Now You Know

by Nora Valters

  I need to look at this from another angle. Zoom out. See the bigger picture. Why do stalkers do what they do? Maybe I haven’t pissed him off. Maybe it’s the opposite…

  “Was this all a sick way to get my attention? You’re clearly obsessed with me. Did you think I’d come to you for help with all my tech issues? And fall into your arms in relief because I’m newly single? Did you plan to break me so thoroughly that I’d be more open to your sympathy and advances?”

  Rob shifts ever so slightly, and I latch onto it.

  “That’s it, isn’t it? Like the actress Jodie Foster’s stalker trying to assassinate the US president to get her attention. You think you’re in love with me! This was all an attempt to woo me!”

  Rob’s eyes flick up and over my head. I hear a slow clapping from behind me.

  I freeze.

  Rob isn’t alone. There’s somebody else in this room.

  The office chair is pushed, and I’m spun around to see the absolute last person I was expecting. My breath hitches in my chest as I stare.

  29

  She grins triumphantly.

  It takes my brain a moment to dredge up her name, as she’s so out of place here. Her long hair, usually down, is tied up in a topknot, and she’s not wearing a scrap of make-up. I’ve never seen her face without her trademark lipstick and eyeliner.

  “Cleo?” I whisper in disbelief.

  “In love with you.” She laughs, then her face contorts, and she snarls, “As if, you fucking bitch.”

  My mouth drops so far open I have a struggle to move my jaws to close it. Cleo. My account manager at work. Here with Rob, the IT guy. I would never have put them together.

  “What am I doing here, Cleo?” I stutter.

  I felt more in control with Rob, the hapless IT guy with a freaky obsession. But Cleo? She’s an unknown. I’ve worked with her for almost two years, but don’t really know anything about her. However, I do know one thing, and it fills me with dread. I know she has a temper.

  Cleo’s face flits from anger to smugness. “Because I’ve been planning this for weeks. You fell for our SPYR KEYLOGGR notification lure hook, line, and sinker. Bet you thought you were so clever, tracking it back to Rob? But no, it was all part of my plan. And you did exactly as I expected. So predictable. I’ve been following your juvenile detective work with Imani and Jenna with interest – and much hilarity. And I listened in to your call with the police. You think you’re brave to come here. But you’re really, really stupid.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. In her hands she’s holding the journal, and I recall immediately where I’ve seen that neatly written handwriting before: at work, on Cleo’s notes to me and other colleagues, and when she wrote on the whiteboard in the meeting room.

  I walked right into her trap. I came here, a remote, isolated farmhouse, under my own steam. What an idiot. Except I wasn’t alone. Akshay. He must’ve called the police by now. Perhaps he’s in the kitchen, watching all this and planning how to disable not one but two people.

  I need to keep her talking. To give the police the chance to arrive.

  Menace sizzles off her like a glowing aura swirling with hate and the promise of violence, but there’s one thing that I have to know. “What did I do to you?” I say quietly, not wanting to startle her.

  But it’s the wrong thing to say, and her face changes again. Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step towards me, raising her hand to strike. My body automatically reacts, and I flinch.

  She steps back, satisfied. “You’re really pathetic, you know that? Living your glossy, perfect life without a care in the world for those you trample on to maintain the illusion.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I ruined your life in exactly the same way you ruined mine. I worked so hard to crawl my way out of poverty, to get a decent career, to bag a rich fiancé, to live in a beautiful home and have nice things, and you – you fucked it all up for me!”

  My face must show a blank because my head is a blank.

  She continues, “I lost my job because of you. And I can’t get another job because of you.”

  “But… I thought you’d landed an incredible new job?”

  She shakes her head. “There is no new job! Because you ruined my professional reputation, and no one will give me a chance. I read the email you sent to Lisa about that job she was going to offer me. And the one you sent Madeline.”

  My heart beats quicker. Lisa and I used to work together in my first PR job. We’re still friends who go out for drinks every now and then. She emailed me off the record to ask about Cleo, as she’d applied for a job at Lisa’s new agency. I’d been honest: I hadn’t recommended Cleo. I didn’t realise Lisa was ready to offer Cleo the job. And Madeline had asked me if she should let her ‘network’ know if Cleo was a safe bet or not. I’d told her it was entirely up to her, but it was a risk. Cleo could do what she had done at MBW somewhere else – lie.

  Cleo’s voice rises. “And because I lost my job, my temper flared. My fiancé dumped me after a blazing row, and then I lost my home because he booted me out of his house. And with no salary or job prospects, my finances are screwed, and I can’t afford the repayments on my car or credit cards. I lost fucking everything! The only thing I didn’t lose is my family – because I haven’t spoken to those bastards for a very long time. But I wanted you to experience that pain, of having no one who believes you, no support network, no one to turn to, nothing left. And now you know how it feels. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

  Everything begins to slot into place, and I’m shocked. “So you’ve done all this because you’re upset with me because you lied?”

  Cleo explodes, her arms flailing, and yells, “You should’ve believed me, you should’ve had my back as my boss, my team leader. I slogged in that job for two years to keep you happy, and you betrayed me. You went snooping instead of leaving it be and found the CCTV. Yes, I know it was you. Madeline slipped up and accidentally told me.”

