The Pact

by Amy Heydenrych

  The bathroom was another story. Broken perfume bottles created a thick, heaving fog. The mirrors had been smashed into jagged shards. Nicole’s stiffening body was propped up unnaturally in the shower, her wet hair plastered over her face. Blood had dried in a clotted circle around her. The weapon lay close by, sharp side pointed obscenely up in the air. The smell knocked the old man off his feet.

  Isla stops reading the report for a moment. For her, the most chilling aspect of reading any police report is the stilted, matter-of-fact language of the witness statement. She can imagine the witness sitting there, shaking so hard that they cannot hold the pen and write the statement themselves. She can see the gentle face of Simon, guiding them through the process of living out their ordeal a second time, so soon after it happened. She sees herself, in her first year of college, sitting opposite the officer, trying her hardest to think in a straight line. These reports always state the violence so plainly, you cannot see the heartbreak pacing in circles around each word. She braces herself for the rest of it.

  The autopsy reveals the worst of it. Nicole died from repetitive blows to the head, first in the center of her forehead, then three more times on the sides of her head, cracking her skull and sinew. Isla sits on her hands to stop them shaking. Ironically, the first blow to the temple would have been the one that killed her, the rest were gratuitous, the actions of somebody who could not stop, the kind of insatiable violence that doesn’t know when to quit.

  She was found almost naked, with a kimono falling over her shoulders, but her clothes were not removed in the bathroom. They were found strewn in various places across her bedroom. Nicole slept with someone less than an hour before her death. The coroner implemented a rape kit, which revealed slight bruising that was open to interpretation. No trace of any date rape drugs was found in her system. Yet what about the signs that the sex had become rough? Was Nicole into this sort of thing? Did she frequent sex parties like the rumors say? Or was it rape? The evidence is inconclusive.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispers as she looks closer at the pictures of Nicole’s body. There is such indignity in the fact that the images even have to exist at all.

  Isla closes the document. Enough. Did Nicole know the man that slept with her that evening? Did she love him, and did he turn on her? Did Freya look so spooked the morning after because she saw something, or someone that she shouldn’t have? On looking at the physical evidence of the crime, Isla can’t believe that a female would have the physical strength, or stomach to pull off such a violent act.

  This is too much for first thing in the morning. But Isla can’t stand up. Her knees are weak, unstable. She’s light-headed, ears ringing. There’s something about this case that pulses under her skin. Ten years ago there was a report written with her name at the top, where all the evidence pointed to signs of rape. Yet still, she wasn’t believed at first.

  Isla has to find out the truth, she has to wring out the real story and emotion from the stagnant words before her. She needs to be the one to deliver the justice when Nicole can’t fight for it herself. For now, that means listening keenly to her every instinct, even when it doesn’t make sense. She considers her interest in Freya, and the images of the office party that took place the night of the murder, the way Jay’s arm slid around her waist. Maybe Freya looked so nervous because she was protecting someone close to her, someone like Jay.

  Chapter 30

  Freya

  Two months before the murder

  Freya’s done it, she’s really, really done it. She slams her hands on her desk victoriously and taps her fingers to the beat pumping through the office speakers. Her days here have felt tough recently, but now everything around her is infused with color. She, Nicole and Jay have been working together on fixing this code for weeks. Every time they tried a new solution, the whole system would crash. But last night an idea came to her in a dream. She grabbed the pad of clothing sketches next to her bed, and between the pencil swirls of Fifties skirts and blouses, she wrote the whole thing down.

  Usually she hates waking. Sleep is the only period where she is truly at peace. Every morning, as consciousness stirs within her, she grows nauseous at the thought of another day of being attacked by Nicole. But this morning, she pushed the feeling down. She rushed to work, her handmade jacket slung proudly across her shoulders, a bright new lipstick on, shimmering with invincibility. The hours at her computer felt so easy, passing like a speeding car, like the vista of a new, green countryside whizzing by.

