I remember finding a folded note tucked inside the top drawer of my desk: He knows. Run.
Evelyn Carter, could you have a look at the catalogue cards in the third drawer? It seems the students have tangled everything again, said the library director, Angela Peters, pushing her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. And please, dont stay until midnight tonight. Youve been working far too many hours lately.
Right, Ms. Peters, Ill get to it, Evelyn replied, barely lifting her eyes from the computer screen. Just after I finish the electronic inventory of the new arrivals.
Angela shook her head and drifted out of the cataloguing department, the click of her heels echoing on the aged parquet. The town library occupied the former grammar school on the hill, its lofty ceilings adorned with cornices and its creaking floorboards announcing a visitors approach long before they entered.
Evelyn had indeed been staying late for the past three weeks, but not out of diligence. At home she had no one waiting for her since Stephen walked out, taking not only his belongings but also the warmth that had filled their modest flat. The silence was now broken only by the tick of an old mantel clock inherited from her grandmother.
The library, however, was a sanctuary of work. Evelyn loved the scent of paper, the rustle of pages, even the dust that settled on the top shelves despite Aunt Claras diligent sweeping. Here she felt useful and in the right place.
Evelyn, dont forget we have a meeting with the writer tomorrow, peeked Olivia Hart, the young librarian from the circulation desk. We need the small hall prepared and the posters printed.
I remember, Olivia, Evelyn smiled. The posters are already in my desk, the upper drawer. Take them yourself; I still have to sort the catalogue.
Olivia nodded, moved to the massive oak table where Evelyn worked, pulled out the top drawer and retrieved the folder of posters.
Whats this? she asked, pulling out a sheet along with the folder.
What? Evelyn turned toward her.
A note, I think. Must have slipped out of the folder.
Olivia handed her a folded schoolpaper page. Evelyn unfolded it and read three words written in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart skipped. The first thought was that it was a joke, but deep down she knew it was not. She folded the paper carefully and slipped it into the pocket of her sweater.
Just a prank, she said, trying to keep her voice flat. Probably a student who dropped it. Theyre always passing notes around here.
Olivia shrugged.
Ill go hang the posters.
When the door closed behind Olivia, Evelyn pulled the note out again. He knows. Run. Who knew what? Who had written it? The handwriting looked familiar, yet she could not place it. It was not any of the colleagues she could recall. Could it have been Stephen? But why would he write something like that after their rather amicable split? He had simply said he no longer felt the same and that they should remain friendsplain and predictable, like a cheap romance.
She tried to refocus on her work, but the note kept haunting her. By the end of the day she finally finished the catalogue, handed the keys to the night guard, and stepped out into a damp October evening. A fine rain misted the streetlamps, turning their glow into yellow smudges in the fog.
The walk home was a fifteenminute stroll through the old park, past the cosy courtyard with its childrens swings. Normally she enjoyed that route, but tonight every shadow seemed threatening, every rustle made her flinch. He knows. Run. From whom should she run?
She entered the flat building, breathed a sigh of relief at the quiet and light inside, and climbed to the third floor, opening the door to her apartment. Everything was as usual: silence, the faint scent of cinnamon from the sachet shed hung by the entrance to soften the emptiness left by Stephen.
She slipped off her coat, hung it on the peg, and padded to the kitchen. She set the kettle on, fetched yesterdays salad from the fridge. She didnt feel like eating, but she needed something to keep her mind occupied.
The telephone rang, and she jumped. The display showed Mum.
Hi, Mum, Evelyn answered, trying to sound calm.
Evelyn, love, how are you? her mothers voice trembled. Ive felt uneasy all day. Is everything alright?
Yes, everythings fine, Evelyn lied. Her mother already worried enough about the breakup; she didnt need more anxiety from anonymous notes. Just a bit tired from work.
Maybe you could come over for the weekend? Ill bake a cake, you could have a rest
Maybe, Mum. Lets talk on Friday, okay?
After the call Evelyn felt even lonelier. The tea went cold, she stared at the note again: He knows. Run.
