by Nora Valters
The email to Dad about Toby and spamming Dad’s Facebook profile with homophobic comments would’ve been a piece of cake too. He just needed to log into my personal Gmail account and Facebook profile, accessing Dad’s page through mine and… voila.
I know he didn’t key my car. Jenna admitted to that. But what about the acid thrown at my front door and the threatening text after? I blamed it on far-left activists upset at the content on my social media. But could that have been Rob too? I remember seeing big industrial vats and car batteries outside his farm – did they contain chemicals?
And he would’ve easily been able to find my mum’s address in my phone’s contacts app.
My gut lurches. Yes. He could’ve done it all.
But why? What motivation could he possibly have for doing this to me?
I sit back in my chair and look past my laptop. Why? As my eyes fall back down to the screen, I notice the little dot glowing at the top. My webcam is on.
As if electrified, I jolt back from my laptop. The dining chair scrapes the floor and tips over behind me with a thump. Is Rob watching me RIGHT NOW?
Why has this only just dawned on me?
The fury I felt when confronting Jenna returns. I got the truth from her and I’ll get the truth from the IT guy. Internally, I shout: I’m coming for you, Rob!
Immediately I power down the laptop, switch off my phone and put them both in the fridge. I don’t know why that comes to me, but I remember watching an Edward Snowden documentary and him asking visitors to do that.
Purpose surges through me. I’m going to get this sorted once and for all.
Jogging back through the house, I pick up my dropped coat, scarf and car keys, find my handbag, and open the front door.
But the way is blocked.
A man in a big parka jacket with the hood up against the driving rain stands with his back to me on the front doorstep, his arm up as if talking on the phone.
He spins around before I can slam the door shut.
“Akshay?”
He looks as surprised as I feel. He lowers his mobile from his ear.
“Your phone’s off,” he says.
I nod.
“I’ve been stood here a while, wanting to knock, but then I thought I’d better try calling first…”
He trails off. And looks desperately forlorn. Rain splatters my face, and I gesture for him to come inside. He steps in and closes the door behind him. We look at each other.
For something to say, I point at his coat. “Is that new?”
“Yeah, got it in New York. I didn’t realise how bloody cold it was going to be.”
Every part of me longs to hug him, touch him, kiss his beautiful wonky lips. But I don’t. He walked out on me, believed I was having an affair, told me he wanted to sell this house.
He looks at me quizzically. “Are you feeling okay? You look wired.”
“A lot of shit has happened to me these past few days. Are you surprised?”
He nods sheepishly, realising that was a stupid question to ask. He changes the subject. “What happened to the front door?”
“An acid attack.”
His eyes bulge out of his head in alarm. “What?”
“And there was a fire at my mum’s apartment.”
“Are you kidding me?”
But I have no time to explain. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I saw all that stuff on your Facebook page.”
I go to protest that it wasn’t me, but he holds up his palm.
He continues, “I know it wasn’t you. That’s not who you are, Lauren. I know that. And it got me thinking. And I’ve been so stupid. You told me that you didn’t have an affair. You told me that someone must be targeting you. And I believe you.”
I chew my lip.
He adds, “I’m so, so sorry. I made a huge mistake. Can you ever forgive me?”
His honest face is desperate, his eyes pleading.
I remember something. “Where have you been staying?”
“With my work colleague over from New York,” he replies without hesitation.
“Maya?”
“Yes. She’s here to finish that project, and work’s paying for a two-bed city centre Airbnb for her. I didn’t… couldn’t… tell my family. They would’ve been devastated, and I was devastated. I wasn’t ready to tell them…”
“You’ve been staying with another woman?” My voice increases, and realisation registers on Akshay’s face.
“Oh, no. Goodness, no. It’s not anything like that. She’s married.”
My mouth drops open.
“Here, look…” He pulls out his phone, opens Facebook and shows me photos from her profile. They’re of Maya’s wedding… to a woman. They look blissfully happy.