  Now here she is, problem solved. It is a fix that changes everything. She can’t wait to see Jay and Julian’s faces when she tells them the news. It confirms she is truly meant to be here! Unfortunately, the first person she sees is Nicole. As her voice scrapes across her brain, Freya shrinks into herself.

  ‘Remember, we have a meeting at twelve to brainstorm a fix for the code we’re working on. You think you can make it on time?’

  Freya wracks her brain for the last time she was late. She is usually the first one in the room, but there is no point in arguing, no matter how much the accusation stings.

  Nicole can barely meet Freya’s eyes. She does, however, make a show of examining the organized chaos on Freya’s desk. Oh, how Freya has fantasized about this moment, where she can confidently put her in her place.

  ‘We won’t be needing that meeting, Nicole. I just sorted it out.’

  ‘Really? You just sorted it out, just like that? Like it’s a printer that just needed its toner cartridge changed?’ Her high-pitched laugh feels like the edge of a knife.

  ‘Yes, and I’ll show you exactly how I did it in the meeting later.’

  Nicole stands firm. ‘Show me now.’

  Freya has noticed before how strong Nicole is. She doesn’t dare say no.

  Step by step, she explains her working out, Nicole’s shadow looming over her and the heady stench of perfume catching in her throat.

  ‘No.’ Nicole purses her lips. ‘No, no that’s all wrong. Sorry, but you’re completely on the wrong track here. Good effort though.’

  Nicole is wrong, she must be! But she’s starting to not trust herself anymore. The stress has begun to get to her, she can feel it burning an ulcer in the corner of her mouth and thickening the fog around her thoughts. She used to be a perfectionist, but she’s weaker now, and capable of mistakes.

  Freya walks over to Virginie’s desk for some moral support.

  ‘Care for a hot chocolate break?’ said Freya.

  Virginie smiles. ‘Have I ever said no?’

  In the kitchen, Freya watches as Virginie piles spoon after spoon of hot chocolate powder into an oversized mug.

  ‘I’m no scientist, but the ratio of hot chocolate to water looks pretty steep there.’

  ‘Speak for yourself. In Paris, I would be drinking this out of a soup bowl. You Americans deny yourself the simplest joys.’ She laughs, then takes in Freya’s frowning face. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I thought I’d solved a massive coding problem today. It’s the one thing I’m really confident in, you know? I can get to the bottom of any coding issue, if I have the time and space to think about it. But Nicole just came past my desk and tore the whole thing apart.’

  Freya knows she is grinding her teeth, and bouncing frenziedly from foot to foot, but she can’t stop herself. Just talking about it releases a tide of anger.

  ‘You can’t let her get to you so much,’ Virginie says carefully. ‘You’re making yourself miserable.’

  ‘I know,’ she says hopelessly. ‘I’m trying to let it go, really I am. But every time I recover, she does something else. And nobody around me seems to care.’

  ‘Have you told Julian?’

  ‘How could I? It would sound so petty! This isn’t high school, and no action on its own seems so terrible. It’s the sum of all of it together.’

  Virginie scrapes the chocolate sediment from the bottom of her cup, her eyes meeting Freya’s. ‘I think he’s more understanding than you give him
credit for. He would do anything to help you grow your career, Freya. You just need to remember how valued you are. Back yourself!’

  She licks the spoon, and adds, ‘How about this. Let Nicole think she’s won, and then find your almost-lover and run the idea past him on your own? Focus on your success for now, and then explain your situation to Julian later. As you Americans say, it’s a win-win situation.’

  They share a smile. In the office, only Virginie knows that Freya and Jay are dating. Freya feels a little better, and slightly more hopeful. She runs through the solution one more time, just to make sure it’s absolutely perfect. This is the turning point she has been waiting for.

  *

  ‘Freya! Freya, come look at this!’

  Jay comes bounding towards her desk like a puppy. For all his cool, he can be irrepressibly geeky. Another reason she likes him.

  ‘What!’

  He grabs her hand and pulls her towards Julian’s office. He’s so thrilled, he’s forgotten that this kind of touch reveals the closeness between them.

