The Sum of All Our Fears

“Today, let’s be honest, it’s with an unconcealed pride that I can say, the reign of that bitch, Kelly Royer comes finally to an end,” I was excited, gazing out the car window at the cityscape of Montpellier. “And speaking of Kelly, when I mean bitch, it’s barely an understatement!”

Heather shot me a cautious glance, her steel-grey eyes reflecting the determination we both harboured. I think I’ve never been as excited as I am today. Having her in jail restored my faith in the human race.

“It’s a significant step, indeed,” she had conceded, deftly handling the mid-morning traffic towards the Hotel de Police in the Rives-du-Lez. “But don’t be too optimistic yet, we still have a long road ahead and confessions to obtain.”

Nodding, I had allowed myself a fleeting moment of satisfaction. As I left home, Claire told me that if she could kiss the guys, she would. I’ve never been that enthusiastic, even if Kelly Royer was not a run-of-the-mill arrest. This former pimp had left a dark trail, tainting countless lives, not least that of my girlfriend, Claire. It was cooperative work, from Romeka who managed to identify where she was, and the guys led her to her downfall. She was the one who bore the brunt, her life all but destroyed by the vices she held in her grasp. The bitterness of the past was starting to ebb, replaced with the promise of justice. Now, getting her confession is part of my job, so I was like, Showtime! But I can guarantee her one thing: tonight, she will sleep in a bed full of bedbugs in a rotten prison. That’s my promise, my real honour. And since the CCTV isn’t working in the cell where she is, she will have the option makeup refresh with that.

The sun shone brightly over the medieval streets of Montpellier, bathing the ancient stonework of the city’s historic centre in a golden hue. Its warmth barely seeped through the thick tinted windows of our car, mirroring the paradox of our mission that day, a ray of hope piercing through the grim shadows of our duty. Our destination, the Hotel de Police, loomed ahead, where Heather and the guys were operating, the building where Kelly would start thinking about how to become a better woman. The journey from Saint-Clement-de-Riviere to this point had been quiet, yet the anticipation became palpable in the confined space of the car. I haven’t been as excited for a while as I was today. Even though she said that her nicking in Arles was a ticklish operation. Beauregard and Whittingham, along with the local police force, had pulled it off without a hitch. But nothing was certain until Kelly was in cuffs, the click of the metal making a symbolic full stop to her reign of terror. They managed to trick this lawyer, into having to see her, for a date, and they were right behind the door. Heather said that she surrendered with no major drama, and was transferred to Montpellier during the night, waiting for me, now, to proceed with her interrogation.

Anyway, as we pulled into the car park of the station, Heather broke the silence.

“Stay sharp, Charlotte, and remember, this is just the beginning.”

Nodding, I stepped out of the car, drawing a deep breath of the crisp morning air, and bracing myself for the grilling ahead. I think I was prepared for the confrontation. That day, Kelly Royer’s custody had begun, and so had our chance at piecing together the jigsaw she’d left behind. We have forty-eight hours before she is sent to prison, less if we manage to get a full confession beforehand. The investigation that had been running for donkey’s years was now teetering on a crucial juncture, and I felt a surge of anticipation and resolve. We were on the right path, justice for Claire, who has been her slave, justice for Clarisse, collateral damage in all that war, and for all those who have been their victims. Hoping to get the names of the other girls blackmailed, so other lives could be saved. Should this not be too late?

The Hotel de Police in Montpellier was an impressive structure, a potent symbol of the city’s dedication to law and order. Built into the urban fabric of the new area named Rives-du-Lez district, not long ago, its modern facade presented a striking contrast against the city’s historical architecture. The Court of Montpellier allowed us some space there the time we carried out the investigation that needed to be carried out here on the request of Interpol and the Justice Ministry of France, so these are our temporary offices, as our headquarters are in the Charing Cross precinct in London. Offices that, I believe, once we are done with that waste of biodegradable matter, I will manage to discover.