He continues, “Lauren, I’d never do that to you. And I know now that you’d never do that to me. We were made for each other, and I’m a stupid idiot.”
“What about all your stuff? And the expensive gifts you gave me and then took back?”
“I put everything in a storage unit. I know, I know, it was a ridiculous, kneejerk thing to do. Please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”
I really, really want to be angry with him. But I just can’t. He’s admitted his mistake. And I have a tech stalker to deal with. My body reacts to my heart before my brain has a chance to kick in, and to his astonishment – and mine too – I hug him. I melt into him, and his steady, solid presence soothes me. I want to wrap us up in a cocoon and just pretend none of this ever happened, pretend that we’re blissfully happy and that our lives are perfect and wonderful.
But that’s a fantasy, and I need to deal with reality. I push away from him and say, “I know who’s doing this.”
“Who?”
“The IT guy at work.”
“The one who was here when I got back from New York?”
“Yes. Him.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got no idea. But I was on my way to find out. I know where he lives.”
Akshay frowns. “Don’t you think you should call the police?”
“I did. But they weren’t really interested. They said they’d get back to me.”
“Are you sure confronting him is a good idea? Maybe you should wait for the police.”
I take a step towards the front door. I’m not waiting any longer. I need to get all that offensive content taken off my social media channels. I need to get back into my bank accounts. I need to fix things with Toby and Dad. I need to put Madeline straight. Yes, my fiancé has seen the light, but everything else is still in monumental chaos. “Akshay, I’m going now. So you can either come with me or stay here. Your choice.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m coming with you.”
27
I drive like a maniac to Rob’s farmhouse, remembering the way from my visit there on Friday.
Akshay and I don’t speak. He’s too busy clinging on for dear life as I tear across town, and stomping his foot in the footwell as if to hit the brake. If he talks to me, I think he thinks I’ll lose concentration. He’s possibly right. The rain is hammering down in sheets, and the windscreen wipers are on full speed but hardly doing their job, so I lean forward and peer through the smeary water on the glass.
My work laptop and phone are on the back seat. I retrieved them from the fridge before we left. Rob can flipping well delete all that crap off them in front of me and put this all right.
We leave the busy city suburbs and head into the remote countryside. It’s dark and quiet, with not many others on the road, choosing to sit out the rain and shelter indoors.
“We’re here,” I say.
Akshay takes in the sprawling, isolated farm set a little way back from the road as I slow the car. He looks at me in complete astonishment. “This place, seriously?”
“I know, not exactly where I thought he’d live either, but there you go.”
I pull into the gravel driveway of the farm and notice all the windows of the fa
rmhouse are dark. The rest of the farm and farm buildings seem deserted too. And, on a wet evening in November, the entire place is almost pitch-black, lit only by the moon and the occasional headlights of a passing car.
Akshay puts his hand on mine and gives me a look. “You’re in charge here. I’m here for you.”
I smile. I know this is a big deal for him. Akshay is a planner and likes to know every intricate detail of what is about to happen. I appreciate his trust in me. I appreciate him not asking me a million questions.
“When I was here before, Rob told me to go round the back to the back door. That’s where his office is. He told me it was never locked,” I say.
He nods.
I turn off the engine, put my hood up, stuff my laptop and phone under my coat, and climb out of the car. We jog around the back of the building, moving quickly to get out of the rain. I notice a faint glow coming from the window I assume is Rob’s office. I push on the door; it opens easily.
Taking a deep breath, I step into the farmhouse and look around the dark kitchen. The drip, drip of our sodden coats on the tiled floor echoes in the space. I walk towards Rob’s tech room.
The door is wide open, and I see a dwindling fire crackling and spitting in the fireplace. There are no other lights on, so the fire is what is giving off the glow. Has Rob gone out and left the fire to burn down? Is that not dangerous? But I’d never leave my house unlocked either, so perhaps that’s just what’s done in the country and on farms.
