by Amy Cross
No, I shouldn't think like that. We're over out little wobble.
“Victoria?” he calls out. “Did you -”
“Yes!” I reply, raising my voice a little until it echoes across the apartment. “Everything's perfect, darling!”
My stomach lurches briefly, as if it's trying to punch the underside of my liver.
“Everything's perfect,” I say again, catching sight of my ghostly reflection in the window. “Better than perfect.”
I wait, but now all I hear from the kitchen is the sound of him chopping something on the board. Probably the fish. I've never been a squeamish person, but tonight is somehow different. Tonight is the night I tell everyone what has been happening, the night I stop being a dumb little fool dangling at the end of somebody else's string. Tonight I'm going to tell the others that I know the truth. Because I do. Or part of it, anyway. It might have taken me a while, but I'm finally closing in on the cause of all my misery.
Turning back to the dining table, I stare at the empty seats, and for a moment I'm convinced that something is watching me from the shadows. Or maybe not from the shadows, maybe from one of the seats. I look at each of them in turn. There's no sign of anyone, but the sensation is growing and growing. Finally, just as I think I'm about to cry out, I hurry around the table and reach for the chandelier, pulling the cord and lighting the lights. Breathing a sigh of relief, I step back and see that the table is now very much brighter, and there's quite clearly nobody watching me.
In the kitchen, Jonathan has started to whistle while he chops more fish. I can hear blood splattering against the linoleum floor.
Chapter Two
“No, I was downstairs in the kitchen,” Elliot explains, smiling as he corrects Jonathan, “and the rest of you were all upstairs, or at least that's what I thought. And then I heard this huge crashing sound from the garden, and I found Nick out there hanging upside down from the trellis on the wall, somehow with his cigarette still dangling from his lips even though he'd passed out!”
Nick smiles, although he has his right hand raised slightly, as if he's missing a cigarette even now.
“And then you started snoring,” Elliot reminds him, “which was when we decided to haul you down. I know you had a habit of getting drunk at uni, but seriously, that night was one of your best. It was this perfect picture of debauchery, like you were in some kind of renaissance painting. God, it's a good job for all of us that camera-phones weren't so common back then. Think of the dirt we'd have on each other.”
Nick tries to defend himself, but at the same time Lynn makes a joke about his drinking habits. They both keep talking for a moment, speaking louder and faster, trying to verbally beat one another into submission. The same old back-and-forth that has been going on for years.
“Speaking of the best,” Sophie adds, holding her wine glass up, “perhaps we should raise a toast to our host.” She turns first to me, and then to Jonathan. “You two are such a pair of bloody show-offs with your swanky, expensive apartment!”
Everyone laughs as the glasses clink together. Everyone except me. I add my glass to the toast, of course, but all I can manage is a faint smile. I still feel sick to my stomach. I should just make my announcement and get it over with. After all, it's not like the timing matters much. I'm basically going to be dropping a bomb.
“Maybe we should have a second toast while we're at it,” Jonathan says, still holding his glass up. “To friendship. It's been ten years since we all first got to know one another. I suppose after ten years, we should just accept that we're stuck with each other now.”
Everyone laughs.
“But you know what I mean,” he adds. “I suppose it's true what they say. Be careful who you become friends with, because like it or lump it, you're usually stuck with them forever.”
Everyone raises their glasses again, clinking them beneath the lights of the chandelier.
“Perfect fish,” Elliot continues, glancing over at Jonathan. “I should've known you'd be such a great cook.” He turns to me. “Is there anything this man doesn't do well?”
Sophie nudges his arm. “We don't want to know what happens in their bedroom,” she points out with a grin. “How they have fun together in private is nobody's business but their own!” She glances at me. “Not that you were always so discreet about that sort of thing back in the day, Victoria.”
A ripple of laughter spreads around the table.
“Hell,” she continues, leaning back with a smile, “when I think about some of the stuff we used to get up to at uni, I shudder. We were all pretty wild, all six of us.” She pauses. “Sometimes I miss it. A lot. Is that sad?”
“To the wild days,” Elliot says, raising his glass.
Another toast, and the sound of six glasses clinking together seems – for a moment – almost too loud to bear. I take a sip, just to be polite.
“So much bloody shagging all the time,” Sophie adds, rolling her eyes. “Some of you were worse than others, of course.”
I shudder at her use of such crude language. That tone was perhaps acceptable when we were at university, but now we're adults and I feel we should try to act appropriately. Then again, I can't possibly raise an objection, not even here in my own home. The others would just use it as ammunition to keep insisting that I'm some kind of prude, and that's the last conversation I want to have right now. Instead, as they all start reminiscing about other drunken adventures from our university days, I feel as if I'm at breaking point. Either I make my little stand now, or I shut up for the rest of the evening.
“Do you remember when you thought that girl was going to put you in a snuff movie?” Elliot asks, turning to Nick. “Some really hot girl invited you to her house, and it was a pretty remote place, like a farm or something, and she lived with two guys. And you were convinced she was going to tie you down when you got there, and film your murder.”
Nick smiles. “God, yeah.”