A knock came at ten oclock. Who could be calling at that hour? She tiptoed to the peephole and saw Michael Stevens, the elderly neighbour from upstairs, standing on the landing.
Whos there? she asked, just in case.
Its me, Michael. Open up, dear.
She opened the door but kept the chain on.
Sorry to bother you so late, he said, embarrassed. My pipe is leaking. Is any water getting into yours?
No, everythings dry, Evelyn replied, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Good, Ive called a plumber; theyll be here tomorrow.
When Michael left, Evelyn realised how foolish she must have seemed, panicking over a note that a student probably slipped into a folder as a joke. Her imagination, fed by the detective novels shed been devouring lately, had run away with her.
She tried to settle down, but sleep would not come. The rain pattered against the window, distant cars rolled by, ordinary night sounds that now felt ominous.
Morning found her exhausted. After a quick breakfast and a strong cup of coffee, she headed back to work. The day promised a busy schedule: the writers visit, the hall setup, and the finalising of the new acquisitions.
The library buzzed already. Angela was giving orders, Olivia was arranging chairs in the small hall, and Aunt Clara was scrubbing the floor with a look of displeasure.
Evelyn, a man asked for you earlier, whispered Aunt Clara as Evelyn passed. Tall, in a dark coat. I told him you werent in yet.
A man? Evelyn halted. Did he give his name?
No, he said hed come back later.
The memory of the note flashed again: He knows. Run. Who was this stranger, and what did he want? Evelyn forced herself to focus on the computer, but half an hour later a knock sounded at her door.
Come in, she called, eyes still on the screen.
The door opened to reveal a tall man in a dark coat. Evelyns breath caught. It was Andrew, a former schoolmate of Stephens, someone she had only met a handful of times over the years.
Hello, Evelyn, he said, closing the door behind him. Sorry to intrude, but we need to talk.
About what? her voice rose a pitch higher than she intended.
Andrew looked around as if checking for witnesses, then took a seat opposite her.
Its about Stephen, he began quietly. And about you.
Were over, Evelyn replied curtly. If you have business with him, go straight to him.
Its not about the breakup. Its far more serious.
He leaned in, voice dropping.
Did you get my note?
Evelyn felt a chill run down her spine.
Your note? He knows. Run? What does that mean?
Andrew glanced at the door, then back at her.
It means Stephen isnt who he pretends to be. He knows Ive uncovered something, and now he thinks you might too.
Know what? Evelyns mind raced.
What Stephen really does, Andrew pulled a phone from his pocket and showed her a photograph. It pictured Stephen speaking with a man near a nondescript grey building. This was taken three days ago. Do you recognise the place?
Evelyn shook her head.
Thats the office of Eastbridge Investments, the firm that recently made headlines for swindling retirees out of their savings.
And Stephen? she asked, bewildered. He works at a car dealership.
Thats a front, Andrew said, showing another picture. Hes one of the organisers of the scheme.
Evelyn stared, disbelief flooding her. The man she had lived with for four years, who cooked on weekends and collected old vinyl records, now appeared a fraudster preying on the elderly?
Why did you write run? she asked, trying to steady herself.
Because hes dangerous, Andrews eyes were earnest. When I started asking questions, I was watched. Someone tried to silence the person whod previously exposed this ring.
Evelyn remembered the feeling of being observed that evening. Was it paranoia, or real surveillance?
What should I do? she asked, lost.
Leave, at least for a while, until things settle. Do you have somewhere to go?
She thought of her mother, living in a small market town three hundred miles away.
Yes, I can.
Then pack and go today. Ill contact you when its safe to return.
When Andrew left, Evelyn sat staring at the empty desk, the reality of the situation feeling like a plot from one of the thrillers she adored. The photographs were real, and the note was real.
She approached Angela.
I need to take emergency leave. Family emergency. May I have a few days off?
The directors face showed concern.
Is everything alright? You look pale.
My mother is ill, Evelyn replied, fabricating a story. I must be with her.
Of course, go. Well manage the writers event without you.
At home she quickly gathered the essentials into a small bag: passport, a few pounds, some clothes. She called her mother.
Mum, Im on the evening train tomorrow,
Is something wrong? her mothers voice trembled.
