Chapter 2 - The Old Mobile Phone
The silence in the funeral home of Caluire-et-Cuire was no longer the silence of grief; it was the suffocating stillness that precedes a thunderclap.
Chloé stood before Father Thomas, her small stature contrasting sharply with the tall, imposing figure of the priest. In her hands, she didn't just hold her words; she held an old, scratched Samsung mobile phone—an obsolete model that Julien had thrown into the kitchen drawer months ago, believing it to be dead. But the screen was glowing.
"What did you say, my child?" Father Thomas asked, his voice trembling slightly. He looked up at Martine, whose face had transformed from a mask of pious grief into a rigid, pale facade of terror.
"Grandma Martine," Chloé repeated, her voice echoing through the microphone near the altar. "She told me it was a secret vitamin. She said Mommy was too weak to make the boys strong, so we had to help them. But I recorded her. I recorded her with Daddy’s old phone when she didn't see me."
Martine took a step forward, her heels clicking aggressively against the stone floor. "Julien, grab that child! She’s traumatized, she doesn't know what she's saying! Élise has driven this poor girl mad with her hysterics!"
But Julien didn't move. For the first time, his gaze was fixed entirely on his daughter.
Élise felt the blood rushing to her ears. She broke through her paralysis, rushing to Chloé's side and kneeling beside her. "Chloé, sweetheart, what are you talking about? What did Grandma do?"
Chloé didn't look at her grandmother. She pressed a button on the old phone. The speaker was damaged, crackling with static, but the voices that emerged were unmistakable. It was a video recorded from a low angle, likely from behind the kitchen counter where Chloé often played with her dolls.
On the screen, shown to Father Thomas and those in the front rows, was Martine. The video was dated exactly two weeks before the twins passed away. Martine was standing over the baby bottles. She wasn't just preparing milk. She drew a small, amber-colored medicine bottle from her expensive leather purse. With steady, practiced hands, she counted ten drops of a thick liquid into Léo’s bottle, and then ten into Gabriel’s.
"Good boys," Martine’s voice came through the crackling speaker, cold and venomous. "You will sleep now. You will sleep so your pathetic mother realizes she can't even handle two simple babies."
"My God," Father Thomas whispered, stepping back, his hand flying to his chest.
The congregation erupted into a roar of gasps and murmurs. Élise’s father, Marc, lunged forward from the third row, his face purple with rage, but Élise's mother held him back, sobbing hysterically.
"It’s a fake! It’s a digital fabrication!" Martine shrieked, her voice losing all its aristocratic refinement. "That girl is lying! Élise programmed her to do this to ruin my family!"
Élise looked at her husband. "Julien... did you know? Did you know your mother was drugging our children?"
Julien looked at the phone, then at his mother, and finally at his wife. His face was a mask of horror and dawning realization. "No... no, I didn't. Mom, what did you do? You said you were giving them herbal supplements to help their colic!"
"Shut up, Julien!" Martine hissed.
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Before anyone could take another step, Chloé spoke again, pointing to the phone. "There’s more, Mommy. There are pictures of the blue pills Grandma put in the water."
The funeral of Léo and Gabriel vanished in an instant. It was no longer a place of rest; it was a crime scene.
