The Pact

by Amy Heydenrych

  The attraction is instant. It has the pulsing raw urgency of brushing against someone on the dancefloor. The sweet champagne frothiness of trying to sit near to a crush in class. The fleeting mysticism of spotting a handsome stranger on the train reading her favorite book. The feeling surprises her, and she is reminded of her conversation with the girls that morning. Maybe she will meet someone special. Maybe something wonderful is going to happen.

  He smiles slowly, mischievously, and Freya tries to assume a poker face. Not many people get a shot at Atypical, now is not the time to be flirting. She tries desperately to avoid the corner where he is sitting, but her eyes are pulled there of their own accord. Whenever she finds herself looking at him, he is staring back at her.

  Finally, she finds out his name as it’s shouted across the room.

  ‘What do you think, Jay?’

  ‘You really want to know? Well, here it is—’

  He is sarcastic and opinionated, smart and self-deprecating. In a few sentences he confirms everything she suspected about him. He is an industry bad boy, the kind of guy who doesn’t give a shit that technology is the hot industry to be in right now. He is real, raw and, Freya concludes, here for the same reasons she is. It’s not about the glory, but about the work and the process. It’s about mastery, and using technology to do something real.

  After the meeting is over, he comes to find her, coffee in hand.

  ‘Hey, new girl, I thought I’d bring you a welcome cortado.’

  ‘That happens to be my favorite. How did you know?’ She wonders if Jay took the time to research her online like Julian did. Her Instagram feed is littered with images of fresh cortados positioned artfully next to her computer science assignments or sewing projects. Either way, it feels good not to lie to please a guy, or to act grateful for an unwanted gift. She’d started drinking cortados while working at the trattoria down by Fisherman’s Wharf and has had a thing for them ever since.

  ‘You just look like a woman with good taste. Nice tattoo by the way. Fractals are so romantic – a shape that has occurred in nature for centuries, yet expresses the core concept of coding.’

  ‘Are you trying to mansplain my own tattoo to me?’ She quips. Jay laughs in response.

  She looks down at the Sierpinski Triangles on the inside of her wrist, illustrated in the lightest ink. To anyone outside of this room the image would simply be a great tattoo, but in here, it is imbued with rich meaning and marks her as one of the pack. Sometimes, the most important desires are expressed as symbols. She’s impressed that he noticed.

  ‘Thanks!’

  She sways from one foot to the other, trying to think of something to say next. Just as she draws a breath to speak, a woman with a harsh black bob appears next to him and says crisply, ‘Hi there, welcome to Atypical. I’m Nicole.’

  She is all refined, smooth edges, expensive perfume and neat black nails. She’s the kind of woman Freya imagines becoming one day: successful, smart, petrifyingly beautiful. An imagined future flashes in her mind of the two of them rushing to Soul Cycle after work, going to art gallery openings and poetry readings, cooking in each other’s kitchens, toasting with tall champagne flutes to celebrate each other’s promotion at work. But Nicole seems distracted.

  ‘Sorry to break up the party, Jay, but we’re late.’ Her perfect hand clasps around his arm and lingers long enough for Freya to notice. She gets the feeling that she is making a nuisance of herself and it’s time to go.

  He rolls his eyes. ‘Duty calls, but speak soon. I look forward to getting to know you.’

  ‘Me too . . .’

  It could be nothing, but then why does the air feel hot with the stares of other women? Why does his face keep flitting across her mind? How did he instinctively know what coffee to get her, and notice her tattoo? Freya’s had her fair share of dating men where her imagination and optimism made up for everything they lacked. She should be careful. But a giddiness bubbles up in her, despite her reservations. Atypical was supposed to be about making her mark in her career, not about finding a guy. Maybe, just maybe, though, she has found both.

  Chapter 10

  Isla

  Two days after the murder

  Isla sits in the small meeting room that has been organized for her by Mathilda, who emphasizes that not all staff have given their statements to the police yet. Isla is to ask superficial questions only, questions that paint a picture of who Nicole was.

