Tragic.
Definitive.
Suddenly everything seemed different.
I went home and immediately opened an old box containing Clara’s belongings.
I found his photographs, some letters and his old wallet.
Then something caught my attention.
A little key.
I had seen her dozens of times without ever knowing what she was opening.
She was wearing a tiny metal label with a number:
17.
I took my phone and made up the number of the office reception.
“Excuse me, but did Clara leave you anything other than her phone? »
The receptionist thinks.
“She had an envelope. »
“Where is she? »
Silence.
“She left with it. »
I hung up.
At that moment, someone knocked on my door.
Three shots.
Slow.
I’m freezing.
No one came to my house without warning.
I looked out the window.
A dark car was parked in front of the house.
A man came down.
I couldn’t tell his face.
Then he looked up at my window.
Like he knew exactly where I was.
I’m backing down.
A few seconds later, he struck again.
I did not open.
My phone vibrated.
A new message.
“Don’t open it to him. »
I immediately looked at the door.
Then a second message appeared.
“He knows where the key is. »
I took key number 17.
The man hit one last time.
Then he left.
I stood behind the door until his car disappeared.
That night, I almost didn’t sleep.
The next morning, I went to the old neighborhood where Clara had lived.
The building was still there.
The current owner agreed to let me in after I had explained to him that I was looking for something that belonged to my sister.
I showed him the key.
His face became serious.