As we entered through the large glass doors, the scent of polished linoleum and brewing coffee filled our nostrils, a familiar aroma that was the quintessence of every police station I’d ever been in. The lobby was a wide, high-ceilinged space with off-white walls adorned with a collection of plaques and commendations that were carried out by the diligent work of its locales. An imposing desk, manned by uniformed officers, dominated the room, with lines of waiting chairs positioned strategically around the floor, having the French and the European flags standing behind them, as well as the portrait of the current president, François Hollande. To the right, there was a steady hum of activity emanating from the open-plan offices, while the left was dominated by a series of secured doors leading to the cell blocks and interrogation rooms. It was a quiet morning today, perhaps some people coming to complain about their phones stolen or other house robberies. For us, on the other hand, everything would take place on the third floor. We headed towards the lift, acknowledging the salutes and nods from the other officers with curt nods. The lift journey to the third floor was swift and silent, providing a brief respite before we confronted the monster that was Kelly Royer.

After a small ride on the lift, we reached our operation base on the top floor. The third floor was markedly different from the ground level. It was noisier, more subdued, and more official, with offices and desks everywhere, shared with the police. This was our temporary base of operations, and a sense of serious concentration remained present. A warren of makeshift offices filled the space, each crammed with computers, files, and a plethora of evidence connected to our investigation. Kelly was held in a custody space in a quiet room here, hidden behind the unassuming steel doors that lined the corridor. The knowledge of her presence injected an undercurrent of anticipation into the already tense atmosphere. Today marked a significant shift in our investigation, and every pair of eyes on that floor knew it. We just had three rooms as the rest was taken by the other officers here, and as we stood away from the lift, I saw Romeka already sat down in an open space, a room on the left, working on a laptop, having a cup of coffee next to her. She waved at me; I waved back.

We walked on, each step echoing down the hushed hallways, as the room was at the bottom of a corridor. Heather and I were dressed to reflect the seriousness of our mission that day. Heather, as always, wore her position of authority like a second skin. She wore a sharp, charcoal-grey trouser suit that matched the steel in her eyes. Her crisp, white shirt was buttoned to the collar, and she wore her badge of duty clipped to her belt next to a slender, utilitarian wristwatch. Her hair, cut in a no-nonsense bob, added to her air of stern command. Despite her austere attire, there was a subtle elegance about her that demanded respect.

For my part, I was dressed more casually but no less professionally, yet I took my time this morning to celebrate the occasion by choosing fancy stuff. Of course, Kelly being arrested, it’s something that I need to celebrate! A pair of black, well-fitted jeans paired with a navy blue blouse was my attire of choice for the day. The blouse, tucked neatly into my jeans, was buttoned up high, its collar peeking out from under a structured, tweed blazer. My hair was pulled back into a neat bun at the nape of my neck, which I unusually do, it’s not often that I tie up my hair. Hanging from my neck, on a silver chain, was my consultant identification card. I have dressed to impress, especially since Kelly has absolutely no clue that I work with the Police. Or perhaps, at this stage, she heard about that. Our shoes were practical and sturdy, suitable for the long hours we had to spend pacing the corridors of the Hotel de Police. Both of us wore minimal jewellery, if any, save for our identical wristwatches, a symbol of synchronicity between us.

As we walked towards Kelly’s cell, the stern expressions on our faces and the determined stride in our step seemed to mirror our attire. We were on a mission, bound by duty and driven by a quest for justice. Now, we need her confession, and I’m willing to do everything to reach this, as I want to make sure the blackmailer loses the battle here again. And Custody room 384, here we are.

As the heavy steel door of the cell swings open, pushed by Heather, leading the way, the first sight that meets us is my forever friend. Old friends anew. Seated at a stark, metal table, her silhouette stark against the dim light filtering in from a high window. Despite the austere surroundings, a kind of beguiling charm clings to her, a disconcerting testament to the incongruity of the situation.

She had been apprehended during a date, and her attire still bore the remnants of that occasion. Kelly wore a form-fitting crimson dress, its bold hue standing out against the drab, concrete walls of the cell. The dress clung to her tall, lithe frame, accentuating her curves in a way that seemed incongruously glamorous in this grim setting. The hem of her dress, slightly frayed and crumpled from the arrest, reached mid-thigh, hinting at her long, toned legs, unclothed except for the pair of strappy black heels she still wore. She had been stripped of any accessories at the time of her arrest, and her bare arms lay on the table, displaying a canvas of tattoos that I never saw she had. As I looked at her, I was like, if we send you to hell, that’s how you’re going to be dressed up. What a disgrace. A total lack of stylishness.

