Laura

by Amy Cross

  I have to stay the course. I have to be strong.

  A tear finally trickles down my cheek as I set a cup on the counter. I swear, it's the same tear that was lurking in my left eye all last night, waiting for its chance to break free. I quickly wipe it away, but another follows swiftly and now the floodgates seem to be opening. Frustrated by my own weakness, I turn away from the coffee pot and tilt my head back a little as I take a series of slow, deep breaths. Throughout this entire ordeal, I have told myself over and over again that I will not cry, that I refuse to break down and let someone turn me into a sobbing mess. Still, it takes a few seconds before I'm able to regain my composure, and I can still feel fresh tears budding in my eyes, waiting for my next weak moment. Which will come as surely as night follows day.

  Sometimes I think strong people are just the ones who wait until they're alone to cry. Maybe we're not strong at all. Maybe we're just too proud for our own good.

  Stopping suddenly, I feel as if I'm being watched. I turn and look toward the door, but of course there's no sign of anyone. Still, the sensation persists until it's overwhelming, and I feel absolutely certain that somewhere a pair of eyes is fixed on me. Not a camera, not some kind of trick, but an actual paid of eyes in the room right here with me. I turn and look all around, still seeing nothing, and after a moment the sensation fades as quickly as it manifested.

  But for those few seconds, it felt so real.

  Lost in my own thoughts, I barely even notice the sound of the buzzer in the hallway. In fact, I think perhaps it rings a couple of times before I really take note, and I feel rather unsettled as I head through to check the intercom system. I honestly don't remember the last time someone showed up at 9am and disturbed my morning routine. Frankly, a visitor at this juncture is most unwelcome.

  “Hello?” I say cautiously as I press the button. “Who is it?”

  ***

  “I'm really sorry for showing up like this so early,” Sophie says as she steps through into the hallway, “but...”

  Turning to me, she seems a little nervous. Scared, perhaps. Then again, I might be reading too much into her expression.

  “I think some things went unsaid last night,” she continues, “and I thought about calling you or texting you, but I figured it's best to get it all out face to face. You know what it's like when you just do things over the phone, there are so many ways for misunderstandings to arise and...”

  Again, her voice trails off.

  She's definitely nervous.

  I push the door shut before answering. I suppose I should have known that out of all our friends, Sophie is the one who would take the most direct approach. For as long as I've known her, she's been a no-nonsense kind of girl, and I've always respected and admired that side of her personality. Still, it's a surprise that she has shown up here to talk to me like this. The question is, has she come merely as a friend, or as an enemy who wishes to cover her tracks?

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Of course,” I tell her. “I anticipated that my little speech would ruffle a few feathers, so the general reaction wasn't a surprise. And of course Jonathan was never going to be happy about the whole thing.”

  “Ruffle a few feathers is an understatement,” she replies. “We all knew that stuff had been going on with you, Victoria, but to have it all get blurted out like that... It was kind of a shock. I guess it just made the whole thing come into focus a little more and...”

  She hesitates.

  “I mean,” she continues finally, “the way you said it, and the way you made it seem like it was focused on one of us, was a hell of a surprise. Victoria, I think we were all planning to ask you at some point last night how the situation was developing. We care about you, you must realize that, but we never expected you to come out with it like that. It's pretty shocking the way you just accused one of us of doing this to you.”

  “I imagine you and Elliot had something to talk about, at least, on your walk to the station.” Stepping past her, I head toward the kitchen. “I just put a fresh pot of coffee on. You must join me.”

  “We were kind of freaked out,” she explains as she follows me through. “Elliot especially. I think maybe he somehow hadn't quite realized how serious things were getting for you. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, Victoria. We all know that you're on the level, but... Are you really convinced that one of us is the bastard who's been harassing you for the past year?”

  “I'm afraid I am,” I reply, taking an extra mug from the cupboard.

  “And you even suspect Jonathan? Your own husband?”

