“For Christ’s sake.” I glared at Agathi. “Happy now? Satisfied? Now will you tell this fucking moron it’s just a joke—?”

  Jason punched me again. This time, the blow caught the side of my head, knocking me off-balance. I stumbled, falling onto my hands and knees. Blood spurted from my nose onto the sandy stone floor.

  I gasped, trying to catch my breath. I had been thrown off-balance psychologically, as well as physically. I needed to adjust to this situation’s rapidly getting out of control. I could hear them talking above my head—and what I heard was unsettling, to say the least. They sounded weirdly excited, almost high.

  “Well,” said Jason. “Are we doing this? Yes or no?”

  “We have no choice,” said Kate. “He killed her. It’s justice.”

  “And what do we tell the police?”

  “The truth—Elliot shot Lana … then he shot himself.”

  They had temporarily lost their minds—and I didn’t believe for one second that they would actually go through with it. But despite reassuring myself, I was starting to feel scared. I had to get out of this.

  I pulled myself to my feet. I forced a smile, despite my aching jaw.

  “Bravo. Quite a performance, guys. You almost got me.… But this charade has gone on too long. Let me give you a tip. You mustn’t let the final act drag on forever—you lose your audience.”

  With that, I turned to go—

  And I heard a dull thud. Then felt a crippling, spreading pain in my lower back. Nikos had hit me from behind with the handle of the gun. I sank to my knees with a groan.

  “Hold him,” said Jason. “Don’t let him go.”

  Nikos grabbed my shoulders, holding me down, on my knees. I struggled to free myself.

  “Get the fuck off me! This is insane! I’ve done nothing wrong—”

  They surrounded me. I could hear them above my head, talking in whispers.

  “Justice?” said Jason.

  “Justice,” repeated Kate.

  Starting to panic, I squirmed, fighting to turn my head to Agathi. I appealed to her. “Why are you doing this? You proved your point, okay? I’m sorry—now stop!”

  But Agathi wouldn’t look at me. “Justice.” She translated the word into Greek for Nikos: “Dikaiosyni.”

  “Dikaiosyni.” Nikos nodded. “Justice.”

  Jason nodded at the gun in Kate’s hands. “He needs to be holding the gun. Give it to me.”

  “Here.” Kate handed it to him. “Take it.”

  “Let me go! Lana is alive—”

  I fought to get away, but Nikos held me there like a vise. I felt panic rising up inside me.

  Jason pressed the gun into my hand, keeping his hand over mine. He raised the gun to the side of my head. I could feel it digging deep into my temple.

  “Pull the trigger, Elliot,” he said. “This is your punishment. Pull the trigger.”

  I was fighting tears. “No, no—I didn’t do anything wrong. Please—”

  “Shh.” Jason was being weirdly gentle now, even tender. “Stop pretending now,” he whispered in my ear. “Do it. Pull the trigger.”

  “No—no—”

  “Pull the trigger, Elliot.”

  “No.” I was sobbing now. “Please … stop—”

  “Then I’ll do it.”

  “No,” said Kate. “I will.”

  Suddenly, I found myself staring into Kate’s eyes. They were huge, wild, terrifying.

  “This is for Lana,” she hissed.

  “No, no—”

  And then, in absolute terror, I started to scream.

  I was screaming for Lana, of course. I had no idea if she was out of earshot, but she had to hear me. She had to save me.

  “LANA! LANA!”

  I felt Kate’s fingers on the gun, slipping over mine—forcing my finger onto the trigger. I realized, with absolute certainty, that the sensation of Kate’s fingers on mine, the gun against my head, the wind against my face … were the last things I’d ever feel.

  “LAAANA—”

  Kate pushed my finger down on the trigger.

  “LAN—”

  My scream was cut short. I heard a click—and an enormous bang. Everything went dark.

  And my world disappeared.

  ACT V

  I know this is wrong. But stronger than my conscience is my fury.

