffee;

“Certainly Donut’s King’s, their smell is unique” Santos remarked.

He slapped my shoulder as if he wanted to wake me up from my thoughts. I

noticed some weird guy prowling around the crime scene. I decided to stare at him

to see how he would react. He peeped at what was surrounding him and acted as

if he didn’t see me and took off. Santos had also noticed his strange gait. We

looked at each other and ran after him. We chased him for ten miles. It is common

for a murderer, if he is a psychopath, to prowl around the crime scene. He had

pretty nimble feet. He stumbled. Santos booked him.

“I didn’t do anything! Let go of me” The man stammered.

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“Well we’ll see that at the office. You’re under arrest; you have the right to remain

silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the

right to an attorney. If you cannot an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

As I brought him in custody Santos appealed for witness. I was interrogating

the suspect when all of a sudden Santos came in. He slammed the door behind him

and started laughing. They had found a witness.

The description he gave matched with the suspect. Apparently the victim was

waiting for someone. The witness admitted sneaking on her. He said a six feet high

male came out of nowhere. They started talking. He was out of hearing and could

not understand what they were saying but he was certain they were fighting. She

tried to escape but he did not want her to go so he grabbed her by the hair and

thrust her. She fell. He pulled out his gun. The witness heard a jarring cry. She

shrieked for someone to help her. Unfortunately for her the witness was a coward

so he didn’t do anything to help her out. The murderer shot her. He took off. The

witness said he heard a purring engine and then a blue car left the crime scene.

The witness came nearer the victim. Apparently she was already dead, her body

was stiff, and it was stinking of coffee and donuts. The witness told Santos that he

had scanned the surroundings of the bench and that he hadn’t seen anybody. So

he decided to leave before someone could see him. He already had a criminal

record for assault.

9

After this deposition the suspect had no chance to be released. He already had a

criminal record; his description matched perfectly with the murderer’s; he had no

alibi for the seven murders; he was a faithful customer of Donut’s King. He was

found guilty for the seven murders committed the past month and was given a

one hundred and fifty year sentence so that he could never get out of prison. In

the court, during the trial, I remember seeing the old woman from the Donut’s

King. She actually was the convict’s grandmother.

During the trial or even during the investigation no one, no one had thought, even

for a minute, that I could be the murderer.

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Ain’t no Rest

for the wicked

written by Ossiane Houllevigue

Thursday 7th

September

I'm afraid of light, it reveals your true nature.

Going out frightens me and staying alone makes me sick.

I hate myself.

Saturday 9th

September

Today, I was visited by cops, they had come to offer their condoleances to me,

once more. They don't manage to find any clues and don't even suspect me.

Strange. Usually, the husband is one of the first suspects. They must feel pity for

me, a man totally devastated by his wife's death. But reality is so different.

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Sunday 10th

September

My best friend came, he tried to comfort me... If only he knew.

Another man came. Not a bad guy but not necessarily a convenient person. He

often gets into trouble, especially with the mafia. He asked me if everything was

OK. I shouldn't have told him the truth, I thought he was trustworthy but not at all.

He doesn't understand me and believes we are alike. Rubbish!

Tuesday 12th

September

The police want me to give some details about the evening when my wife died.

Like I wasn't miserable enough. I don't want to remember, I don't want to feel

guilty anymore. My life is passing away and I hope to be released from all these

chains.

…

I am exhausted. I have finally finished answering all their questions, pretty useless

« What did you do that nigh ? With whom? » « Are you sure you don't have any

information? ». I am totally fed up. One day, maybe, I will be able to tell all I know.

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Monday 18th

September

One week has passed. An awful week. The burden of guilt is heavier and heavier. I

have seen nobody. So much the better! I wasn't ready, I can't face anyone.

I miss my wife. If only those douchbags of cops would leave me alone, I would be

able to forget about all of this for one or two days. But no ! They call me every day

of the week to know if I remember something! Since when do they have a doubt?

Wednesday 20th

September

I have made a resolution. I will see this troublesome guy. It must be because of him

that cops don't leave me alone. He has probably betrayed my secret in exchange

for a reduced sentence. What a jerk!