  I spend a few seconds adjusting the machine, just to buy some time before answering.

  “I have to,” I tell her finally. “I can't let emotion get in the way. A logical analysis of the evidence led me to the conclusion that one of my dearest friends is responsible for the living hell I've endured. If I start bringing emotion into the equation, I shall immediately dismiss you all as suspects, and then I shall be back at square one.” I take a deep breath. “My statement last night was not delivered lightly. I thought about it a great deal, hoping to find another way.”

  “But the police -”

  “Have been abysmal,” I continue, interrupting her. “Really, they made me feel as if somehow I was the villain. There's simply no way I'm going back to dealing with those ignoramuses again.”

  “But -”

  “So that's enough of that,” I add, pouring us each a mug of coffee. “There's really not a great deal more to say about the matter. I have a plan in mind, a method by which I intend to identify the culprit.”

  “How are you going to do it?”

  “I'm afraid I can't really say.”

  “Okay. But what will you do once you know who it is?”

  I glance at her.

  “What will you do?” she asks again. “Say you figure it out tomorrow. If you're not going to the police, what are you going to do? Politely ask the person to stop?”

  I pause for a moment. “I shall handle the matter in some manner that I deem to be appropriate,” I say finally, heading over and handing her a mug of coffee. “My approach will rather depend upon the identity of the culprit. I'm certainly not looking forward to that moment, but...” I pause, before shrugging. “Shall we go through to the lounge? I'm afraid I never much enjoy loitering in the kitchen like this.”

  She doesn't say anything as we make our way to the next room. Clearly lost in thought, Sophie seems rather shocked, but then again I suppose that's exactly how she would act if she wanted to trick me. Even as she sits on a chair near the window, she seems to be more focused on the steam rising from her mug, rather than on the subject of our discussion. I hate viewing her as a potential suspect, but I have no choice.

  “You think I was wrong last night,” I say finally.

  “I didn't say that I -”

  “But you're thinking it. Please, Sophie, be honest with me. Right now, I value honesty more than anything else in this whole world.”

  “I'm just surprised. I mean, the six of us have been friends for a decade, Victoria. We know each other inside out, we've seen each other at our best and at our worst. We've been through things together. There's no way any of us would do something so awful to you.”

  “That's what I thought too.”

  “And it's kind of horrible to think that you'd suspect us.”

  “I agree.”

  “So maybe you're wrong.”

  I shake my head.

  “Do you have any proof that it's one of them?” she asks. “I mean... One of us?”

  “The evidence is very clear,” I reply. “It won't come as a surprise to you, Sophie, to learn that I don't have many friends outside of our little circle. I just never really felt the need to have a wide social group. The result of that...” I take a deep breath. “There aren't many people who know me well enough to cause me this degree of anguish,” I continue. “And the details, the little things mentioned in the messages, the sniping
criticisms and the accusations... It's quite clear that it has to be one of the people who came to dinner last night.”

  She pauses, before shaking her head.

  “You think I'm wrong?” I ask.

  “I think I know everyone well enough to know they'd never do this to you. Nick, Lynn, Elliot, Jonathan... They're all good people!”

  “I know,” I tell her. “I felt exactly the same until about a week ago. That's when I sat down with all the evidence right in front of me, and I forced myself to face the truth. I must admit, it was extremely difficult to accept that one of my closest friends might be responsible for my misery, but the truth can't be ignored. You'll see, you'll all see once...”

  My voice trails off as I contemplate the fact that this can only end in one way.

  “Once I unmask my stalker,” I continue, feeling a shiver pass through my chest, “and prove to the rest of you that I'm right. And I know that irreparable harm might be caused to our friendship by then, but I have no choice. I've spent the last year living in fear, and I can no longer tolerate such a life. You must see that I've been put in an impossible situation.”