  —EURIPIDES, Medea

  1

  Lana woke up in the dark.

  She wasn’t sure where she was—or what the time was. She felt groggy and confused.

  Her eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom, and she made out the shape of a large window, with its curtains drawn. Tinges of light were appearing around the edges, creeping in from outside.

  It’s morning, she thought. And I’m on Elliot’s couch.

  As she took in the debris surrounding her, from the carnage last night—the coffee table, strewn with empty bottles of wine, bottles of vodka, various glasses, loose marijuana buds, ashtrays overflowing with joints and cigarette ends—her memory returned. She had come over here late last night. The reason for her visit also came back to her—the discovery of Kate and Jason’s affair—and she was flooded with pain.

  Lana lay still for a moment. She felt so sad, weary, utterly broken. It took an effort to summon the strength to stand up. She managed to lean on the arm of the couch and pulled herself up. She got to her feet. Slightly unsteadily, she started gathering her things.

  Then, across the room, she saw the figure of a man—fast asleep, face down at the desk.

  It’s Elliot, she thought.

  She cautiously made her way through the wreckage. She stood above the desk. She watched me sleep for a moment.

  Memories of last night came back to her—and she remembered, when she needed a friend the most, when she was desperate, out of her depth … Elliot Chase was there—supporting her, holding her up, keeping her head above water.

  He is my rock, she thought. Without him I’d drown.

  Despite herself, Lana smiled suddenly—remembering that crazy plan of revenge we had concocted together, at the height of her lunacy.

  We got carried away. But we were carried away together—partners in crime. Partners.

  As she stood there, looking at me, she felt such love in that moment. It felt as though, in Lana’s mind, I were emerging from a mist—stepping out of a fog. She felt she was seeing me clearly for the first time.

  He looks just like a little kid.

  She studied my face, affectionately. She knew the face so well, but had never looked closely at it before.

  It was a pale face, weary looking. A sad face. Unloved.

  No. That’s not true, she thought. He is loved. I love him.

  And then, peering at me in the dim light, Lana experienced a life-changing moment of clarity. She understood that not only did she love me; but she had always loved me. Not with the mad passion that Jason inspired in her, perhaps; but with something quieter, more lasting—and deeper. A great love, a true love, born of mutual respect, and repeated acts of kindness.

  Here, at last, was a man on whom she could depend. A man she could trust. A man who would never leave her, or cheat on her, or lie to her. He would only give her what she needed most. He would give her companionship, kindness—and love.

  Lana felt a sudden urge to wake me up—to tell me how much she loved me.

  I’ll leave Jason, she was about to say. And you and I can be together, my love—and we can be happy. Forever and ever and—

  Lana reached out to touch my shoulder—but something made her stop.

  My notebook was on the desk, under my right hand.

  It was open, and its pages were covered with scribbled writing. It looked like a draft of a script, perhaps—or a scene from a play.

  One word jumped out at her: Lana.

  She peered at it more closely. Other words popped out at her—Kate … Jason … and gun.

  It had to be that mad idea from last night. Silly man, she thought, he must have begun writing it down, before he passed out. I’ll make him destroy it when he wakes up. Lana assumed that, like her, I would wake up sober, and wiser.

  She hesitated a moment—then curiosity got the better of her. Carefully, so as not to wake me up, she slid out the notebook from under my hand. She went and stood by the window. She held it up to the cracks of light and began to read.

  As she read the notebook, Lana frowned, confused. She didn’t understand what she was reading. It didn’t make sense. So she turned back a few pages. Then a few more … then she went all the way back to the first page—and read it from the beginning.

  As Lana stood there, she began to make sense of what she was looking at, and her fingers trembled. He teeth chattered. She felt out of control—she felt like screaming.

  Get out, howled the voice inside her, get out, get out, get out, get out.…

  She made a decision. She was about to stuff the notebook into her bag—but thought better of it. She replaced the open notebook on the desk, edging it under my fingers.