No, just missed you.
She passed the bookshelf, where a framed photograph of her and Stephen at a seaside resort caught her eye. Their smiling faces seemed foreign now.
A sudden knock at the front door made her jump. She crept to the peephole and saw Stephen standing on the landing.
Her heart hammered. He knows. Run. She froze, unsure what to do.
Evelyn, I know youre home, Stephens voice was calm, a hint of fatigue. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stayed silent, fear rooting her to the spot.
Its about Andrew, he continued. He was here today, wasnt he? Talking about Eastbridge?
How could he know? Had they really been watching her?
Evelyn, listen, its not what you think, his tone softened, pleading. Andrew misunderstood. I can explain everything.
She remained mute, battling thoughts of escape, of calling the police, of opening the balconyshe lived on the third floor after all.
Fine, Stephen sighed. Ill leave a note. Read it, then call me.
He slipped a folded piece of paper under the door and hurried away. Evelyn picked it up, closed the door, and unfolded it. It read:
Evelyn, Im working undercover. Im investigating Eastbridge with the police. Andrew is a suspect; hes trying to muddy the waters. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Stephen
She read the note twice. Who to trust? Andrew, a stranger she barely knew, or Stephen, the man she had shared a home with? She sat on the sofa, both notes clutched in her handsHe knows. Run and Dont trust him.
She dialled the number of her old friend Marina, now a prosecutor.
Marina, Im sorry to bother you, Evelyn began. I need your help. Can you look into a person? Its urgent.
What happened? Marinas voice carried worry.
Its a long story. Can we meet?
An hour later they were in a tiny café two streets from Evelyns flat. Marina listened without interruption, then stared at her cup, tapping a fingernail against the saucer.
I can check both Stephen and Andrew, but itll take time.
What should I do now? Evelyn asked. I cant stay here.
Go to your mothers. Itll be safer while we sort this out.
That evening Evelyn boarded the eastbound train, watching the town lights recede. Just as the train gained speed, her phone rang.
Evelyn, Ive found out something, Marina said, tension in her tone. Stephen really is undercover. He works with the economiccrime unit.
So he was telling the truth?
Yes. And Andrew he has ties to Eastbridge. In fact, hes one of its founders.
Evelyn felt the chill return. Andrew had tried to use her to get to Stephen.
What now? she asked.
Return home. Stephens looking for you. Hes worried.
Why didnt he tell me sooner?
Thats something youll have to ask him.
She disembarked at the next stop and caught the train back. On the platform, Stephen waited, his shoulders slumped, anxiety in his eyes. Seeing her, he exhaled in relief.
Thank heavens youre alright,
Why didnt you tell me earlier? Evelyn blurted out.
I couldnt, he gestured helplessly. It was a secret operation. Any leak could have ruined it. When things got too dangerous, I left to keep you safe.
Safe? she laughed bitterly. You broke my heart!
Im sorry, his eyes were earnest. I had no other choice.
They stood amid the bustling station, two people separated not just by the months that had passed but by a breach of trust.
Im not sure I can trust you again, Evelyn admitted. So much deceit.
I understand, Stephen nodded. But I want to make it right, if youll let me.
She looked at the man she thought she knew best and realised how little she truly knew. Yet perhaps, now that all the cards were on the table, they could start anew.
Lets go home, she said. Well talk there.
On the train back, Stephen recounted everything: how hed gone undercover, infiltrated Eastbridge, met Andrew and the other conspirators, and why hed fled. He spoke of the difficulty of leaving her, but that it had been the only way to keep her safe.
And now? Evelyn asked. Is the operation finished?
Almost, he replied. We still have a few more arrests to make. Andrews already in custody.
At her flats doorway she paused.
I dont know what the future holds. I need time to think.
I understand, Stephen said sadly. Ill wait as long as it takes.
He left, and Evelyn stepped inside her empty flat. On the table lay the two notes, both true and false in their own way. Life proved far more tangled than any detective story she loved. She walked to the window, gazed at the city lights flickering in the dusk, and for the first time in a long while felt that she could choose her own path.