  As they rush towards the glass door, Freya sees Nicole’s black hair and Julian speaking to her with a grin that lights up his whole face. The warmth in the exchange is a warning. Rage and despair beat between her ears. Her heart knows what has happened, even though she can’t move her tongue, or find the words to express what is happening just yet.

  Jay can’t stop smiling either. ‘Check it out, Freya! You know that problem we’ve been struggling with for weeks now? Nicole just breezed into my meeting with Julian this morning and solved it. Just like that!’

  Every muscle in Freya’s body tenses up as she raises her eyes to the screen projected in front of her. There is her solution to the problem, down to each calculation she ran to reach her answer.

  Nicole looks her in the eye for once, and smirks. Freya won’t give her the reaction she is looking for, the one roiling in her veins. She refuses to.

  ‘Isn’t it amazing?’ says Julian. ‘And Nicole says it just came to her this morning!’

  Can everyone hear her breathing? Every gulp of air Freya takes is so shallow, it seems like it is echoing through the whole room.

  She pushes past Julian, past Jay, past a gloating Nicole. ‘I’m so sorry, I – uh – I’m not feeling well at all.’

  It’s only 10.30 a.m. Usually, she wouldn’t have dreamed of bursting out through the office doors at such an early hour, but not today. The cold slaps her face. She doesn’t care that she left her coat inside. She runs, and runs, the icy air seizing her throat. As she breaks into a sprint, the wind whistles in her ears.

  How dare Nicole take that away from her? What kind of woman doesn’t want to see another succeed? What kind of woman deliberately sabotages one of her own?

  She reaches an alleyway, wheezing and crying. Her whole body is shaking. She raises a quivering fist to the wall. She is so angry she could punch right through it. What relief it would be to see the blood, to feel the crack of her bones. Maybe it would open her tight, pain-wracked body up and the rage would spew forth. Just before her skin makes contact with the brick she freezes, and stops herself. What is she becoming? When did she turn into this hopeless, volatile person?

  It ends now. She will be better. She will follow Virginie’s advice and rise above this. She will tell Julian the truth. There will be more opportunities to show him what she can do. Most importantly, she will show Nicole that it will take more than bullying to bring her down. If anything, this will make her rise, more driven and powerful than before.

  Chapter 31

  Isla

  Six days after the murder

  The blackness swarms around her. Isla bashes on the light switch, and fumbles for her asthma inhaler. Rushes to the bathroom and gulps down water straight from the tap. She has no memory of the incident, but the terror still courses through her veins. A familiar face morphs into a demon. A field of daisies transforms into a pit of writhing snakes.

  There’s no point in going back to sleep now. The fear will only linger and transform into another horrific dream. She pours herself a glass of water, quietly applauding herself for resisting a cup of coffee at this ungodly hour. But best to make use of the empty hours ahead of her. She turns on her laptop and begins to dig for information on Atypical. Maybe she will find out something that allows her convictions to make sense, or will discover another suspect she has not considered before.

  If the Internet is anything to go by, Atypical is close to godly. Simon’s word comes to mind: ‘untouchable’. Isla doesn’t have to understand the ins and outs of technology to know that they are doing something really important.

  The language used to describe Julian Cox in particular is cult-like.

  Her eyes scan a piece by a writer at Inc.com.

  Julian Cox: Tech maverick with heart

  by Janet Holmes

  It is barely 7 a.m., and Julian Cox is sitting fresh-faced and fervent at his desk.

  ‘The early hours of the morning are the most productive for me,’ he says. In his faded jeans and gray T-shirt, he looks more like a freelancer than the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech company.

  Inspirational quotes are displayed discreetly on the walls, and the soothing tones of a Deepak Chopra podcast play through his speakers. Julian is a visionary and a maverick with spiritual depth. It’s not all incense and big talk, however, because at barely thirty years old, he has rolled out some impressive projects.

  His hands wave in the air as he speaks. ‘Imagine you are a young woman going through her tenth hour of excruciating labor in a tiny village, which can only be accessed by a small dirt track. There are complications, and you start bleeding uncontrollably. Usually, this would be fatal, and your child would grow up without a mother, but we are now able to deliver medical supplies, and even blood, quickly and safely.’

