LEAH
I cannot believe my eyes.
She cannot be here... I thought I'd never see her again... but, as I blink and realise she still is there, I just start hyperventilating. On either sides of me, Lia and Jill - as well as Kady, who is sitting next to the Dutch - stare at me weirdly, as if I'd just lost my mind. She hasn't changed a bit: her arrogant facial expression, that looks like a resting bitch face, but very mean, is still the same even after all these years. The fuck, I thought you were in a psychiatric ward or travelling to latin America? Obviously, she immediately realizes I recognised her all at once, and when she winks at me, saying that she came here for me, to get me, I feel my jaw drop: I am fucking screwed.
As the teacher encourages her to introduce herself in front of the whole class, the brunette with slightly green eyes just says in a thick accent, directing her eyes right at me:
"Hi, my name's Katie McCabe, and I am joining this class to complete my credits from my program in the University of São Paulo in Brazil"
While the teacher urges her to take place, she sits in the front row, turning around from time to time, throwing murderous looks toward me.
Realising that just now, Jill asks me in a whisper:
"You know that chick?"
I nod my head, willing to throw up.
"Y-yeah, we were at school together at some point..." I say, before realising Lia had also tuned in the conversation, troubled. Sighing, I add: "Let's say she isn't my biggest fan..."
"Why? I mean, you're so cool, why wouldn't someone want to be your friend?" Jill insists, amused.
"Um... it's a long story" I just say, setting my jaw.
And it was indeed, no lie there - although I wasn't really the good guy in this story and Katie wasn't a one-dimension bully that would harass me because I was weird: it was so much more than that.
The class carried on until noon, as noises of chairs and tables are heard in the whole amphitheater, even seconds before the teacher stopped the class. After quickly staring at the font row, I sigh in relief when I see Katie was gone already - I know she wants to confront me, and it is totally deserved, but I am not ready just yet: I need to get my story straight, as I haven't told it for a long time now.
However, my relief is only temporary: when I walk out of class, Katie is right here waiting for me, her arms crossed against her chest. Making a quick sign to my friends that I would meet them afterwards - and Lia's suspicious eyes were just stressing me out even more - I walk toward her, and without a word she shows me the door that lead to a quiet garden outside of the building, so I follow her, feeling like I was going to my own execution or something.
Setting her jaw, Katie jumps right into it:
"It took me years to find you, Williamson: you're a hard woman to track down, it was as if you were hiding from something, am I right?"
"What are you doing here?" I ask, hissing nervously.
Katie has a cruel smirk.
"Let me get things straight : the intel isn't public just yet, but they found my father's body on Saint Ives' shores yesterday."
My eyes go wide, as I cannot contain my shock and nervousness: Katie starts smiling, knowing that she did just enough to make me lose my balance, as I start playing with my hands.
Think fast.
"My condolences, Katie, I-" I try to say, but she cuts me off immediately:
"I've been waiting for this moment - for someone to find his body - for four years, 'cause it means I'll finally be able to take you and your friends down for what you did."
Almost chocking on my saliva, I react by saying:
"What are you even talk-"
"I'll prove you and your stupid friends have something to do with his death, and then you'll finally go down and spend the rest of your life in jail" Katie angrily says, before walking away, knowing that she's won this round, and probably a few others.
As soon as she's out of my sight, I burst into tears, grabbing my phone and typing a text to the unknown number I received a message from the other day:
S.O.S. THE SNAKE HAS WOKEN UP AND IS WALKING THE STREETS OF LONDON.
***
Katie McCabe
***
INGRID
"Well, I did not expect you to change your mind so early, in complete honesty"
Of course she has to say something bitchy right away, I think to myself, trying to contain the bitchy response I had imagined.
Instead, I soften it down and only say:
"In complete honesty, I still think you're a bitch with no journalistic talent whatsoever, but if working with you is the only way the poor guy on the beach will receive any coverage at all, then I can rise above the fact that we will never have any common ground."
This makes the Swede smirk, as she takes a small evidence bag out of her pocket: it's the key she had found near the crime scene. I know her eyes are defiant, but I try to remain calm and collected.
Smiling because she knows she has won this round, Frida declares:
"The we should get right to it: this key's a 1856 model, and given to that old guy I came across earlier today, only one lock is that old...."
"The church's" I say, setting my jaw.
Well, shit, I think to myself, knowing very well that the small church of Saint Ives' had been closed to public ever since I was born, and it was strictly forbidden to even lay a foot inside of its walls.
Frowning, quite surprised that I'd know that already, the blonde asks:
"Yes... How did you know that?"