  Although I’m the one in the precarious position, I can’t let this slide. I have to explain myself. “Cleo, you shouted at and shoved a client at a work event and told me the client had hit you. I believed you completely and confronted the client, who then told me her side of events – the two of you were having a talk in the hallway about how poorly the event was going, and you lost your shit, screamed at her, and shoved her.”

  Cleo sneers.

  I continue, undeterred, “After hearing her story, I still believed you. But I know the manager of the hotel the event was in and asked her if there was any CCTV of that hallway – and there was. And it showed that you lied to me! You attacked the client. I couldn’t believe it.”

  She shouts something over me, but I push on, “And I persuaded the client not to press charges or make a complaint, and I made sure you had the chance to hand your notice in before you got sacked – because that looked better for you. I did what I could for you even though you’re a liar.”

  “Bullshit,” Cleo screams. “That morning my fiancé had falsely accused me of having an affair – I was stressed!”

  “And you lost your temper. That has nothing to do with me.”

  “It has everything to do with you. I told you that morning I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to manage that event on my own, and you told me it was just first-time nerves and, essentially, to get on with it.”

  This is true. I’d assumed that she was nervous managing her first client event without me there, but I also had full trust in her abilities that she could run it on her own. Up until that point she’d been an excellent account manager. I was trying to bolster her confidence; I didn’t suspect that there was an issue in her personal life. I thought she’d needed to hear a pep talk from me, and that’s what I’d given her. How wrong I’d been. How terribly I’d misjudged the situation.

  “I believed in you. I was trying to help you in your career,” I say.

  She snorts and shakes her head. “You fucked me over,
Lauren. So I’ve fucked you right back. And it’s been a pleasure to watch. But I’m not done.”

  Cleo’s entire demeanour flashes a fiery red, and I recoil from the rage in her eyes. What does she mean she’s not done? She’s so fixated on blaming me for her life falling apart that she could do anything. She’s a loose cannon. And she’s in control here. My guts churn.

  “I’m sorry, Cleo. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “It’s too late for your pathetic apologies. They don’t mean anything, anyway. You can’t turn back time and make things better, can you? No, the only way is forward.”

  Cleo looks over my head and says, “Rob, honey, come here.”

  Rob. I’d forgotten all about him. He appears from behind me and goes to Cleo. She puts her arm around him and tenderly kisses his cheek, making eye contact with him for a beat too long and stroking his neck.

  Oh, bollocks. Cleo is the girlfriend that Rob mentioned when I was last here. When I told him I could kiss him after he thought he’d found my presentation in the cloud. He looks at her doe-eyed and visibly melts at her touch and attention.

  I force my face to remain still, not to grimace at this overt PDA.

  Cleo keeps her arm around Rob’s shoulders, anchoring him to her, and looks at me.

  “Rob is very skilled at technology stuff,” she says as she squeezes him into her, “but did you know he grew up on this farm? When his parents both died, it was left to him. Others run it for him now, but he’s still a skilled butcher. You never forget the things you learn in childhood, do you?”

  Butcher?

  Cleo must see the horror in my face as she smirks.

  She gestures vaguely outside. “This is a livestock farm, and there’s lots of pigs. Pigs eat anything… including human remains.”

  She means to kill me. They mean to kill me. I squirm desperately, twisting and turning my hands in the duct tape, attempting to loosen and stretch it.

  Akshay, I scream in my mind, where the hell are you and the police? I need you to do whatever you’re planning to do RIGHT NOW.

  Cleo turns back to Rob, stuffs the journal under her arm and cups his face with her palms. He beams at her in a dizzy love haze.

  She kisses his lips and then the tip of his nose. “Honey, it’s time to go to the meat-processing room.”

  Rob’s face is one of bliss, but his mouth turns down at the edges.

  Cleo plants a flurry of little kisses on his cheek. “I love you so much, Rob. And if you love me, you’ll do this. It’ll be just like we talked about. There are only a few more things I need you to do for me, okay? Then this’ll all be over, and it’ll just be the two of us, forever.”

  The creases across his brow ease, but not completely.

  Cleo continues, “I love you so, so much, honey. We were meant to be together. I was meant to find you when I did. A work romance – who’da thought it. Our little secret. Madeline wouldn’t have approved. But we’re so happy, aren’t we? I moved in here when Lawrence kicked me out, and it’s been perfect. We’re perfect.”

  While this little show of affection plays out, I desperately attempt to manoeuvre my wrists free of the duct tape without drawing their attention. It’s stuck tight, but I have to get out of this chair. I have to escape.

  Rob nods, his face a picture of contentment once again. Cleo faces me.

  “You can’t just murder me,” I yell. “You’ll be caught.”

  She rolls her eyes and puts on a mocking, babyish voice. “Lauren Cohen committed suicide. What a tragedy. She went to the farmhouse of her work IT guy to ask him to help her to access her social media and bank accounts. She still maintained that she hadn’t posted any of that offensive content and that she’d been hacked. Rob was worried about her but told her he couldn’t think of any way to help. Distraught, Lauren decided to drown herself in the nearby Manchester Ship Canal with her car, phone, and laptop found nearby. And the phone had a hastily written suicide note on it. Boohoo.”