Her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, flowed down her back, seemingly untouched by her recent turmoil. It framed her face, falling across her forehead and partly obscuring one of her eyes, currently wide open with surprise as she noticed my presence alongside Heather. That’s something she’s good at, makeup and looking pretty, but unfortunately, there are no safeguards that hold back this tremendous monument of stupidity that she embodies daily. I couldn’t stop looking at her with contempt, and to process the strange dichotomy before me. The woman who sits in front of us has been the source of so much torment, yet she appears more like a chic socialite than a hardened criminal, and as we opened the door, she just smiled, provocative, as if wondering what the fuck she was doing here. I found myself momentarily blown up by this paradox, a disquieting cocktail of attraction in repulsion. But she’s the one wearing handcuffs, on top of her dress and heels, and now, she’s facing me, so, it will require more than dresses and heels to be convincing. Not one of those silly fools she easily manipulates. I’m a bit trickier than them.

The stark contrast between Kelly’s attire and the spartan cell she currently occupied only heightened this odd sense of disorientation. The cell itself was a study in austere functionality, devoid of any comforts, a bare, cold monument to justice, a place where she belonged so well, it’s crazy when it’s not in a bed with some random guy. A metal table and three chairs are the only furnishings, their practical design reinforcing the unyielding reality of Kelly’s current predicament. The lack of a mirror and the conspicuous presence of a CCTV camera serve as grim reminders of the surveillance state that now governs her life, even if we know the camera to be non-functional. Studying her demeanour, a strange sense of detachment invaded me. Here was a woman who had a hand in ruining my girlfriend’s life, yet all I could see was a woman out of her element, a creature of the night stranded under harsh, uncompromising daylight. My emotions swirled, between anger, pity, and a dash of grudging respect, as I prepared to confront her, in the name of justice and pursuit of closure.

“Kelly…” I immediately looked at her.

She seemed tired, despite trying her best to conceal it, and was also emotionally drained. Despite the weary circles under her eyes, her face was a study in composure, a trick she’d perfected over the years. Yet, the sight of me, badge proudly displayed, disrupted her façade, but seemed to leave her undaunted. The shift in her eyes was minute, but as a keen observer, I caught the glimmer of heightened anxiety. However, she was a survivor, and even to her surprise, she managed to cling to a shred of confidence. Her eyes flickered to the CCTV camera, an instinctive scan for surveillance, oblivious of its malfunction. Knowledge is power, and this made me smile. Everything can happen now, unfortunately.

I decided to test her further, choosing not to take the chair opposite her. Heather had given me the freedom to conduct this interaction as I pleased. And I wanted to be unorthodox, unpredictable. I chose to sit on the table, next to her, a move calculated to invade her personal space, to rattle her composed exterior. I wanted to make her as uncomfortable as possible, which would be a certain challenge. A morbid thought of medieval tortures passed my mind, giving way to a reimagining of the Salem Witch Trials. Today, it wasn’t only about physical intimidation but a psychological one, especially since her tiredness was evident. The remnants of her makeup were speaking for her previous evening, but there was something else, a fatigue that was more than physical. She’s been hiding for a few days, perhaps having understood that the battle started to be lost, now that she has let a better player in the game. I had disrupted her comfortable world and left her scrambling for control, and the stress of the situation was taking its toll.

As we locked eyes, a silent conversation took place. I knew she wouldn’t back down easily; she was a predator by nature. Hearing her name from my lips seemed to unsettle her further. As I moved to take my chosen seat on the table, her lips parted to respond, signalling the beginning of our psychological dance.

“Oh, fuck… Charlotte… you’re a fucking cop now!”

“Yeah, show respect for the authority, you stack of shit,” I started swearing at her. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not the one sat down here, wearing handcuffs, after I got disturbed during sex last night…”

“Yeah, by the way, I’m doing great, yeah, thanks for asking. I’ll tell you what? It’s good to see you today! I’m so happy to see you again, and this time, in my very city of Montpellier. It made my day this morning when Reed, here, told me that you got packed up last night!”

“Oh, screw you…”

“Yeah, screwing was pretty much the correct verb, in your case, from what I heard from several accounts. Depending on the point of view, obviously. Tell me, Kelly, how does it feel to be a genuine bitch? Do you like that thing?”