"I lived here until I turned 17, so I know quite a few things" I sassily let out, rolling my eyes at her. As she stares at me weirdly, I suddenly understand that she's been playing me, so I add: "But you knew that already, didn't you? That's why you insisted to work with me."
After sending me a content smile, she just says:
"You're not as dumb as you look, Engen. Let's go."
Quite reluctantly, I follow her up to the dilapidated church.
From the outside, the building seemed abandoned and falling appart, as the tiles of the front were falling down one by one, leaving huge marks on the ground at its feet, and while the doors were still intacts, they looked like they could be taken down with only a high kick with whoever's leg. Frida and I approach the entrance, looking around: not one inhabitant was to be seen, however we needed to be careful with MI6 agents walking around the small town. The key didn't, in fact, open the front door, so I had no choice but to force ourselves in by breaking the old lock, under Frida's surprised look - however, she doesn't comment and follows me inside, closing the door behind her.
We simultaneously turn the lights from our phones on, realising the first room we're in is totally empty: where the stands and other regular stuffs in churches would be, there was only void, some spiders and cracks on the ground.
As we both spot the small door under the stairs at the end of the room, we literally run toward it, as Frida opens it with the bloody key. There were stairs leading to an enlightened room, and when we exchange a look as to who would go in first, I immediately say:
"You and your heels should go, in case there's someone to kill down there"
"Ah-Ah, and she even has got a sense of humour" Frida sarcastically lets out, before removing her high heels and starting to go down the small stairs, her shoes inside her hands. As I am remaining on the edge of the stairs, she says: "You coming or are you just scared?"
Rolling my eyes - how could two grown-ups women be such kids with each other, you may ask - I follow her, lightening her steps with my phone.
Once we get to the secret room, we realise the latter has indeed been visited several times before our coming: long ropes with polaroid pictures were hanging here, as well as large screens with pictures of people pinned on them, as well as newspaper articles and personal notes. On the counter at the foot of the stairs, one of the keys and a purse were lying, and as soon as I got my hands on them and showed them to Frida, we knew we had discovered a secret that had been well kept for at least 4 years.
My world starts to fall apart, as I see the picture of Maria León, my high school best friend, hanging in one of the walls, as well as the article about a runaway driver. Pictures of her sister, Alexia Putellas, with a target drawn on it, were right next to Maria's, and I soon realise the keys were not here by chance.
Frowning, I just say:
"Car keys..."
Confused about my sudden change of behaviour - from bad bitch to scared little kitty - Frida just stares where I am pointing: indeed, in the set of keys, there were car keys of a 1966 Mustang - just like the one that collided with Maria's bike and killed her.
Gasping for air, I just run toward the waller, open it, and immediately see the name on the ID card: JASON MCCABE.
Just behind me, Frida whispers:
"Wait, does that mean..."
"That bastard is the guy that killed my friend many years ago... Putellas was right..." I whisper, tears rolling down my cheeks.
A long silence accompanies this statement.
Right after putting everything back into place and getting out of the church, we went straight to the MI6's agents to hand them the bloody key over and tell them all about our discovery. Given that we've broken many laws by not giving it to them sooner, they escorted us both to the local police station, where they ordered that we wait for their return. Frida and I therefore remain seated in utter silence - my throat was too sore to even think of speaking - waiting for the MI6 to come back, or for our bosses to come and free us.
While Frida goes to the bathroom at some point, I take my phone out and text the unknown number that textes me a few days ago, stating:
THE STONE HAS SINKED AGAIN, IT WORKED PERFECTLY, LAY LOW NOW.
Putting my phone back into my pocket, I wait as hours go on by so slowly until the MI6 free us and let us go.
In extremis, I think to myself, cracking a smile while on the train back to London.
***
ALEXIA
Setting my jaw, I just remain unbothered.
While Ana, Viv and Daan - yes, Danielle's nickname isn't Dani but Daan, because she's Dutch, as she corrected me the other day - were just sleeping on the couches after a very long ship, I had to seat across from a very attentive Shelina Zadorsky, who was determined to uncover my secrets.
As she is about to ask yet another question, her phone rings, as she responds:
"Zadorsky... uh-uh... got it, thank you." and, turning her attention toward me while hanging up the phone, she adds: "Today's your lucky day, Putellas: seems like your expertise is no longer required, and I gotta go."
"Thank you, special agent, that was very useful" I comment sassily, fed up with the lost minutes of sleep.
While on her way out, and without even turning around, she just says:
"Best believe this isn't over, Putellas: you're on my radar now."
As soon as she left, I grab my phone and see the text message from an unknown number, and sigh in relief: our plan worked.