I step into the room, followed by Akshay, being careful to check behind the door to make sure Rob is not about to leap out at me.
But the place is empty.
The only thing that seems alive are the machines around and on Rob’s desk that whir and flash.
“Perhaps he’s gone out,” I say to Akshay.
“Looks that way.”
“I’m going to look around to see if there’s any evidence.”
Akshay looks out the window. “Shall I go and see if I can find Rob in any of the outbuildings?”
“Yes, good idea.”
Akshay squeezes my forearm and then heads back out the way we came, turning on the flashlight app on his phone to see where he’s going.
I’m not sure what I expect to find in this room, but there must be something that links Rob to all this. Doubt flashes across my mind – what if I got this wrong too? What if it’s not Rob, like it wasn’t Jenna or Imani. What if the person is still out there? I shake it off. Who else could it be? I go to Rob’s swivel office chair, put my laptop and phone on the seat, and move the mouse that’s sat on the desk.
The large screen sparks to life, asking for a password. Damn. I spot his MBW-branded notebook, which is given to staff when they first join. Mine is long-since used up, but Rob’s looks untouched. I wonder if he’s written his password in there? Unlikely – he strikes me as someone who is extremely online safety conscious, but I go to pick up the book anyway.
In the gloom, I didn’t see it before, but there’s a second notebook next to the branded one. In complete contrast, this one looks very well used with scuffed corners. It doesn’t close fully, as loose papers have been stuffed between pages and corners have been folded over.
I pick it up and angle it towards the faint glow from the fire to read the scrawl on the front: Lauren.
My fingers fumble, and the notebook almost drops to the floor. My mouth drains of all fluid, and I dry-swallow, my throat scratchy and constricted.
I flick slowly through the pages. They are full of neatly written entries. I read one at random.
Wearing: blue wrapover dress and cream chunky knitted cardigan with black tights and heeled court shoes. Same pearl earrings. Hair in a low ponytail.
Mood: L sad today. Probs cos mother dying. L says she’s being moved to a hospice.
Movements: Work, hospital to see mother for AM visiting hours, work, hospital to see mother for PM visiting hours, garage for petrol on way home, home. Lights out 10.07.
I flick to another entry. It’s about me. They’re all about me: what I’m wearing, doing, saying. There are notes on my family and friends.
On one page is a printout of a photo. It’s been sellotaped in the notebook. It’s of me getting into my car outside my house and has been taken surveillance-style from a distance.
I find more photos: me coming out of the supermarket; outside the hospital devastated and clutching my auntie Joyce moments after Mum died; through the back window of my house on the day Akshay returned from New York – I’m wearing my loungewear set and opening the window while he cooks dinner in the background.
The last entry is from yesterday, and the final line reads: Fire, fire, your mum’s home is on fire.
I skip to the first page. The date: 27 October. Rob has been watching me both online and offline for nearly five weeks.
This is seriously creepy. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. I need to find Akshay.
I turn to head out the door, but an excruciating pain blossoms across the back of my head, my vision goes black, and I slump, unconscious.
28
A throbbing pain in the back of my head rouses me. My scrunched eyes take a moment to adjust to the brightness.
What just happened? I feel disorientated, as if I’m on the waltzer at a fairground and the ride is now coming to an end but isn’t quite stationary yet.
I reach a shaky hand up to touch the sore spot, except my hand doesn’t move. I try again. And then I know. My hands are tied behind my back. No, not just behind my back but behind… the back of the chair too.
My eyelids snap open. I’m sitting on Rob’s office chair, still in his office at the farmhouse. My coat has been removed, and the lights are on. I flick my gaze up, and he’s right there, about two metres in front of me, leaning against the desk. His arms are folded, and he’s staring at me.
