“What do you mean, things will get really bad, really soon?” I ask, my words feeling disjointed, like I’m listening to a voice recording of myself. But before Neil can answer me, there’s a car engine sound from outside.
We both turn to the study window. Deborah.
“Damn it,” Neil mutters, getting up from his chair. “You have to go.”
“What, now?”
“Now.”
A thought hits me. “You don’t want Deborah to know?”
Neil’s already out of his chair and standing by the study door, motioning me out. I walk towards him, keep talking. “I mean, you don’t want her to know that I know.”
“No,” he says. “It’ll complicate things.”
I can hear Deborah’s footsteps outside the front door as I whisper, “But it’s already complicated.”
Neil puts his large hand on my shoulder and propels me through the door. He locks it behind us and walks into the kitchen. I trail behind him, and as Deborah’s keys sound in the front door, he turns to face me from across the island table, a bead of sweat glistening on his forehead. “She doesn’t know a lot. Let’s keep it that way, right?”
“But—”
“Later,” Neil rasps, right as Deborah walks in. I open the fridge door and hide my face behind it.
“I thought I heard some voices,” Deborah says, sounding cheery as she throws her keys down on the island.
“You’re back early,” Neil says, his demeanour suddenly friendly. Warm, even.
I pull my head out of the fridge. “Good day?”
Deborah looks appraisingly at me, then at Neil, her lips curving faintly upwards. “I thought I’d drop by for lunch. It’s been a slow day at the office.”
“We don’t have much in the fridge,” Neil says. “I haven’t gone to the shops yet.”
Deborah waves a hand. “Oh, that’s okay, I’m sure we can whip something together.”
Deborah walks towards the fridge, and I move out of her way, standing next to Neil at the island. She squats down next to the freezer. “Let’s see … what about these?”
She holds up a couple of boxes of frozen pizzas. “Dr Oetker. Always a solid choice. We can just put these in the oven.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
“Sure,” Neil adds.
Deborah raises an eyebrow, and for a moment I wonder if she senses this new energy in the house. Can she tell something is different? That I have a tornado of questions swirling around in my head?
How are you okay with a stranger living in your house?
Where’s the real Richard now?
I think of that phone argument I walked in on a week ago, when she was fighting with Richard. Was that her real husband—or ex-husband—she was talking to? When she told me about Richard, she painted a picture of a liar and a cheat, but I couldn’t make the connection between that Richard and the one who locked himself in his study all the time.
Now, knowing that Neil is only pretending to be her ex-husband, things are making a bit more sense.
But only a bit.
Deborah takes the pizzas out of the boxes and puts them in the oven. As she wipes her hands on a cloth, I get a whiff of her perfume. I wonder—why all this pretending? Doesn’t she get tired of playing the part of someone else?
But isn’t that exactly what I’m doing with InCheck?
“Do you have more meetings today?” Neil asks her.
Thank God he asked. I thought of doing the same, but it might have sounded suspicious. The sooner she leaves the house, the sooner I can get answers from Neil. It’s weird standing around like this and acting like everything’s normal, when it clearly isn’t.
Deborah shrugs. “One at five. With that contractor I was telling you about.”
“Right,” Neil says. “Here’s hoping he’s less of a twat today.”
She lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”
It’s strange how they act around each other. From this vantage point, I can’t tell who’s a better actor. Neil, the taciturn fake husband who has these bursts of affection for his fake wife. Or Deborah, the talker, seemingly comfortable in any situation. I think of her drunken moments over the last few weeks. How she’s kept up the facade all this time.
Why do this?
According to Neil, Deborah doesn’t know much about the investigation. She offered him a place to stay when he came here. She must know about Lisa, but how much does she know about me? Neil must have told her something, because she was the one who called me for my interview.
Plus, Greg spoke to me too, so there must be multiple people involved here. People who know more than I do about this whole thing. And yet Neil doesn’t want me to say anything to Deborah because—why? It’ll complicate things? Wouldn’t it be better if we all worked together on solving this? On clearing up this misunderstanding?
I need answers, and soon.
The three of us stand around the island and eat, like we’re all too scared to sit down and have a proper conversation. It’s impossible to not sense something is wrong. But none of us says anything.
“I’m going upstairs for a bit,” I say. “I’ll see you later.”
As I climb the stairs to the first floor landing, my ears are pricked up. Will Neil tell her that I know?
But there’s silence. And when Deborah starts talking about the weather, I curse and head to my room. I lie down on the bed, hands shielding my face. Fragments of information circling above me like vultures. InCheck and Alice. Richard and Neil. Rachel and Lisa. I shake my head to reset and start with what I know for sure.
Rachel is Lisa, and Lisa is dead.
Richard is Neil, and he’s investigating her death.
And somehow—and I’ve still got no clue—I could be involved. Because I’m Alice from InCheck. And according to Neil, the last call Lisa had before she died was with me. But how could that be sufficient reason for bringing me all the way here and investigating me?
The last few months spin through my head, the chats and phone calls. Rachel was one of my first clients. She was lost. Had her own demons following her, just like I had. That period was a blur, the edges scrubbed away by the countless bottles of wine. I remember the blackouts, the ones I can thankfully still count on my fingers, throbbing reminders of the time right before I got sober.
And luckily I did. If I were still a drunk now, how would I manage this mess?
I look towards the dresser on the opposite side of the room and think of the might-be camera. Neil said there wasn’t one. Maybe I was just being paranoid, picking up on the energy in the house. Because technically, I was being watched. Maybe not through a creepy camera, but by an investigator. A might-be investigator.