“Listen, Charlotte… we had you, that’s all that matters. We still have the pictures of you, you know. You and your beautiful girlfriend Claire Cobert. As far as I know, I don’t know on what porn website it crashed… as well as your address and your real name!”

“Yeah, it’s just a shame that we now moved out, because we were expecting your move. Just like plenty of other things…”

Perched on the cold, hard table, legs crossed, I could feel the pulsing undercurrent of a moment I had been yearning for. This was it. The dream I’d held on to, replayed and yearned for ever since I’d found her violating the sanctity of my girlfriend’s bed was about to materialise. The anticipation was so palpable, in a painful way. When her venomous threats laced with a photographic arsenal began, my pulse quickened, but not out of fear. It was a game of chess, and I saw her move. However, doubts swirled in my mind. She had always been the attack dog, but did she have the power to detonate this bomb of a secret on her own? She was just a pawn in a larger, more sinister game.

Deciding to match her move with my own, I began to play with her hair. Whether the CCTVs were working or not, I couldn’t care less, I’ll get what I want, with or without prying eyes to observe our little game. Today, her hair was free, wavy, cascading down her back, making it all the easier for me to slide my fingers through. And damn, she looked good. I had to admit, that despite everything, she was undeniably attractive. A relaxed smile tugged at the corners of my mouth after I let my final words hang in the tension-thick air between us. Deep within, a wave of satisfaction invaded me, dousing the wildfire of my anticipation. At last, I was exactly where I wanted to be.

For an instant, we looked at each other. I felt her breathing faster as I had my hand behind her head, and I was caressing her, making her feel that something was to happen now. She saw me smiling at her and whilst I knew what I was about to do, she was probably considering it, but deep down she was like, no, she’s not gonna do it. And when she expected that the least, I immediately grabbed forcefully a big strand of her hair, and banged her head against the table with all the strength I had in my arm. BOOM! The sound of her skull brutally hitting the iron plate of the table resonated in the room, making me even more satisfied.

Hearing this small bang was so satisfying, almost making me feel like empowered again. Just like yesterday, I needed to destroy something beautiful. The sound of her beautiful visage, carefully dressed for the occasion, violently hitting the table filled me with joy. I was feeling, butterflies in my stomach. Much, much better. My grandfather used to say that we say that violence does not solve anything only when we don’t strike hard enough. As I raised her head, because when I hit her against the table, I still had her strands of hair in my hand, I surprised myself by secretly biting my lips. And as the flashback of me entering Claire’s bedroom and catching her with Joris in there last August resurfaced in my mind, I started hearing her, confused… what, complaints, is it? Looks like complaints to my ears.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” she started screaming. “HAVE YOU GONE INSANE OR WHAT? I’VE GOT RIGHTS, YOU KNOW!”

“You’ve got the right to shut the fuck up and confess your crimes, that’s your right, indeed,” I coldly smiled at her. “Yep, I guarantee you this right, my love! It’s guaranteed!”

In that electrifying moment, I experienced an unparalleled sense of dominance, similar to the ecstatic rush a marathon runner feels upon crossing the finish line after gruelling miles; it was a sweet release of endorphins flooding the system. It was as if, when I struck Kelly, I hit an invisible trigger, sending an intoxicating thrill coursing through me, not unlike the high one gets from an adrenaline-fuelled roller coaster ride. Despite the absurdity of deriving such a sensation in such a circumstance, I acknowledged its presence, given my unusual psyche. I swung my gaze towards Heather who, despite holding her ground behind the table and leaning against the now closed door, seemed to question our mutual understanding amid her previous argument about rights. A silent nod answered her unspoken query; her approving smile conveyed more than words could, showing both pride and a sense of satisfaction for the psychological shackles I had managed to shatter, thereby lifting the shadows of Kelly’s inflicted traumas.

“Oh, oops, no, she fell on the stairs,” Heather looked at what was unfolding from a certain distance.

“I know. Fuck… you should have been more careful, Heather!” I turned myself to Heather.

“Oh, fiddlesticks, Kominsky, I will think about it, next time, I messed up, it’s a shame!”