Thursday 21st

September

I saw him and he beamed with joy as soon as he spotted me. He even didn't let me

time to question him! He said he had problems. Again. Does he have no friends to

beg for help to someone he just met?

Whatever. He needed an important sum and he thought I was wealthy. Not really

the case, nevertheless, I decided to play with him, he was just a dead loss after all.

So I told him he would get money if he answered a few questions. First, I asked

him if he had denounced me: « No ! How could I do this? You are a friend to me - I

tried to suppress my smile at this moment - but…they were threatening me… » I

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glared at him. How could he have dared? I came nearer, he came to a standstill,

stammering and mumbling useless apologies. I had bent forward, grabbing his

shoulder and I whispered to him, next to his ear: « Don't mess up another time. I

don't appreciate feeling betrayed as my wife did. I hope you will be cleverer than

her. » Then, I dropped him and he became paler. I could feel his heart thumping! I

turned around and left, without forgetting to let a tiny bunch of sweet

greenbacks. If he breaks the deal, a single ticket for jail expects him.

Friday 22nd

September

I have faced this blinding light today. I must go out. Not for going shopping, I got a

fresh and new delivery boy yesterday! I have to go out for another reason, less

pleasant: people who suffer from an emotional shock must have a counselling

because they can be disturby. So, I have to meet my psychoanalyst. Also, she

suggests me to hold a diary « cause it's helpful » she said... And I'm afraid, she is

right.

…

Finally, I haven't seen the shrink. She has cancelled my appointment. Instead, I

have watched an action movie with screeching tyres, whistling bullets, and a man

who was there at the wrong moment at the wrong place.

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Monday 25th

September

I feel more angered than ever and the worst is I don't know why. I have been

moody for days, it is unbearable, I can't stand it anymore: one day, I am totally

depressed, the other totally mad. I heard a song « There ain 't no rest for the

Wicked » and I secretly hope it's not true.

…

Oh! Dear diary, I haven't told you yet... I'm getting on the nerves of my delivery

boy. I have to do something for him because we have a deal after all.

Tomorrow, it will be one month, day for day that she died. I hope heaven is for me.

Tuesday 26th

September

One month, day for day.

« If his corpse can't tell what happened, ask his home! Of course, a house is full of

secrets! A man was complaining. Oh? A diary? Hmm... We all know he has been killed

after all! »

Carelessly, the man threw the book into the trash.

Then, another man was arrested. His name? John Lecker, accused of William

Johnes' death, a man who had lost his wife a short time ago. He was suspected

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after inheriting everything from William. But there is a thing that no one knows,

John received a letter from William telling him about the end of the deal, the end

of William’s life.

Because a death can be turned into a murder, because the truth becomes lies,

there is a rest for the wicked.

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The dangerous

Seducer

Written by Inès Chouaieb

My name is William Hudson, I am thirty-one and I have killed two beautiful

girls. The first one was Sarah Cunningham. She was a history student. She was

brilliant, it is a pity she died. How bad I am! I met her at a very nice party. I gazed at

her for a while, then I approached slowly still staring at her. She was one of the

most charming girls I had ever seen, she was so artless.

I complimented her and I lied to her as usual, I told her I was a lonely

millionaire who was seeking love and of course she drank my words, it was so

easy. I brought her back home. She was so grateful, so cute... She let me in, she

had such a great flat especially for a student. I first stabbed her in her stomach.

She was shocked and her eyes were wide-opened. She told me: «Please don’t kill

me, please» and I answered: «Don’t worry sweetheart, everything is going to be

alright». She tried to scream so I stabbed her in her beating heart. I surrounded her

with my arms. She was peering at me and I looked at her until the best moment,

when the light inside her eyes went away, a tear rolling down her cheek. It was

magical, a real movie scene. I cleaned the room because it was such a mess there.

The police was looking for me and especially lieutenant Fisher.