This was not what I was expecting. I thought I’d confront him, and we’d talk; he’d apologise and put things right, and then I’d be on my way. Yes, I would’ve told Madeline and Ursula about it, and yes, he would’ve likely been sacked for creepy behaviour. But physical violence? And whatever this is… kidnapping? Being held against my will? This takes it to a whole other level.
He never struck me as the violent type. Not even in my darkest nightmares did I think he’d whack me so hard I’d pass out. I have no recollection of my coat being removed, or being propped on the chair, so I must’ve been out cold for a few minutes. I didn’t think he’d have something like that in him.
I struggle against my binding and guess by the stickiness and squeaking that it’s duct tape around my wrists. At the same time I glance around the room, but can’t see Akshay. He must still be outside. Does Rob know he’s here? My heart soars as I realise that Rob didn’t know Akshay was coming with me. Akshay is safe and waiting for the right moment to take out Rob and set me free.
I immediately set my sights on Rob. I don’t want him to twig that I’m looking for someone else.
Rob doesn’t say anything, just watches me as I struggle with my bindings. After a while I give up and swear under my breath.
“Rob,” I say cautiously, “let me go.”
He doesn’t reply. Just looks straight at me, his expression unreadable.
“Rob!” I try again, louder, in an attempt to wake him up to this situation – that he has a woman tied up at his house. “I know you’ve been stalking me online and offline. I know you put software on my laptop and phone.”
No response.
I persevere. “I don’t know what you’re doing right now, but there’s still time to make this right. Let me go, and we can put everything straight.”
He blinks a couple of times, but still nothing. We eye each other. The rain smatters against the windows, the tech hardware whirs, and the fire crackles. But Rob doesn’t make a sound. He barely even looks as if he’s breathing.
It’s the most frightening staring contest I’ve ever been in. But I don’t want to look away. I don’t want him to thin
k he’s won. Perhaps that’s it. The sicko is savouring this moment and the power he now has over me. He’s trying to break me, like he’s been trying to break me all along. Does he want me to cry?
My patience runs out, and my courage flares. “What the hell are you planning to do, hmm? You’ve got me tied up and now what? You’re just going to look at me all night? Listen to me talk and try to convince you to let me go? Is that what you want – for me to beg or something?”
I glare at him. Rob looks on, in complete stillness, like an unsettling statue looming over me.
Then I think: what is his plan? A million terrible scenarios play on fast forward in my head, each worse than the one before.
Shit. Perhaps it’s best to keep talking. To stay right here, tied up in this chair. I’m relatively unscathed apart from a bash on the head. If he can do that, what else is he capable of? One thing’s for certain – I don’t want to find out.
My tone softens, becomes pleading. “Why are you doing this to me? Did I offend you somehow?”
He remains impassive.
If begging is what Rob wants, then I’m not too proud to beg. I need to buy as much time as possible for Akshay to do whatever it is he has planned.
“Please tell me what I did, Rob. I’m sorry. Whatever it was, please accept my sincerest apologies. I try to be kind and patient with everyone, but sometimes I get stressed, and I get snappy. If I was short with you or in any way disrespected you, then please tell me. I can only learn if you make me aware of my errors. And I’ll never, ever do it again. Rob? Please let me go.”
Silence.
The begging has got me nowhere. I struggle, try to stand, but my arms keep me pinned to the chair, and the chair jerks with me, making it impossible.
I shout, “Aargh!” in frustration.
What is he waiting for? What game is he playing? What does he want? Perhaps he wants me to guess his motivation? I rack my brains for a plausible reason.
I run through every interaction I’ve ever had with him. There aren’t that many. A couple of work social events where I said hello but nothing much else. A few emails back and forth about my laptop or phone and interactions purely about IT issues. A couple of times saying ‘good morning’ or ‘hi’ in passing in the hallway or in the car park. I recall one occasion where I’d said hello to him while we were both in the queue for a sandwich shop near work. Nothing, in my mind, that offended him or could’ve angered him. He wrote on my laptop: ‘I know what you did’. But what have I done?