  Cleo pretends to snivel and wipe away tears.

  “The police will never believe it. They’ll know it’s a faked suicide. What about all the technology stuff?” But as soon as I say it, I know.

  “Rob has already deleted most of the tech trail that leads back to us. We just need to wipe your phone and laptop, which you so conveniently brought here for us. We’ll have a little bonfire of any remaining evidence in the fire pit out the back. Very normal for farms to have fires.”

  “But there’ll be no body!”

  “The ship canal is deep. Perhaps you weighed yourself down with rocks. Or, by the time they find your abandoned car, have already washed out to sea.”

  Petrified, I groan, redoubling my efforts to loosen my wrists.

  This sound of my fear pleases Cleo, and she gloats, “You always underestimated me. Never again.”

  There’s a noise from outside, and I stare at the door. Akshay! OMG, just in time.

  But Cleo laughs. “Expecting someone to come and save you? I have to say, we weren’t expecting the ex-fiancé to arrive with you. But he’s not coming to rescue you. He’s in the pigpen.”

  She pulls out a wallet from her pocket and holds it up to me. I recognise it immediately as Akshay’s.

  All hope drains from my being. Akshay.

  “What have you done to him? Is he dead?”

  Cleo taps the side of her nose.

  My heart feels as if it’s been punched out of my chest. Akshay… dead? “No. No. He’s done nothing to you. Nothing. How could you? You’ll pay for this. And you’ll have to include his murder in your suicide story. The police will never believe it.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Ha. I think you told me that. I’m quoting you.”

  She laughs, then quietens and rubs her chin, thinking, before continuing, “It’ll be easy. Everyone knows your mental health has been unbalanced these past few days. And tonight, in a moment of blind, passionate rage, you kill the man you love by bashing him over the head and chucking his body in the river. Then you jump and kill yourself. Akshay’s body is in the car when you come to visit Rob, but he doesn’t see it, of course. I’ll have to iron out the finer details, but that’ll be the gist of it. Convincing, right?”

  “You monster,” I say as tears stream down my face. “You’re insane.”

  Her face snarls up once again. “I’m sick of your irritating voice. Rob, put some tape over her mouth.”

  Rob flinches slightly at this direct command but heads towards the duct tape on the desk.

  He’s my only chance. And he might not see what she’s doing, but I do. Loud and clear. “Rob! She’s manipulating you. She doesn’t love you! She’s only with you to get to me – surely you must see that. She moved in here because she had nowhere else to go and is using you—”

  But my words are cut short as he puts tape over my mouth. I attempt to make eye contact, to appeal to him, but he doesn’t look at me. He snips the roll of duct tape with some scissors and puts both back on the desk.

  “Bring those,” Cleo says, and Rob picks up the tape and scissors again.

  Cleo walks to the fire and throws her journal in it. She watches as the flames lick up its sides and then flare up to consume it. The dancing fire lights up her face with a demonic glow.

  “Let’s go,” she says.

  30

  Rob moves towards me. I kick out at him, swivel the chair, and push it away with my feet – everything I can think of to prevent him getting near me.

  Cleo tuts. She holds the back of the chair so I can’t turn it while Rob shunts my arms over the top and lifts me off the chair. I struggle and try to catch his eye. But he’s determined not to look at me and to carry out Cleo’s wishes. He takes hold of my bicep and attempts to guide me towards the door. I let my legs go heavy and drop to the floor. There’s no way I’m walking to my doom.

  Cleo takes my other arm, and together they drag me across the floor of the office head first, my nose skimming the ground. At the doorway to the kitchen, I
latch my feet behind the doorframe, and we lurch to a halt. Cleo drops my arm and kicks my shins while Rob pulls me past. I attempt the same trick at the back door, but Cleo is ready for it this time. They lug me through the gravel in the pouring rain – my toes leaving a trail through the stones – and towards an outbuilding.

  To open the door, Cleo drops my arm. Now’s my chance. I spring as quickly as possible to my feet, taking Rob by surprise, and make a run for it.

  But Rob still has hold of my arm, and Cleo slices her leg out and under and trips me up. With my arms still tied behind my back, I overbalance immediately and fall heavily – and painfully – on my side. Sharp stones prick the skin on my face.

  “Stop trying to fight this,” Cleo says icily in my ear. “It’s inevitable.”

  They haul me inside on my knees, and Cleo flicks on the light switch. The overhead light flickers a few times and then blinks on.

  It’s a small, white, sterile room with no windows. It smells of cheap cleaning products and pine-scented bleach – laced with the distinct whiff of raw meat, which turns my stomach. Along the sides are waist-high silver units, one with a big wooden chopping block on top. At the back, silver hooks hang from the ceiling. At one end there’s a machine with a big round blade that I assume is for slicing big joints of meat. Opposite that is a deep sink. Near the door there’s one floor-to-ceiling shelving unit full of cleaning items and other things to process and package meat. And along the wall on the right is a magnetic strip with an entire display of different kinds of knives, including a large meat cleaver.