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He became mad because he had nothing about me, no DNA, no fingerprints, no

witnesses, no other similar case: nothing. It was enjoyable to see them going

round in circles. But I do not know how, Fisher was getting closer. I could not let

that happen, so I decided to take revenge.

He killed two young women in cold blood.

His first victim was Sarah Cunningham.

We found her in her flat two days after her death, she had not answered the phone

and her friends were worried because it was not in her habits. We saw her lying on

the floor, a pool of blood around her. Her eyes were still wide-opened and we could

see that she had been scared. She had two wounds, one in her stomach, the other in

her heart. The crime scene was spotless. My colleagues and I were shocked. What

kind of a monster could have done that? We did everything to find him but he was

smarter than we thought. We called a profiler, she said that he was between twenty-

five and thirty-five years old, that he was probably handsome and a great boaster

who loved being loved. She also said that he was a selfish and self-centred sociopath.

It was disturbing because we knew that nothing would stop him. We appealed for

witness and fortunately a girl - who had been dredged by a man, who matched our

description, the evening of the murder - came to the police station. Thanks to her we

were able to make an identikit picture. But he did not appreciate it because I had

more clues than he expected. He became uncontrollable because he knew that we

were close to get him. And he made a terrible mistake, he played with me.

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I spied on him every day. He was the prey and I was the hunter. That’s how I

learnt he had a daughter, a wonderful daughter. I had the best and the funniest

way to take revenge. I met her at college, I pretended to be a student like her. I

charmed her progressively. We had lunch, then dinner, we talked, we laughed. She

totally fell in love with me. It made me glad to know that I had won. I killed her as I

had charmed her: slowly. Strangely she was speechless. Of course she struggled

but she was too fragile. We can say that I tortured her and that she suffered. I

know it is a bit unfair because I hold it against her father but the end justifies the

means...

After that, I became famous, everybody was talking about me and I was

nicknamed «The dangerous seducer».

He attacked my little daughter, my only reason to live. He made her fall in love

with him. He played with her heart. He aimed at hurting me and he managed to. We

found Rachel in her room, naked.

There was blood everywhere, he did not clean this time, in order to show me how

much she had suffered. He forced her to write «I died because of my daddy» on her

wall with her own blood. I could not handle this sight. My only obsession was to catch

him, to make him pay for what he had done. And now I am about to be satisfied.

Indeed my dear daughter fought before dying and she scratched him, so we found his

DNA under her nails. Because he had a small criminal record we could identify him. I

finally got him.

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I’m pacing up and down in my room. I know he is outdoors. He can’t catch

me like that. I deserve better. I am «The dangerous seducer».

He’s behind my door. I won’t let him do that. I can’t let him do that! Who does he

think he is? I’m better than him. I’m better than anyone! What I did is amazing.

«Lie down», he ordered.

«Hey my favourite cop. How are you? And your lovely daughter?», he taunted him.

«Shut up !», he shouted, «Don’t talk about her.»

«Why ? She was my girlfriend before this tragedy.»

«My gun isn’t too far you know. If I were you, I would stop.»

«And then what? You will kill me?»

«I’m not sure you are worth it!»

«I can help you telling you what I did to her.»

Lieutenant Fisher pointed his gun at William who finally stopped smiling but who

kept his air of satisfaction. After all William had won, he had destroyed him for

ever!

20

The last recording

Written by Maxime Sanchez

My name is Jamie Robshaw, I work in the import-export business and I

am hidden in the attic of a disused factory. If I am recording my story,

that’s because I saw something that I should not have seen. I know they will find

me, so I want my family to understand why I’m going to die. Please, if you find this

tape recording, send it to Lauren Robshaw, Newington Church Street near

Highbury Square and…

«I heard a purring engine! They’re arriving at the factory!

Well, it was yesterday evening, the ninth of October. I had just finished my

working day when I remembered that I had forgotten a client’s file. I turned round

and swung along to find it. I entered in the warehouse and suddenly I heard a

creaking door: someone was opening the warehouse! I bent forward and saw two

men who were whispering. I was out of hearing so I came nearer noiselessly to see

and understand what was happening. At this moment, a lorry entered in the

warehouse. The two men thrust and grabbed the freight of the lorry. They opened

it. I was speechless because…

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Oh! They are crying out! They will find me soon!