  She asks to see Freya first. Isla is sure she saw her in the street outside Nicole’s apartment the morning after the murder. She is certain she witnessed pure terror in her face. It makes her wonder if Freya knows something about the killer, and whether she is afraid they will strike again.

  Freya hurries into the room, closes the door behind her and flashes Isla a smile that illuminates her small, fine-boned face. She is younger than Isla realized. Eager to please.

  ‘Good morning, I’m Isla, a journalist from the San Francisco Times. I’m writing a piece on Nicole Whittington and am collecting some facts and anecdotes about her.’

  Freya nods. ‘That is a lovely thing to do.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m trying my best. Nicole seemed to spend a lot of her time at work, so I thought I would start here.’

  ‘She did,’ Freya states. ‘Work hard, that is. Nicole was an extremely hard worker.’

  ‘Did you know her well?’

  Freya hesitates, and focuses on the table between them.

  ‘We worked together on a few projects, but I wouldn’t say we were friends. I haven’t been here very long, and Nicole had other friends, like Melanie!’ She points vaguely to the open-plan space adjacent to the meeting room. ‘She’ll be able to tell you more personal details about Nicole.’

  She is speaking carefully, enunciating slowly, as if every word is critical. Isla has seen this before in interviews with highly intelligent people, especially lawyers. They understand the heft of each word they use, its potential to build or to cause damage. These kinds of interviews take much longer. But then again, it could be the careful framing of a story to mask the truth. Better get to the point.

  ‘If you weren’t friends, how would you describe your relationship? Any problems? You were on the same team, and you seem like a likeable person—’

  ‘Thank you, being very social doesn’t come naturally to me actually. I’m a stereotypical coding nerd.’

  ‘I think you’re selling yourself short. You’ve been a great help to me and I’ve only just met you. Are you sure you didn’t pick up anything about Nicole, especially since you worked together a lot?’

  Freya shakes her head, an edge of cynicism creeps into her voice. ‘This isn’t school anymore. Nobody wins prizes for Prom Queen or Miss Congeniality. We are all here to do a job, and Nicole and I both did it well. We just kept our work and personal lives separate. I’m sorry but I don’t think this is going to help your story.’ She gestures again. ‘Melanie can tell you everything you need to know.’

  Isla notices the bloom of pink beginning on Freya’s cheeks. Her inability to sit still. She is flustered.

  Isla leans forward, and hands Freya her business card. ‘Thank you for your time. If you think of anything else that could be relevant to my story, please feel free to give me a call. Anything at all, even if it seems inconsequential.’

  As she gets up to leave, her chair falls to the ground.

  ‘Shit. Sorry. I’m such a clutz.’

  ‘It’s OK. Freya, one more thing if I may?’

  She turns around to face her head-on, eyes flashing. ‘Sure.’

  Isla doesn’t expect much, but it’s worth a try to see her reaction alone. ‘You know, I recognized you and have been battling to place you, but I think I have an idea now. When I left Nicole’s apartment building, I almost ran my old Ford into a young woman wearing running gear. She had long, dark hair, just like yours. I’m almost sure it was you—’

  Freya answers quickly. Her voice is sure. ‘That’s just not possib
le. I live on the other side of town. And besides, I’m sure I would have remembered you too.’

  Yet there is something about the way that Freya looks over her shoulder as she walks to her desk, and something about the manner in which she digs frantically in her purse for her cellphone, scattering old till receipts all over the floor, that makes Isla wonder if Freya is telling the whole truth after all. Because, from where she is sitting, she looks like a woman with something to hide.

  Chapter 11

  Freya

  Three months before the murder

  It’s been a little over a week and Freya’s desk already feels like home. She sips her coffee out of her new mug, and scans through her emails. There is a new one from Jay.

  Our first meeting is in half an hour. Looking forward to it.

  She looks up from her screen, smiling, only to find he is watching her, waiting for a response.

  Me too . . .