And then I turned back to my new girlfriend, recovering from the first phase of our interrogation. I smiled at her, especially since she heard Heather’s response, I had the clearance that nothing could come and help her now. I think she’s done now, obviously, disregarding her ventures that occurred yesterday. Whilst I still had my hand holding her hair, just like I was holding Claire’s hair when she was throwing up on the toilets after crossing a line with alcohol, I was feeling invincible. Yeah, in some ways, I loved the moment. Now that she was terrorised and had lost confidence in a ray of hope that could come and save her from my strong desire for revenge over everything that happened, I looked back at her. She could no longer contain her fears, this sending a powerful message of joy to me. Empowered by all those feelings, I looked at her, with a very soft voice, and started saying:

“So, since you look like you are fully recovered from yesterday’s fun adventures with some high-end lawyer, give me something useful before I ruin your makeup any further!”

“Oh, screw you!”

“My love, that’s a wrong answer…”

Perhaps once was not enough for her. She needs more motivation. That’s something I think I can easily sort out.

So, I grabbed, faster than she could react, the back of her head, and grabbed a quite big amount of her hair, and I hit her again. I was realising that, since the table was cold and metallic and the plate managed to sustain my lightweight, impacting it at full strength and speed must be painful. I mean, I am more specialised in manipulating people to get things from them, but a bit of physics and fluid mechanics and kinetic energy would be also kind to review. You know, checking on whether Newton was right in his calculation of gravity, we could almost measure it. As I raised her head again, she moaned, again, but now she’d been hit twice on this very same table, her head started to blush as a reaction to the impact and her beautiful red lips started to get redder… like her lipstick was leaking. But her nose wasn’t bleeding, yet, which was good, I managed to cause her some pain, but no physical evidence. Now, she was more exhausted.

“Fuck, Charlotte! I told you I’ve got rights!”

“Rights, what rights are you talking about? Last time I checked, we were still in France, here! Okay, that was probably ten years ago, but still… I don’t think it changed; you know!”

“I’ve got a lawyer!”

“The guy from yesterday? Oh, my love, I heard that he called in sick today because he had some stuff to do with his wife, repenting himself for his sins since he… or whatever story, to be honest, I don’t care about your lawyer, I really couldn’t care less right now, you know!”

“I’m sorry about her… I am sorry!”

“Sorry about who?”

“It’s okay, it’s all forgiven. You know what? You’re forgiven. I forgave you at the very moment we placed her in the vault yesterday!”

Now that she invoked this, my fury got badly unleashed. I immediately placed my hand once again over her hand, and in the space of a few seconds, I banged it against the table one last time. She was almost letting herself be punched, it was so easy! I believe that, passed a certain stage, I don’t care about apologies anymore, saying sorry has become completely meaningless, and her empathy is the very last thing I need right now. Even, human empathy in general, I don’t give a damn. What I want is results, now more than ever. So, I don’t care if I have to break her nose or cause brain trauma, I will do it if I need to, but she will speak. No matter what and how, she will speak, even if I have to kill her or torture her for hours. Now that my sister is no more, and she left my girlfriend barely clinging on to life with her new mental health, I have plenty of time:

“Hum, Charlotte, go easy on her… Don’t forget that we need her alive, and… look, her nose is bleeding!”

“Yeah, well, you can have her alive AND in pain, no? I learned pain was making people far more productive. So, Kelly, now focus, and tell me, for the third time, before I start getting upset. Who the fuck is behind my sister’s death, my girlfriend turned into a sex slave and my assassination attempt yesterday?”

“This is torture… it’s illegal, you’re breaking the law!” She started crying.

Undeniably, Kelly was shattered; the manifestation of pain in her eyes was clear as her nose began to bleed copiously, genuine evidence of the physical strain I had exerted. A fleeting thought about the availability of medical assistance passed through my mind, yet the idea of administering first aid seemed almost farcical and far-fetched. Her face was a canvas of desperation, marred by rivulets of crimson that ran down her chin and gave her lips a horrifying shade. To most, it would be a repulsive sight; for me, it was a satisfying illustration of my successful intimidation. As my hand moved again towards the wavy locks cascading down her back, she crumbled under the weight of the unspoken threat, a feeling I found mind-altering. Holding her hair firmly, I pulled back just enough to make her wince, evidence of my landslide dominance. At that moment, her voice emerged, frail and trembling, uttering the confession I had longed to hear.