  Just as I was beginning to stir, Lana crept out of my flat.

  She left without making a sound.

  2

  It was early morning when Lana stumbled out of my building.

  The daylight felt overwhelming to her, blinding her, and she shielded her eyes from it, keeping her head low as she walked. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breathing coming thick and fast. She felt like her legs might give way. But she managed to keep going.

  She didn’t know where she was headed. All she knew was that she had to get as far away as possible from the words she had read, and the man who had written them.

  As she walked, she tried to make sense of what she had seen in the notebook. It felt horrendous—and too much to take in. Looking at those pages was like peering into the fractured mind of a madman; a glimpse into hell.

  At first, she’d had the disconcerting impression she had been reading her own diary: there was so much of her in it—it was full of her words, her ideas, her sayings, her observations about the world, even her dreams. All faithfully recorded—and written down in the first person, as if she herself were writing it. It felt like an acting exercise, almost—as if she were being studied, as if she were a character in a play, not a real person.

  Even worse, and more painful to read, was the long catalog of meetings between Jason and Kate, which went on for several pages. Each entry was neatly dated, its location noted, with a summary of what had taken place.

  There was a list titled Lana—with a column of possible clues to be planted in her house, to make her suspicious of Jason’s infidelity.

  Another list, Jason, sketched out a variety of alternative methods by which he might be disposed of. But that list had been crossed out. Evidently none of the proposed methods had proved satisfactory.

  Finally, in the notebook’s last pages, written, then rewritten, was a bizarre plot to drive Kate to murder Jason on the island. Even more disturbingly, it was written as a play—including dialogue and stage directions. Lana shuddered, thinking about it. She felt as if she, too, had gone mad. The last time she’d felt this kind of unreality was when she had discovered the earring.

  The earring—which, according to the notebook, had been planted for her to find. Was this possible? She struggled to reconcile the words she had read with the man who wrote them. A man she thought she knew—and loved.

  That’s what made it so painful—the love she had. This betrayal felt so profound, so visceral, it felt like a physical wound; a gaping hole. It couldn’t be true. Had her best friend really lied to her? Had he manipulated her; isolated her; schemed to end her marriage? And now, planned an actual murder?

  Lana knew she had to go to the police with this—right now, this second. She had no choice. Emboldened by this decision, she started walking faster. She would go straight to the police station, and she would tell them—

  Tell them what? About the scribbled rantings of a madman? Would she not also look crazy—turning up with garbled accusations of gaslighting, affairs, murder plots? Her pace slowed as she played it out in her mind. The story would get out, almost immediately—she’d be on the front page of every tabloid in the world tomorrow. Enough material was there to keep the papers busy for weeks, months. No, she couldn’t allow that—for Leo’s sake, as well as her own. Going to the police was not a possibility.

  Then what? What else could she do? She had no more options.

  Her footsteps faltered and came to a halt. She stood still, in the middle of the pavement. She didn’t know what to do, or where to go.

  The street wasn’t busy; it was too early. A handful of people walked past, mostly ignoring her; apart from an impatient man who sighed heavily. “Come on, love,” he said, pushing past her. “Get out of the bloody way.”

  This prompted Lana to move—to put one foot in front of the other and keep going. She didn’t know where to go, so she just kept walking.

  Eventually, she found herself in Euston. She wandered into the train station and, feeling tired, she sank down onto a bench. She was exhausted.

  This was the second brutal psychological assault she had endured in as many days. The first was the discovery of the affair between Jason and Kate—which had prompted an outpouring of emotion, tears, and hysteria. But Lana had used up all her tears—she had none left for this second betrayal. She felt unable to cry, or feel. She only felt weary, and confused. She was finding it hard even to think.

  Lana sat there, on the bench, for about an hour. Her head remained bowed as the station came to life around her. No one noticed her—she was invisible, another lost soul, ignored by the steady stream of commuters.