  She replies, holding back adding a smiley face at the end. She wants to appear sophisticated, and professional. As much as she is looking forward to her first meeting with Jay, the sight of Nicole’s name on the meeting request puts a dampener on things. Amidst everyone’s warmth, Freya feels a disconcerting chill whenever she crosses Nicole’s path. Is it her imagination, or does Nicole sigh heavily whenever Freya enters a room? Is she being paranoid, or has Nicole not once returned her greeting?

  She smooths down the red skirt she finished sewing this morning and walks to one of the meeting pods, a conspicuous white egg that floats in the center of the office like an alien spaceship. For all her technical savvy, Freya has never been good with handles and switches and is already stressing about opening the damn thing. She tries to look casual as she runs her hands up and down the unyielding surface, getting more and more desperate.

  Nicole pushes past her and holds up her access card. The door slides open with a curt ‘beep’. Does Freya feel the slightest shove as Nicole leads the way inside? She takes a breath, and remembers the advice of her friends. Don’t overthink things. Allow yourself to be happy. Let things be good.

  They sit and wait for Jay, the final person expected at the meeting. This is the first project Freya is working on with him and she’s nervous. He could be the office player, waiting to hit on her at the first opportunity, or he could be a genuinely good guy, who wants to get to know her. It would be nice if she had a female friend at work with whom to pick apart such small, superficial things, but she still eats her lunch alone. She looks awkwardly over at Nicole, who has not lifted her eyes from her cellphone once since she arrived.

  Freya braces herself to speak. Nicole is probably just shy, as many people are.

  ‘I love that necklace you’re wearing,’ Freya says, pointing to the intricate silver piece resting against Nicole’s shirt.

  Silence. The only indication Nicole heard her is the quizzical rise of her eyebrow. Freya feels a little bruised, but tries again anyway.

  ‘Gosh, have you seen the weather report for today? I don’t remember when we last had rain forecast like this! It’s not normal in fall, even for San Francisco.’ It doesn’t make sense, and it’s a little weak. She waits patiently. Silly as it is, surely Nicole will recognize this as an effort to make conversation?

  She looks up from her phone briefly with flashing eyes. ‘Do you mind just keeping quiet until Jay arrives? I’m playing a game on my phone and I’m kinda at a critical point here.’

  Freya feels a clenching of irritation and shame in her chest. This is just blatantly rude! Nicole is throwing down a gauntlet, and Freya has no idea why.

  There is nothing to do but sit with the silence and embarrassment itching under her skin, making herself look busy by answering emails. Such a strong reaction feels alien to her. Freya has always been the kind of person people warm to.

  Once, at school, everyone in class was given a piece of paper to pass around. On it, they had to anonymously write a compliment for every person in the room. Freya was nervous. She hadn’t been at this particular school for long and was worried that her sheet of paper would return blank. There were some superficial comments, of course, such as ‘great hair’, and ‘good at math’, but right at the bottom, someone else had written ‘easy to make friends with’. Since then, she’d always hung on to that. It has been her way to survive and stand out in a world of constant change. That, and her skill in mathematics.

  Jay breezes in, holding a laptop, a bundle of sketches and a chewed pencil. Old school. She likes that. Ideas feel clearer in pen and paper before they make their way into code. It’s the way she brainstorms ideas too. He’s wearing a worn Arcade Fire band shirt today. She nods her head. Great taste in music, too.

  He sits across from them, oblivious to the tension souring the air around them. ‘Good morning! Sorry I’m a bit late – had to make up my cardio count for the day, so I took the stairs. This Apple Watch is starting to run my life!’ Jay’s eyes linger on Freya and his lips curve into a smile. ‘You look different today . . . Have you done something to your hair?’ He noticed! The night before she had practiced doing it in an elaborate halo braid whilst watching a YouTube tutorial. Today, she has threaded a scarlet ribbon – an offcut from the skirt she made – through her hair. She feels more herself than she has in a long time.