  I wait for her to reply, but she seems lost for words. I don't blame her. If she's not the one who's responsible for my ordeal, she must be utterly horrified. I know that I'm putting my true friends through the wringer right now; the problem is, I don't know which of them are my true friends and which of them is conspiring against me. Until I know for sure, I have to treat them all the same way. Still, Sophie and I have always been close, and I feel awful that my actions are causing her to look so bereft.

  Perhaps I can test her.

  “I lied to you just now,” I say carefully. “I'm so sorry.”

  She stares at me. “What do you mean?” Her voice sounds weak, as if her throat is dry. Maybe she's nervous.

  “I do know what I'll do when I learn the full truth,” I explain, watching her face for any hint of fear. “I mean, when I figure out which of my friends is responsible for this. Perhaps I didn't want to admit it, but I know exactly what I'll do to them.”

  Again, I wait for her to say something, but all the color seems to have drained from her face.

  “And... what's that?” she asks.

  She sounds scared.

  I watch her carefully. There's a hint of concern stirring in my gut now. I tell myself that I'm wrong, that I'm jumping to conclusions, but that flickering sensation won't go away. Instead, it's digging at me, forcing me to confront an awful possibility. It can't be Sophie, it simply can't, and yet...

  “What are you going to do?” she continues, sounding as if she's close to tears. “When you find out who it is, Victoria... What are you going to do to them?”

  I open my mouth to tell her, but for a moment all I can manage is to keep watching her face. She definitely looks pale, but beyond that she also seems genuinely scared. Her bottom lip is almost trembling, and a moment later I realize that her hands are shaking a little as she holds her mug of coffee. In fact, the more I stare at her, the more I begin to pick up on a plethora of little tics and tells, as if I'm rapidly learning to read her body language with far greater precision. And everything about her right now seems to scream that she's guilty, that she's hiding something from me. It's as if the ugly truth is slowly emerging from beneath her pretty face, and some kind of animal instinct is leading me to the truth.

  “What are you going to do?” she asks again. “Tell me, Victoria. Please.”

  I hesitate, before realizing that I should try to trip her up. Or give her a chance to prove her innocence. Either way, I have to do something.

  “I -”

  Before I can get another word out, however, the coffee mug slips from my hands and falls, shattering against the floor. Stepping back as hot coffee spills onto my bare toes, I'm momentarily startled by the violence of the accident. I'm usually such a calm and collected person, and I honestly don't remember the last time I made such a clumsy mistake.

  “I should fetch a cloth,” I stammer, turning and hurrying to the kitchen.

  “Victoria?” she calls after me, sounding concerned. “Are you okay?”

  Once I'm in the kitchen, I take a moment to wipe my toes clean, and then I grab another cloth. My hands are shaking, but I know I must stay strong. Still, as I turn and head back to the lounge, I can't help pausing for a moment in the doorway and watching as Sophie starts picking up the mug's broken pieces. And slowly, a growing sense of realization starts creeping up my body, fumbling across my chest and onto my shoulders and then inching around my neck, wrapping its certainty around me until I can no longer ignore the truth.

  Suddenly she lets out a gasp, and I see that she's cut herself on one of the broken pieces of porcelain. I should rush to help her, but instead I simply stare for a moment as a bead of blood trickles down her hands. She glances at me and, as soon as our eyes meet, I see the truth laid bare.

  It's her.

  Sophie is the one who has been trying to destroy my life. I thought she was a dear, dear friend, but evidently I was wrong. And now all that's left is for me to fashion my revenge. I shall destroy her in return.

  Part Two

  SOPHIE

  Chapter Six

  “I dunno,” I mutter, while glancing over my shoulder and checking that no-one has noticed me talking on the phone. Fortunately, everyone else in the office is either too bored or too tired to care. “She got really weird after she dropped the cup, and I figured I should just get out of there. That was three days ago now.”

  “Victoria's starting to freak me out,” Elliot replies, and I can hear the sound of him typing. “Don't you think she might be...”

  His voice trails off.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I don't want to say it.”