The lorry’s freight was a freight of weapons. Someone was arm dealing in

my warehouse! Suddenly, I saw two cops entering in the warehouse. They must

have known the dealers because they welcomed the two cops. The policemen

were giving money to the dealers when I recognised one of the cops; he was one

of my friends. I glared at him. I also stumbled and made a muffled noise. They all

caught a glimpse of me but he unfortunately also recognised me. He shouted my

name and asked me to come nearer. I turned round and, ran to the exit of my

warehouse, rushed to my car but I couldn’t get it started so I rushed into the street

as fast as I could. I didn’t know what I should do. I couldn’t go to the police station

because they could also be corrupted by the dealers. I decided to leave the city

with my family…

I just glanced at them, they’re coming nearer!

I ran in the night, under pattering rain in the direction of my house at the

opposite side of London. I saw a cab and I took it to go back home faster. The cab

let me in Newington Church Street. I swung along to my building. The dealers

knew where I lived! I suddenly was afraid for my wife and my daughter so I

entered quickly in my building - they were following me. I entered in my flat and

fortunately my family was not there. The men were knocking on the door and I

heard a whistling bullet. I decided to get out of my flat going leaving by the service

22

stairs. I was once again alone in the street. I had nobody to speak to and nobody

could help me. I decided to call my wife to inform her that she could not go back to

our flat but I saw that I had forgotten my phone in my office in my import-export

company. I was so stupid… so I tried to find somewhere to spend the night.

Somewhere where they couldn’t find me. At this time, I remembered that I…

I can’t run away from the factory, I’m hurt in the knee!

Well… It was at this moment that I remembered that I had worked in a

factory that had closed five years ago. I thought that it was a good place to spend

the night. I walked to this disused factory in Strafford Street in the East of London.

Since their attack in front of my building, I had been keeping a look out, so I

scanned the entire streets and the alleys before going there, I strained my ears to

hear if I was followed by someone. On my way I found a phone box in a spooky

alley. I called my wife but she didn’t answer. I decided to call the police. I was

explaining the policeman what was happening when I saw someone with a

threatening gait in the creepy alley. He came to a halt near my phone box. When I

saw that he had a knife under his jacket, I decided not to linger in this gloomy alley.

I just said where I was going and I went out of my box, turned round, walked

straight on in the alley, staring at the man who was gazing at me…

They are going up to the attic! I’m dead!

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But fortunately, this man didn’t do anything and I could arrive in the disused

factory. I stepped over the wire fence that was so sharp that I hurt my knee. I just

limped on the floor to the attic where I am and where I found this old recorder.

The cop that I had called in the phone box must have been corrupted because they

have found me.

Oh! They heard me! They are arriving to kill me! The corrupted cop that I know is

called Croft, James Croft! And Lauren, I love…”

…BANG…BANG………BANG…BANG…………BANG………

“Grab his hands, I am grabbing his feet. We will throw him in the Thames.”

“When I found it in a dustbin, I thought I should give you this recording,

inspector.”

“It was a good idea, thank you very much”

The inspector sees the tramp out and asks his co-worker:

“Do you think this recording is a true one or a hoax?”

“It must be a hoax; we didn’t find any man in the Thames”

One month later, Jamie Robshaw was found in the Thames, his body was

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sent to his wife with the recording, James Croft was arrested with five corrupted

cops. The arms’ dealing was broken up. And the Victoria Cross was posthumously

awarded to Jamie Robshaw.

The End

25

Trafalgar

Written by Mathieu Bauchard

went out of his flat, went downstairs and reached the street. The man

who was waiting for him in the car opened the door. A fast, aerodynamic

and luxurious Italian model, whose bodywork signed Pininfarina was sporting a

handsome navy blue. Its brown leather seats were smelling cigar. N sat and closed

the door while the driver was starting up. They left the Rue Bonaparte, and

followed the quays. Then they turned right taking the Pont de la Concorde and

then turned left and went up quite quickly the Avenue des Champs-Elysées. It was

half past three a.m. The Avenue was full of lights in spite of the hour. After that

they passed the Arc de Triomphe and continued straight on the Avenue de la

Grande Armée all the way to the avenue of the General de Gaulle and some

minutes later they reached the A 14 motorway. N had always really loved to see

Paris by car, dazzled with its architecture, lights and majesty. That’s why he didn’t

immediately pay attention to the driver.