  ‘Thanks.’ She blushes. ‘I’m trying something different. To fit my new life here.’

  ‘And what a life that promises to be,’ he says, his voice as smooth as syrup.

  Nicole throws Jay a simmering look. It’s quick, but impossible to miss. ‘Perhaps we can try to begin this meeting without commenting on a woman’s appearance?’

  ‘Relax, Nicole, it’s just a harmless compliment. You have to agree that Freya looks lovely today. Really elegant.’ It is a word that makes her push her shoulders back and forget the skulking figure of Nicole darkening the room. Elegant.

  Freya soon gets lost in the work. She takes careful notes as Jay speaks, calculating and recalculating in her mind what the solution may be. She’s learned to seek refuge in the cool facts of numbers, and to focus on her ability to make sense of them. Experience has taught her that people can often be disappointing. This is the only thing that is real.

  ‘Coffee?’ Jay asks as they all gather their things.

  ‘Better not,’ Freya says. ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do.’ Jay needs to understand that she has been hired at Atypical for a reason and will prove herself, no matter what.

  He nods solemnly. ‘Respect! Don’t let me stand in your way. But can I ask you one question then?’

  ‘Sure . . .’

  ‘Can I have your number?’

  Freya laughs. It only took one week of her being here to hit on her. ‘You’re an executive director here, you could just get it from my employee file.’

  Jay’s eyes crinkle. ‘I could, but a gentleman prefers to ask.’

  ‘Well, then, a gentleman can have it with pleasure.’

  As he taps her number into his cellphone, Freya looks towards Nicole. For reasons she cannot name, she wants to impress her and win her over. But she has already huffed off, leaving a faint trail of Dior Poison in her wake.

  ‘Don’t worry about her,’ says Jay. ‘Nicole has gone through a lot lately, and her social skills were the first to bite the dust.’

  They turn together and watch her pace between the desks, a shimmering ball of energy. Clusters of people part for her, so powerful is the force around her. But there is a split second where she turns around and looks back. She stares at Freya with eyes so wounded that for a long time afterward, Freya battles to feel at ease again.

  Later, she receives an email from Nicole with no subject.

  God, you should see how infatuated the new girl is with Jay. It’s so embarrassing. She’s practically gagging for it, poor thing.

  It’s just an opinion, it shouldn’t matter. But her stomach twists all the same. Another email from Nicole, in quick succession. Freya winces as she opens it.

  Oh silly
me. I typed in the wrong address! Next time I will be more careful.

  Everything that matters is said between the lines. What Nicole really means is that next time, Freya should be more careful too.

  Chapter 12

  Freya

  Two days after the murder

  Freya watches Isla pack up her things and leave the meeting room. There is something endearing about her scuffed sneakers and army surplus coat, and her unruly hair that keeps escaping her ponytail. Freya watched how Isla held eye contact with each person she interviewed, and the way she nodded her head softly, making notes every now and then. She seemed attentive, and kind, the sort of person who knows what to do in times like these.

  She wanted to follow Isla out the door and say, free from prying eyes and prickling ears, ‘I lied. I did know Nicole. She made it impossible for me to forget her. Every minute of every day, I was aware of Nicole’s presence.’

  That’s why she played the prank on her. After months of ridicule, Freya wanted Nicole to feel what it was like when the joke was on her. But death was never meant to be the punch line, not at all. Someone saw what she did, what Jay did, and now fear crawls beneath her skin.

  A hand clutches her shoulder. Freya gasps.

  ‘It’s just me.’ Jay’s grip is unsettlingly tight, but his expression is concerned.

  ‘Did you say anything about our prank to the journalist?’

  ‘No, there wasn’t time. Did you?’

  Jay shook his head. ‘Definitely not. It’s not relevant to her story. And if the police question you, it’s not relevant to their investigation either. The murder was definitely the work of somebody with a real problem.’

  Freya nods. She and Jay are just a normal couple who have made a mistake. The murder is just a terrible coincidence.