“You didn't go, did you?” Lynn asks with her mouth full.
He nods. “I did.”
Her eyes widen with horror. “Why?”
“I couldn't think of an excuse not to,” he continues, prompting howls of laughter from the others. “I didn't want to be rude and -”
“I want to say something,” I stammer suddenly, interrupting them all before I really know that the words are going to leave my mouth.
The room falls silent.
I stand up.
They're all staring at me. Sophie's smiling nervously. Jonathan's worried.
Realizing that it's too late to back down now, I take my dessert spoon and tap my wine glass. My hands are trembling too much, however, and the spoon slips from my hand. I try to smile, but that just feels utterly unnatural and unconvincing. “I want to say something,” I tell them again, looking at each of their faces in turn. “I need to...”
My voice trails off.
Silence.
“Victoria,” Jonathan whispers finally, nudging my hand, “whatever this is about, maybe now's not the time to be -”
“I'm sure you all know about my difficulties over the past six year,” I continue, ignoring his attempt to silence me. I keep watching each of their faces one by one, looking for some hint of fear. This is the moment I've been waiting for, ever since the evening began. “I've tried to be discreet about the whole thing, but as you will hopefully understand, there has been a police matter that has been very draining. In fact, I would go so far as to say that my life over the past year has been a living hell. And that is no accident. Somebody has been -”
“Victoria!” Jonathan hisses, nudging me again. “Not now!”
“I have a stalker,” I say firmly. The words send a shiver up my spine, and I take a moment to steady my nerves. At the same time, I continue to watch everyone's faces, trying to assess their reactions. “I have a stalker,” I say again, feeling a flash of relief now that I'm not longer trying to hide from the obvious. “Someone who, over the past twelve months, has obtained a gre
at deal of crude pleasure from harassing me, tormenting me, and generally making my life...” I pause, searching for the right word. “Unbearable.”
“You'll have to excuse Victoria,” Jonathan tells the others with a nervous smile, “she's been though a lot lately and the stress is -”
“It's not stress!” I hiss.
“Victoria -”
“The police have been next to useless,” I continue, managing to hold back tears. “The identity of my tormentor has remained undetected, despite numerous threatening notes that have been delivered to this very apartment. Despite cruel photographs that have been posted online, as well as some rather vicious psychological tricks. Evidently this individual, whoever he or she might be, is rather good at covering his or her tracks.” I watch Elliot's face for a moment, then Sophie's, looking for some kind of tell. “Some of the photographs that were posted online are genuine and some are doctored. It doesn't really matter which are which, though, because they're all foul. There have also been claims made about me on public forums, and malicious rumors have been spread. Now, you all know that I'm not one to give in to intimidation but...”
I let my voice trail off for a moment as I glance over at Nick and Lynn. Lynn looks shocked, really horrified, while Nick appears to be deeply unimpressed.
“But when one is pursued through one's own life,” I add, finding it harder to keep from crying, “then one's very existence becomes rather awful. When one fears that one is being watched all the time, and studied for further signs of weakness, one finds it difficult to keep from becoming a nervous wreck. One finds it difficult to trust anybody. Even one's closest friends.”
Feeling as if I can't go on, I grab my wine glass and take a large gulp. It helps a little, and I feel my nerves steadying.
“Is this something to do with Laura?” Lynn asks. When nobody replies, she turns to Nick and then to Elliot. “Well? Is it?”
“Of course not!” Elliot mutters under his breath. “Don't be such an idiot.”
“Careful,” Nick says with a sigh. “If you say her name seven times, she might appear.”
“Victoria,” Sophie says calmly, reaching out and taking my hand, “we all know that you've been through a lot but -”
“Please let me finish,” I reply, pulling my hand away.
“But honey -”
“Please!” I set my glass down a little too firmly, causing a dash of wine to slosh over the brim and fall onto the white tablecloth. I feel a brief flash of irritation, before reminding myself that a small spillage is not of paramount importance right now.
I pause, letting the uncomfortable silence continue for several seconds.
“Victoria,” Jonathan says finally, “I really don't think it's appropriate to talk about this while we're all trying to -”
“Let me finish!” I hiss.
“But if -”
“Let me finish! For God's sake, for once, will you just let me finish?”
He opens his mouth to argue with me, but finally he turns and looks at the others. I can tell that I'm embarrassing him, but at the same time I know that this is something I must do. I've planned it for too long, and rehearsed it too many times in my head, to back down now.
“Despite the incompetence of the police,” I continue, “I have managed to narrow down the list of suspects. It hasn't been easy, nor has it been pleasant, but I had no choice once I realized that no-one else was going to help me. Based on the letters and other incriminating items, I have come up with a small group of people who must contain, among their number, the person responsible for all of this.”
“Alright, Miss Marple,” Nick mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.
Lynn nudges his arm and he rolls his eyes. Of course, it's hardly a surprise that he's the least sympathetic. He probably thinks I'm some kind of melodramatic charlatan.