“No, no, Cha, listen… I don’t know shit about your sister’s murder, but I know that Joris was after you… I don’t know the reason why he was after you, but he wanted you, it became an obsession.”

“Of course, I was sure you would say it’s Joris now, denying your accountability in that. What a pussy you are. But turns out that Joris didn’t help, and since you’re in pain and I am considering breaking you either a leg or an arm,” I became more and more threatening.

“No, Charlotte, don’t do that…” she whispered.

“Why? We’re having so much fun, together! We can’t stop this here, can we?”

Fascinatingly, as her confession tumbled out, she nodded, an insolent smile playing on her lips even as she held my gaze. The sight of her, her head jerked back by my hand, her nose bleeding, was paradoxically enticing. There she was, defiant in her pain, almost as if the discomfort was not sufficient, craving for more. This sight, this bizarre desire for more despite her evident suffering, sparked within me an indescribable feeling…

So, this time, out of strength and fury, perhaps the fastest way I could go, I banged her head one more time, but this time, it was so loud that I pulled her head back to keep her conscious myself. Indeed, this was a turning point: Kelly, previously indomitable, was now yielding entirely. I’ve never seen her like that, it’s the first time. I intensified my grip on her hair, hoisting her head upward, a harsh action intended to keep her tethered to consciousness, making her understand that now, although she may deny her accountability for what she did, she will still respond, even if I have to cross the line for that. But I realised I may have crossed a threshold of severity. She was on the precipice of unconsciousness, her eyes fluttering in a struggle to remain open, yet the steady rise and fall of her chest was evidence of her lingering awareness. By directing her gaze into the blinding light, I ensured her lucidity was maintained: a harsh, yet effective method.

However, I was acutely aware that this could be our final engagement of this nature. Should she persist in her stubborn silence, I would be compelled to resort to more extreme measures of persuasion: the thought of fracturing a limb seemed a potential course of action. Inspiration would surely dictate my next move. The common wisdom that pain keeps one alert was a principle I was willing, and indeed almost eager, to employ.

“Charlotte,” Heather wanted to come as a safeguard, “take it easy!”

“Yeah, it’s the last thing. Does she need her legs to go the court?” I looked at Heather.

“Please…” she started begging in tears. “Please stop…”

“Yes, she needs her legs, but on the other hand,” she gave me a wink that indicated she’d defend me, whilst walking towards us and putting her two hands on the table, looking at Kelly. “If you need help for breaking one of hers, they said that she needs at least one of them, she can still walk with a cane to drag her belongings to her cell when she’ll be in prison. It’s just gonna be a bit harder, but I’m sure she can do it. She’s young… now, Charlotte, your call: the left, or the right leg?”

“I don’t know, Heather. Which one would be easier for you?”

“No, no, please!” Kelly begged and cried.

“SO, TALK!” I violently screamed at her.

“I swear, we don’t know anything! I don’t know anything! Joris and I are just pawns in all this mess! We just receive orders from people!”

“Orders from whom?”

“I told you I don’t know!” She started crying. “We were just instructed to target Claire to reach you, but we have no idea for what reason. This guy… he’s dealing with a huge network! It’s… we are just pawns in this situation! It was back in January, we have no idea why you, but he wanted you, and I knew this would be a perilous game!”

“Who’s part of the network?”

“Claire Cobert, whom you saved, but there’s also Elodie Blanchard, Margaux Dubois, Céline Moreau and Aurélie Girard, they were all in our cluster, but in different schools in Paris. I’ll give you all the details. Sophie was part of it too, I mean before she…”

“How did you become part of it?”

“It’s been three years ago when my mother met Joris because she had business to deal with him. He was a rotten cop, from the beginning, I never wanted that! I just… I just tried to manipulate him to save my arse, believe me or not! Joris knows more than he will tell, I swear! But he’s been trained, he knows that if he talks, he’s dead!”

“Can you confirm that you were managing the group?”

“No… I wasn’t.”

The sight of Kelly in tears was particularly revealing, especially considering her sociopathic tendencies. She was akin to me in many ways, possessing an admirable level of self-control. However, her present state suggested we had reached a critical juncture, a tipping point in her resistance. At this juncture, her overwhelming fatigue and fear were enough to induce a more cooperative, talkative state. There was no need to push her further. Yet, her persistent denial of involvement in the group’s leadership was pale, given the evidence that suggested otherwise. Turning to Heather, I tried to bluff one last time:

“Okay, Heather, you decide, her leg, or her arm?”