N

On the motorway, he observed him more attentively. He was wearing a blue

leather jacket, beige trousers and a white tee-shirt. His facial features were

deformed by alcohol and his head was surrounded by black sideburns. He had

26

small piercing and sly blue eyes. The two men exchanged a brief glance which

made N understand his fate. It was never a good thing to cross his path. N felt his

head becoming heavy and his breath short. He wanted to cry and to jump out of

the car but with this man he had better wait and pray all the way to the last minute

for a miracle. However, N kept the control of his emotions and recovered his cool

blood. He asked in a quit loud voice what their destination was. The man smiled

and didn’t answer. He switched on the radio and accelerated.

Near Rouen, the car left the A13, took the N138 and went through the city

where it stopped. The driver opened the glove box, took a small bottle of

chloroform he poured on a hanky that he maintained on N’s face, while

whispering: “I’ll have a glass and I’m back in half an hour. Dream of the past. It’s

the only thing you’ve got now”.

Then N heard the voice of Elvis Presley singing, inviting him to join him, and

attracting him to the bright light, to paradise. N ran to the singer and, breathless

finally reached the light. “You’re lucky, your life expectancy made a leap forward

of three hours. Congratulations”. The radio was still diffusing rock’n roll and the

driver was still there, watching over him with his cruel eyes. “Were your dreams

pleasant?” The light of the sun was making N squint. He saw a traffic sign

indicating Boulogne-sur-Mer. The driver took the road of the harbor and headed

for the car-ferries. They waited fifteen minutes and reached the customs. The

driver anticipated N’s ideas and told him he had never failed and the only

27

difference if he called for help was that the customs officer would receive a bullet

too. N understood and they finally passed the control easily. Twenty- minutes later

they were boarding the immense ship. More opportunities would arise to the

prisoner. They got off the car. The driver got a pistol out of his pocket and pressed

the barrel into N’s back. “If you move, the blood of innocent people will flow with

yours.” They slowly reached the stairs and the second floor where the driver got a

key out of his pockets and opened a cabin. They entered in, and each one sat in a

comfortable arm chair. The cabin was quit luxurious. The furniture was Empire

style. The man opened the varnished mini-bar and offered a drink to his guest.

“Can I offer you a glass of whisky?”

“No, thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“No, uh… yes, would you have champaign?”

“Yes of course.” They clunk glasses to eternal life and drank. N saw the man had a

real weakness for whisky and asked for another drink to make him serve up again.

It worked. And both drank like fish. It became a battle. It was to the one who

would hold out the longest. But no-one gave up. Thus both together drank until

bottles got empty. Then they talked about their ancestors, the war, their customs

and their countries. Each of them was defending his homeland with vigor and was

trying to show why it was the best. Finally the boat arrived in Dover and half an

hour later they left it. Dover was into such a fog that it was impossible to see after

fifteen meters. The man drove him to one of the mysterious pubs of the Marine

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Parade and stopped the car. Old fishermen were drinking at the bar. In the dark

nooks, some dishonest people were whistling. When the two men entered the bar,

all the clients stared at N with a mix of hatred and contempt. They all had

drunkard’s faces, where the years had dug furrows. The smell of fish, salt, scum,

alcohol and dust was unbreathable and the atmosphere stifling. N, seeing that he

was not welcome: “Salut, Rosbeefs, ’fait pas beau chez vous.” A grunt ensued. The

man brandished his gun and pushed N in an empty room adjacent to the main one,

which was very dirty, devoid of furniture and windows. An old green and stripped

torn wallpaper adorned the wall. The damaged and drab parquet was strewn over

with red-burgundy spots. N understood this room was the finish. He had no

chances to escape. He attempted a desperate action. While the man was closing

the door behind him, N abruptly hit a formidable and violent blow to his

executioner’s head, who, groggy, let his weapon fall. Then N quickly collected it

and shot once after which his missed target, who had recovered his wits, pounced

on him brandishing a knife and stabbed him twice the stomach.

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Paris by night,

the other side

Written by Zulmée Poupard

Inspired from a true story

t was three o’clock in Paris; Charlotte was coming home after a boring

party. Her best friend was always pushing her to go out with her new

friends but she didn’t appreciate them. She found that her friend had totally

changed since she had decided to make friends with the most popular students of

the high school. They were just a group of hypocritical and supercilious people

who knew nothing about friendship. Swinging along in the dark night, she

suddenly felt very isolated and was on the verge of tears. Passing by her

neighborhood DVD shop, she greeted the owner named Karim whom had known

for ages. The nice man had to work at night to keep his head above water and to

pay for his children’s education. By realizing his living conditions, she thought her

problem were not so important.

I

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Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her and turned round but she was alone on

the sidewalk, and thought the pattering rain was at the origin of the noise. She

hurried up, willing to go to bed quickly and a bit frightened by staying alone in the

gloomy streets. When she pushed the door opened on her building’s courtyard, a

robust man entered with her. First she thought he was one of her neighbors, yet

he continued to follow her to the entrance of the lift. Worried, she came to a

standstill and asked:

“Are you the new-comer of the second storey?”

Then the tall man grabbed her long black hair with violence and started to unzip

his pants. In a fit of anger he tightened his arm with his huge hands shouting at

her:

“Listen to me and you won’t have any trouble. Lie down on the floor right now!”

Panic-stricken, she succeeded in keeping her self-control and driven by her survival

instinct, she took him by surprise telling him with a pretended calm:

“No, I don’t want to do this like that. You are very attractive but I don’t know you.

Let’s have a drink together! There are many opened bars in Pigalle at 3 and a half.”

Surprised, he stammered and uttered muffled words. She benefited from his

confusion to order him softly to release her arm. She took a step toward the exit

door and he came nearer seeming to agree. In the street, she felt less threatened

but her heart was still thumping. In order to go away from him, she pretended to

have to call her mother to inform her she wouldn’t go home soon. Suspicious, he

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grabbed her arm again and frowned. She convinced him that her mother would

look for her if she realized that she wasn’t home. He agreed at the condition that

he would stay next to her during the phone call. In reality, she didn’t call her

mother; she didn’t want to worry her while she knew that she couldn’t do

anything. While she was pretending to speak to her mother, she quickened her

pace which infuriated the threatening man. Yet, before he could retain her, she

rushed into the DVD shop.

In a few seconds she succeeded in telling Karim that her life was endangered.

Before he could talk to her, the rapist came in, looking furious. He glared at Karim,

yelling at Charlotte and trying to rush her out. Karim stepped forward, in-between

Charlotte and her aggressor and said:

“I’m sorry but I can’t let Charlotte go out. I promised her mom that I would keep

her from going out with boys”.

And then, he started lecturing Charlotte saying:

“Charlotte, that’s enough. It’s the fourth guy you go out with this week. Do you

really want to make your mom sad?”

Before Charlotte could answer, the aggressor, loosing his self control, shouted:

“No, she is coming with me, she said she would!”

Understanding that the crossed man wouldn’t leave peacefully, Karim jumped on

him and, not without difficulties, finally succeeded in immobilizing him taking him

by surprise. Charlotte, shell shocked grabbed the phone and called the police. They

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kept the violent man locked up and a few minutes later, they heard screeching

tyres and sirens. The cops handcuffed the rapist and realized that the man had

been wanted for several months; he was Paulo Sousa, a serial killer. He had killed

and raped five women in one year.

After filling her report at the police station, Charlotte finally came back home. At

the sight of the lift, she realized what she had escaped from. Humiliation and

death. She fell on the floor shivering and wept bitterly, relieved.

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CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS

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