I log into InCheck, wilfully ignoring the text from Fred as I scroll down to Alice’s chats. My eyes scan the screen for Rachel’s name, but it’s not there. Removed. I want to hurl my phone against the wall. It’s the app’s policy, I remind myself. Every three months, messages get removed automatically. And if an account has been deactivated, they get removed immediately.
Which is what must have happened with Rachel.
During my first few weeks of sobriety, I took inventory of my life, cleansing my system of the booze, but also going through my previous messages on InCheck. I remember thinking it was strange that Rachel’s account wasn’t on the app anymore, and that my messages to her no longer went through.
I had brushed it off as just another app drop-off. It happened all the time, didn’t it? So what could Neil have found that incriminates me?
I picture the InCheck transcripts in the study. The chats all there, in the open. But was there something that I missed when I was going over them? And what about the phone calls with Rachel? The ones Neil needs my help to piece together?
The sound of a car engine brings me out of my trance. I jump up and open my bedroom door.
Silence.
I rush down the stairs and there’s Neil, still standing at the kitchen island. I look around the room, making sure Deborah is nowhere in sight.
“She’s gone,” Neil says.
“So what now?”
He takes a breath. “You have a class to teach right now, don’t you?”
I gape at him. “You’re joking, right?”
“No.”
I think of Greg, how he conducted my fake interview, how he’s been avoiding me ever since I came here.
“The people at the academy know, right?” I say more than ask. “They know I was brought here to be investigated?”
Neil shakes his head. “They only know that you’re part of some investigation. That’s all.”
“So the whole town is basically in on it,” I say, sound like a child, but I don’t care. I feel taken advantage of by these people, by Neil.
“Look, we’ll continue all of this when you come back,” he says. “We’ll have time before Deb comes home. It’s just important that you keep up the illusion of normalcy. I don’t want anyone knowing more than they should before we have a clear direction.”
“How much do they know?”
“Very little,” he says. “As far as they know, I work for the police, and everything needs to be kept strictly confidential. And they’re just cooperating. They might think I’ve brought you here to discuss a cross-continental case. No one was ever told that you are the suspect.”
“But they might think I’m a suspect.”
He shrugs. “They might.”
Heat rushes to my face. I want to leave, to get on the next plane and leave Neil and his investigation behind. Even if it’s a bad idea, there’s technically nothing holding me here.
And yet Lisa’s face pops into my mind. I connect her smile to Rachel’s voice. Something tells me to stay. If not for me, for her. To close what should have been closed months ago.
“Fine,” I tell Neil. “I’ll be back in two hours.”
“Good.”
As I leave the front door, I open my phone and check the message from Fred on InCheck.
Call tonight?
I type fast, but as I click Send a thought hits me. Neil said he could report me to the authorities. Maybe that’s why he’s so confident around me, because he knows I won’t leave. Because he knows I won’t risk him reporting me.
I think of that Instagram message I received weeks ago. I know you’re a fraud, Alice.
Could that have been Neil?
The message was unsettling then, like someone was watching me from a window. But things are different now. They feel scarier now that there’s an actual human being who knows about me and InCheck.
I scan Fred’s message again, and feel an indescribable sadness sweep over me. Glancing out at the trees up on the hilltops, everything feels like a prison.
I walk, each step away from the house feeling like a relief. My eyes scan for the hooded man. Lisa’s fiancé. Weirdly, I feel closer to him now, because he’s not the only one being watched. Neil said that when he arrived, he looked into the fiancé’s alibi, and it checked out.
I shake the thoughts loose from my head. There’s too much to consider right now. In a few minutes, I need to somehow teach a class. Or watch as Greg teaches and help if he needs me to.
To look like I’m okay, when I’m a hot mess.
If I think about it, I’ve been a mess all along. Acting like a real counsellor. I made—and continue to make—that choice every day. In truth, I deserve all the consequences I get. But if I go down for this, which could happen, what happens to Fred and Susana? After we’ve made so much progress? Will they be told that I wasn’t the Alice they had trusted their deepest secrets with?
“You look like shit,” Greg says when I enter the classroom. I feel like punching his freckled face, but then he grins. “I mean, you look tired.”
And you look like a liar, I want to say, but don’t.
I sigh and nod, sinking into a chair and gathering my notes. He hovers beside me and I turn. “What’s up?”
“I spoke to Charlotte,” he says, eyebrows raised. “We could grab some beers tomorrow. Like you suggested.”
I cock my head to the side. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he says, suddenly looking unsure. “You mentioned it, right? Something about team building?”
I nod slowly, but inside my head is spinning. Why would they be up for drinks now, all of a sudden? If they know I’m part of an investigation, and suspect I’m to blame in all of this, wouldn’t they try to steer clear of me, like they’ve been doing for the past few weeks?
Maybe they can’t help it. Maybe they’re curious and want to know more.
I force a smile. “Sure, let’s do that.”
In the back of my mind, I’m assessing the options. By tomorrow, I could either be in a bar with them, or in a holding cell somewhere. It’s all up in the air. Plus, if we do go out for drinks, I’ll need to explain why I don’t drink. And honestly, a drink right now sounds pretty good. Just what I need to take the edge off. But I won’t do it.
“Cool,” Greg says. “I’ll let Charlotte know.”
He grabs his books and makes for the door. As he’s about to step out, an idea hits me.
“Hey, Greg?”
He turns. “Hmm?”
“Is there any update on my work visa?”
There wouldn’t be, of course. Neil told me it was all nonsense. I’m just interested to see how he’ll react.
Greg’s eyes widen a fraction, and a red flush spreads across his neck. “Uh, I don’t think so. I’ll have to check with Charlotte.”
He’s out of the room before I can respond. I sink back in my chair and let out a breath. This whole thing might be far from over, but at least seeing that look on Greg’s face—the panic—was pretty amusing.