  “Come on,” I reply with a faint smile. I look over toward my boss's door, just to make sure there's no sign of him. “You can tell me!”

  I hear a sigh.

  “Elliot!”

  “I'm just wondering if she's going a bit weird. More than a bit, actually. What if she's properly losing her mind?”

  I don't answer immediately. Instead, I continue to think back to that morning a few days ago when I showed up at Victoria and Jonathan's apartment. I wanted to talk to her about her wild accusations from the night before; instead, I ended up getting shepherded out pretty damn fast. It was like something suddenly spooked her, shortly after she'd dropped a coffee mug, and she couldn't get me out of there fast enough. Since then, she seems to have withdrawn completely, and she hasn't even returned my last few texts.

  “Maybe I'm just overreacting,” Elliot continues. “I mean, Victoria's always been... special.”

  I chuckle at that description. “Special and needy.”

  Elliot laughs.

  “She'd better not suspect me, though,” I add. “I mean, damn it, I would be so offended if that happened. Wouldn't you?”

  “Sure, but she's crazy, so I wouldn't take it personally.”

  “Still -”

  Suddenly my boss's office door starts to click open.

  “Gotta go,” I say quickly, cutting the call and setting my phone down as I turn back to my computer. I already have a client's account pulled up, so I start typing as I hear my boss making his way over. He's a pretty laid back guy, so I doubt he'd care even if he did know I was slacking, but I still don't want to rub it in his face. This new job is a life-saver and I really need to make a good impression. Especially if I'm going to be telling him in the next few weeks that I'm pregnant.

  “Hey, Sophie,” he says after a moment, nudging my shoulder. “Can I grab a word in my office?”

  I turn to him and smile my smiliest smile. “Hey Thor. What's up?”

  ***

  “I don't get it,” I stammer, staring in shock at Thor's computer screen. “I spoke to Anton from the client's office yesterday, and he said everything was fine. He sounded really pleased with all the work we've been doing on their account so far.”

>   “Well, they're not pleased now,” he replies, tapping at his keyboard to bring up another message. “We've had that account for two years, Sophie, but now they're ditching us and going with one of our biggest rivals. I just spent an hour trying to dissuade them on the phone, but they were adamant.”

  “Maybe I should call them,” I suggest. “Anton seemed -”

  “That would definitely not be a good idea.”

  “But when we met them in Amsterdam, they were -”

  “They specifically mentioned you as one of the reasons they were leaving us,” he adds.

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. “What?” I manage to ask finally. “That can't be right!”

  “I'm telling you this for your own benefit,” he continues, and I can see the concern in his eyes. “Apparently one of the problems the client had was that they felt you over-promised and under-delivered on their past couple of campaigns. I've got to admit, I'm surprised, but I want to be up-front with you about a potential problem. In fact...” He hesitates, as if he's feeling a little awkward. “Please don't take this the wrong way, Sophie, but I also spoke to Jacob Fenstrein yesterday, and he expressed some similar concerns. So I'm thinking that maybe we'll switch you away from client-facing account management to a different role that -”

  “You're demoting me?” I ask, my eyes widening with shock.

  “Think of it as a lateral shift in your responsibilities.”

  “But you hired me specifically as an account manager!”

  “I know.” He pauses, unable to hide his sense of disappointment. “Sometimes these things don't always work out, but let's give it another shot with you in a -”

  Suddenly I burst into tears. Not just a few little trickles, but a full-on sobbing fit. I try to hold back, but I quickly end up sitting forward and burying my face in my hands. Damn it, I've always been prone to crying when I'm in shock, but the pregnancy hormones have really been messing with my head over the past few weeks. I haven't told anyone that I'm expecting yet, since I'm still in the first trimester, but now I think maybe I should mention it to Thor. After all, apparently I've been screwing up client accounts without even realizing that I was doing anything wrong. Then again, I hate the idea of playing that card as an excuse.