I watch Nick and Lynn for a moment longer, before glancing again at Elliot and Sophie. Then I look at Jonathan, seeing the intense embarrassment on his face, and finally I look down at the table. My throat feels so utterly, impossibly dry. Still, I've come this far, so I can't back out now.
“It's one of you,” I say finally.
I wait.
Silence.
“It's one of you,” I say again, looking at each of them in turn. There are tears in my eyes now, but I refuse to let any of them run down my face. “I was heartbroken when I came to this realization, but based on all the available evidence, my stalker has to be one of you. One of my dear, dear friends, and I don't...”
My voice trails off for a moment, before I finally muster the strength to once again utter those four awful, soul-crushing words.
“It's one of you.”
No-one says anything.
This is more or less the reaction I was expecting. After all, what I'm saying is so awful, so shocking, but at the same time so utterly true. These people are my best friends in the whole world.
“I don't know which of you is responsible,” I tell them, forcing a smile as I look first at Nick, then at Lynn, then at each of the others in turn. “Honestly, I can't believe that any of you, any of my dear, close friends, would want to put me through such a horrific experience. I have agonized for weeks, trying to prove myself wrong, but... I'm not wrong.”
Again, no-one seems to know how to react. One of them is bluffing, of course, and simply pretending to be shocked. I just need to work out which of them is the monster who turned against me.
“Nicholas,” I continue finally, “Lynn, Sophie, Elliot...” I look down at my husband. “Jonathan.” I swallow hard. “I'm so sorry, but one of you has been stalking me for the past year, and I'm making this announcement now because I want the guilty party to know that I will uncover his or her identity, and I will ensure that justice is done. Just because the police are completely useless, don't think that you'll get away with it, because you won't. Whoever you are, I shall uncover the truth and I shall expose you!”
I wait for a reply, but evidently they're all too shocked to say a word. One of them, though... One of them is terrified that I'm already getting so close. One of them is sweating, and trying to come up with a new way to torment me. I look at each of them in turn, but so far I can't quite tell which of my friends is responsible.
Finally I sit down and take a sip of wine.
“Now, where were we?” I continue with a smile. “I'm sorry, I've quite forgotten what we were discussing before my little announcement. Please, I hope I haven't put a dampener on the evening.”
Chapter Three
I can hear Jonathan out there now in the lounge, speaking to the others in hushed tones. I can't make out the exact words he's using, but I can most certainly imagine the gist.
He's apologizing for my behavior.
Again.
Sitting alone on the end of the bed, I can't help wondering whether I made a mistake tonight. After all, we could have had yet another perfectly enjoyable dinner party if only I'd kept my mouth shut. At the same time, I know my tormentor was at the table tonight and I feel it's only fitting that I should let him or her know how close I am to the truth. If I had sat silently, smiling and playing the perfect hostess, I think I might have ended up losing my mind. As things stand, I have made it through the evening without shedding a single tear.
Suddenly I hear a faint creaking sound, and I look up just in time to see the door easing open.
“Hey,” Lynn says, knocking gently. “Are you... I...”
She pauses, as if she's not quite sure how to begin.
“I just wanted to see if you're okay,” she continues finally. She looks nervous, although in the circumstances that's probably not a sign of anything untoward. “Dinner has rather fallen apart. No-one's up for pudding, so I think we might all be leaving soon.”
“So I gathered,” I reply. “The tiramisu is wonderful, though. You should try some. Really, there's no need to fuss. I'm quite alright. In fact, I feel better than I've felt for a while.”
“That's hard to believe,” she says, stepping into the room and pushing the door shut.
Rustling voices can still be heard drifting through from the corridor. I'm sure Jonathan is doing a fine job of telling the others that I'm unstable, and letting them know that I'll soon get over my little wobble. Sometimes I think he assumes my every emotion is just some trivial little distraction from the more important things in life.
“I knew you'd had some trouble,” Lynn continues, coming over to the bed and sitting next to me. She lets out a faint groan, and it's clear that she's in pain. “I mean, we all did, but I think we thought... I mean, you hadn't mentioned it for a while so -”
“So you thought it had gone away?”
She hesitates, before nodding.
“Perhaps I should have posted about it on social media,” I continue, with a trace of bitterness in my voice, “or blogged about it. Then it would have seemed more real for everyone. After all, that's what we're supposed to do these days, isn't it? Share every thought that runs through our heads?”
She sighs.
“That wasn't intended as a dig against you,” I add. “I know blogging helps you deal with the cancer, I'm not criticizing that at all. I just...” Pausing, I try to work out exactly what I was trying to say. “I'm not a very sloppy person,” I continue finally. “You know that as well as anyone. I keep things contained, but that doesn't mean I don't feel them. In fact, it might even mean that I feel them more.”
We sit in silence for a moment.
“What you said at the table,” she continues finally, “about -”
“I'm certain.”
“But -”
“I have no doubt whatsoever.”
She pauses.
“Please don't be offended,” I continue, “but... I know that it's one of you. I don't want to believe it, I don't want to think that any of my dearest friends could have turned on me in such a way, but the evidence is quite clear. Only the five of you know enough about me to torture me in such a concise and detailed manner.”