  Eventually, someone saw her. An old man who, like Lana, had nowhere to go. He shuffled close to her. He stank of booze.

  “Cheer up, sweetheart. Things can’t be that bad.” Then, peering more closely: “Say, you look familiar.… Don’t I know you?”

  Lana didn’t look up, didn’t reply, just kept shaking her head. Eventually, the old man gave up. He ambled off.

  Lana forced herself up. She walked out of the station, just as the pub across the road was opening its doors. She hesitated and considered going inside. But she decided against it. She didn’t need to get drunk. She needed her mind to be absolutely clear.

  As she walked past the pub, she found herself thinking about Barbara West.

  Suddenly Lana was flooded with the memories that she had worked so hard to forget. She recalled all the things Barbara had said to her about Elliot. That he was dangerous, that he was crazy. Lana had refused to believe her. She had insisted that Elliot was a good man, loving and kind.

  But she had been wrong. Barbara was telling the truth.

  Now, as Lana walked, she felt herself coming into focus. She found herself thinking more easily, with more fluidity. She knew her purpose now. She knew what must be done.

  She dreaded doing it, but she had no choice—she had to know the truth. So she walked all the way from Euston to Maida Vale. She went up to the front door of a Victorian terraced house in Little Venice. She stood on the doorstep, keeping her finger pressed on the buzzer—until there were angry footsteps in the hallway, and the door was thrown open by the owner, in a rage.

  “What the hell—?” Kate looked a fright. She had only recently got to sleep after a heavy night. Her hair was messy and her makeup smeared. Her anger evaporated when she saw it was Lana. “What are you doing here? What’s wrong?”

  Lana stared at her. She said the first thing that came into her head:

  “Are you fucking my husband?”

  Kate breathed in sharply, practically a gasp. Then, in the same breath, she let out a long, slow, audible sigh.

  “Oh, Jesus. Lana … it’s over. I ended it. I’m sorry … I’m so sorry.”

  This wasn’t much—but somehow this truthful exchange provided a tiny base, a stepping stone, from which to proceed. The truth liberated them—or at least opened the door a crack. Finally, the two women could talk honestly.

  Lana went inside and sat at Kate’s kitchen table. They sat there for hours and talked and cried. They were more honest with each other than they had been for years. All the misunderstandings, crossed wires, hurt feelings, lies, suspicions—they all came tumbling out. Kate confessed her feelings for Jason, there since the first day she met him. She buried her head in her hands and wept.

  “I loved him,” Kate said quietly. “And you took him from me, Lana. It hurt so much. I tried to let go, I tried to forget—but I couldn’t.”

  “So you tried to take him back? Is that it?”

  “I tried.” Kate shrugged. “He doesn’t want me. It’s you he wants.”

  “My money, you mean.”

  “I don’t know. I know that you and me—that’s real. That’s love. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I can try.” Lana smiled faintly.

  Perhaps this moving reconciliation isn’t that surprising—Lana and Kate were closer than ever now. They were united.

  After all, they had a common enemy now.

  Me.

  3

  Kate furiously chain-smoked cigarettes as she listened, incredulous, to Lana’s story.

  “Fucking hell,” she said, her eyes wide in amazement. “Elliot is evil.”

  “I know.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  Lana shrugged. “I don’t know. I can’t think. I can’t believe it’s happening.”

  “I can.” Kate laughed grimly. “Trust me.”

  Despite her initial astonishment, Kate found the news of my deception much easier to accept than Lana. Kate had had an instinctive mistrust of me for years. Now, at last, she felt vindicated—even triumphant—and justified in seeking retribution.

  “We cannot let that bastard get away with this,” Kate said as she stubbed out her cigarette. “We have to do something.”

  “We can’t go to the police, not with a story like this.”

  “No, I know. Honestly, I don’t know how seriously they’d take us. To understand how fucking sick this is, you need to know him. You need to know what a psychopath he is.”