  Atypical is single-handedly disrupting and democratizing access to healthcare, both in the US and beyond. Julian is also working on a tool that takes a person’s personal data and analyzes it to help improve their lifestyle. ‘We are working with companies to make healthy living attractive and fun.’

  Much of Atypical’s work focuses on empowering and serving women. At the mention of this, Julian softens.

  ‘Sometimes I get branded as a feminist ally, which is a great compliment, but I am simply doing the right thing.’

  Yet for all the good it is doing, Atypical cannot avoid the latest scandal, the murder of employee Nicole Whittington. Julian’s feelings on the matter are clear by his tortured expression. He excuses himself for a minute to collect his emotions.

  ‘Sorry, the grief is still very fresh. Every person who works for me is like an extended family member, so when something happens, it cuts to the bone.’ There is also the matter of the conversation around the murder, in which Nicole is labeled as mentally unstable and accused of attending the exclusive Silicon Valley sex parties.

  ‘These accusations are completely unfounded. People make up false rumors, they lie and attack the integrity of my staff and my business. This is a terrible situation, which will live with me for my whole life. I will never, ever get over this. The media focus has made me and my company feel personally victimized. Unfortunately, I fear that this story is being used as a political tool to stop us doing good.’

  If Julian Cox pulls this latest project off, he will be able to get blood transfusions and medical supplies to women dying in childbirth in rapid time, by using a sophisticated GPS system and real-time data. The world is a little bit in love with him, and it’s easy to see why.

  Every person hired at Atypical is equally perfect: qualified to the hilt, speaks multiple languages and is depressingly fresh-faced. Isla’s overtired mind spins hysterically. There is literally no dirt on any person in this company. Each one has an alibi for that night. Could the killer have come from outside its idyllic walls? Could Nicole’s murder have been a malicious attack on the company itself, as the article she just read implies?

  The masses on Tw
itter murmur that Nicole was unstable, sexually deviant, that she somehow attracted the kind of person that would slaughter her in her own home. Some theories make it sound as if it was a punishment meted out against her. An eye for an eye, a life for a life.

  She scans the shining faces on Atypical’s business website again. Her instincts are screaming, her mind in overdrive. Everybody is just too clean cut for comfort. Except . . . except for the whisperings of Nicole being spotted at those high-end sex parties. She doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who would don a pair of handcuffs and a short skirt if it didn’t boost her career. If Nicole was going to sex parties with the cream of the tech industry, her colleagues at Atypical might have been there too. And where there is illicit sex, there are illicit secrets.

  All Isla needs to do is get an invite.

  Chapter 32

  Freya

  Two months before the murder

  It wasn’t meant to be like this. She wasn’t meant to cry. But here she is with a running nose and wet cheeks, staring into Julian’s kind face. Visits to his office are usually reserved for serious matters, and she feels mortified that she has come to him with this.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m really so sorry. I didn’t realize this was getting to me so much. I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t think it was a real problem.’ She glances over at Nicole, the familiar feeling of dread stabbing her in the gut. She is at Jay’s desk, leaning too closely into him, her hand tapping the table too close to his hand. He doesn’t back away, but moves closer.

  Julian speaks slowly. ‘So to be clear, you would like to formally report that Nicole is bullying you. Can you describe some of her actions?’

  This is the part that Freya has been dreading. Just state every action as a fact, and be calm. She remembers what Virginie said to her, that she has a right to feel comfortable at work.

  ‘Well . . .’ the doubt creeps into her voice. ‘It’s the little things – she is always talking about me with her friends, and whispering behind my back. She takes any opportunity to criticize my work. In the company WhatsApp group she routinely ignores me or deliberately contradicts my comments.’ It sounds so petty, she flushes with embarrassment. Maybe she came here too soon, maybe she should have tried a bit harder to resolve it on her own. Will she be victimized even more, now that she has proven to be the type of girl who goes and tells the big boss?