“I was more thinking about dentistry,” Heather had a broad smile. “I was told it was an art in Egypt during antiquity! And I believe this is something we can find out!”

“NO, NO,” she started panicking. “I swear, please, listen to me… Joris was the one dealing with this, I was just in charge of placing you with our customers, that’s how it worked, I swear! But he oversaw it, he just gave me a bit more responsibilities!”

“See? After all, I wasn’t feeling like putting my hands in your mouth, God knows what STD I could accidentally catch,” I looked at her. “Now… The final question, and stay focused, because that’s the most important one… my sister. What can you tell us about her murder?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know, all I know is that you put yourself in a shit show, Charlotte!”

“Who is blackmailing Claire and me and all the girls in this network?”

“I have no idea, I swear. These are powerful people! And they’ve got resources everywhere, they know everything about everyone.”

“Oh boy,” I looked at her, after a deep exhale, “I’m losing patience…”

“I swear, Charlotte, I swear, you’ll have to believe me on that one.”

“Who’s the fuck is this blackmailer?”

“Charlotte, for fuck’s sake, open your eyes! Claire trapped you because she was instructed to do so on your birthday night. Joris knew you would be hard to catch, but he wanted to be sure you had your guard lying low because he knew you would immediately turn suspicious. We knew about all the mess that was to come!”

“Right, so, let’s consider that Joris is the one behind all that, okay! What do you know about him and his whereabouts, you’ve been the one he trusted the most in this network, he must have shared some secrets with you, right?”

“Never,” she was now saying the truth. “You’ve been a target for at least a year, and he said that it was by attacking Claire that he would reach out to you. So that’s why we trapped Claire and forced her to break up with you, so we knew that you’d do anything to get her back since you’re in love with her. It was all about playing foul with you.”

“Son of a bitch,” I was appalled.

“Everything was set up for you to fall into the trap, and Claire was instructed to do that. But that, you certainly already know. The thing is, I have no idea why Joris has targeted you, but there’s something.”

“Has he ever mentioned something about why he was after me?”

“Nope. He just repeatedly said your name, that you were on someone’s list, God knows for what. He just said that in the end, he wanted you to die. I knew your reputation before I started hanging out with Claire, and I knew you were a tough cookie, you wouldn’t let a battle be fought without losing it. And I told that to Joris but his obsession about you remained.”

“And why you didn’t say a word to me?”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t have the opportunity. Remember what he told you? If you say something, he’s going to destroy your life. Well, turns out that he did the same to me, and even though I tried to get more responsibility, trying to obtain his confidence, the thing remained. He kept blackmailing me.”

Her words began to weave a story that echoed the picture Claire had previously painted, resonating within the cavernous expanse of my mind. A painful realisation nevertheless blew me up: I had been the unsuspecting prey in an elaborate charade, tricked at every turn. Yet, her admission didn’t fully illuminate the identity of the mastermind behind this scheme; it merely offered a sliver of clarity in a vast, enveloping murkiness. And knowing that Kelly and Joris were chess pieces, manipulated and positioned according to the puppeteer’s whims. Perhaps Kelly was a knight or a bishop, more valuable than a mere pawn, yet still a piece in the grand scheme of the game. This hint of understanding was crucial, yet it didn’t fill the vast void of unknowns, and we were still dancing on the precipice of an abyss, the chasm of unknowns threatening to swallow us whole until we could forge concrete connections.

My grip, once unyielding, loosened from the nape of her neck in an abrupt motion. She flinched slightly, feeling her release, her body seemingly expecting another harsh tug. But there was none. The relief that she experienced was almost palpable, the tension draining from her body as if a tightly coiled spring had been suddenly released. The ordeal was over, for now. They’re after me, I don’t know for what, but they’re after me. Yet, there was no triumphant satisfaction, no victorious gleam in my eyes. Instead, a sharp, sardonic laugh escaped my lips, piercing the heavy silence that had cloaked the room. The sound was hollow and echoed off the cold, stark walls, a single note of derision in the cacophony of emotions we were both experiencing. The look I bestowed upon her then, as the laughter faded, carried a silent promise: the game was far from over. I just looked at her and said: