I find a folded note in the drawer of my desk: He knows. Run.
Emily Turner, could you check the catalogue cards in the third drawer? It looks like the students have mixed everything up again, says the head librarian, Angela Parker, adjusting the tip of her glasses. And please dont stay late tonight. Youve been working far too many hours lately.
Right, Angela, Ill get to it, Emily nods, barely looking up from her screen. I just need to finish the electronic inventory of the new arrivals.
Angela shakes her head and leaves the cataloguing department, the click of her heels echoing on the worn parquet. The district library occupies the former grammar school on Main Street, its lofty ceilings, ornamental plasterwork and creaking floorboards announcing every visitor long before they appear.
Emily has indeed been staying late for the past three weeks, but not because shes a workaholic, as Angela assumes. At home nobody waits for her since Simon left, taking not only his belongings but also the warmth that once filled their modest flat. Now the only sound is the ticking of an old mantel clock inherited from her grandmother.
At the library, however, the work never stops. Emily loves the smell of books, the rustle of pages, even the dust that stubbornly settles on the top shelves despite Aunt Claras best efforts with the cleaning spray. Here she feels useful and in the right place.
Emily, dont forget we have a meettheauthor event tomorrow, pops her head in the doorway, Olivia, a junior librarian from the circulation desk. We need to ready the small hall and print the posters.
Ive got them, Olivia, Emily replies with a smile. The posters are in the top drawer of my desk. Grab them yourself; I still have to sort out the catalogue.
Olivia walks over to the massive oak desk where Emily works, pulls out the upper drawer and retrieves the folder of posters.
Whats this? she asks, pulling a loose sheet from the folder.
What? Emily turns toward her.
Just a note, probably fell out of the folder.
Olivia hands her a folded piece of notebook paper. Emily unfolds it and reads three words written in a hurried hand: He knows. Run.
Her heart skips a beat. The first thought is that its a joke, but deep down she knows it isnt. She folds the note carefully and slips it into the pocket of her cardigan.
Probably nothing, she says, trying to keep her voice flat. Maybe a student dropped it. Theyre always leaving little messages around.
Olivia shrugs.
Ill go hang the posters.
When the door closes behind Olivia, Emily pulls out the note again. He knows. Run. Who knows what? Who wrote it?
The handwriting looks familiar, but she cant place it. It isnt any of the colleagues she knows. Could it be Simon? Why would he write something like that? Their split was almost amicable; he simply said he no longer felt the same and that they should stay friends. It felt as predictable as a cheap romance novel.
She tries to focus on the catalogue, but the note keeps looping in her mind. By the end of the day she finishes the catalogue work, hands the keys to the security guard, and steps out into an October drizzle. The streetlamps blur into yellow halos through the mist.
Her flat is a fifteenminute walk away. Normally she enjoys the stroll past the old park, through a cosy courtyard with swings where children play by day. Tonight every shadow feels threatening, every sound makes her flinch. He knows. Run. From whom should she run?
She reaches her building, sighs with relief as she steps into the quiet, welllit hallway. On the third floor she unlocks the door to her flat. Everything is as it always is: silence, the faint scent of cinnamon from the sachet she hangs by the entrance to mask Simons absence.
She takes off her coat, hangs it on the peg, and heads to the kitchen. She puts the kettle on, pulls yesterdays salad from the fridge. She doesnt feel like eating, but she needs something to keep her mind occupied.
The phone rings, and her heart jumps. The display shows Mum.
Hi, Mum, Emily answers, trying to sound calm.
Ellie, love, how are you? her mothers voice trembles. Ive felt uneasy all day. Is everything alright?
Yes, everythings fine, Emily lies. Her mother already worries enough about the breakup, and she doesnt need more anxiety about mysterious notes. Just tired from work.
Maybe you could come over this weekend? Ill bake a cake, you could have a proper rest
Maybe, Mum. Lets chat on Friday, okay?
After the call Emily feels even lonelier. The tea has gone cold, she cant bring herself to watch TV. She pulls the note out again and stares at the three words.
A knock at the door startles her. Its tenp.m. who could be visiting at this hour? She tiptoes to the peephole. On the landing stands Michael Stevens, the elderly neighbour from upstairs.
Whos there? she asks, just in case.
Its me, Michael. Open up, Ellie.
She opens the door but keeps the chain on.
Sorry for the late visit, he says sheepishly. My pipe is leaking. Does any water get into your flat?
No, everythings dry, Emily replies, relieved. Thanks for checking.
Thank heavens. I called a plumber; theyll come tomorrow.
When Michael leaves, Emily feels foolish. Shes panicking over a note that was probably a prank by one of the students. Her imagination has run wild after all the detective novels shes been devouring lately.
She tries to calm herself and lies down, but sleep wont come. She tosses, listening to every creak. Outside the rain patters, distant cars pass, the ordinary sounds of the night feel oddly menacing.
Morning finds her exhausted. After a quick breakfast and a strong coffee, she heads back to work. Today will be busy: the authors talk, setting up the hall, and processing the new arrivals.
The library buzzes with activity. Angela issues instructions, Olivia arranges chairs in the small hall, and Aunt Clara scowls as she mops the floor.
Emily, a man was asking for you earlier, says Aunt Clara as Emily passes by. Tall, dark coat. I told him you werent in yet.
A man? Emily stops. Did he give his name?
No. He said hed come back later.
The thought of the note flashes again: He knows. Run. Who could that be? What does he want? She tries to steady herself, reminding herself that anyone could be asking about hermaybe a patron, maybe a publisher.
She sits at her computer, hoping work will ground her. Half an hour later theres a knock.
Come in, Emily calls without looking up.
The door opens and a tall man in a dark coat steps in. Emilys breath catches. Its Andrew, a former classmate of Simons. Shes only met him a handful of times over the years.
Hello, Emily, he says, closing the door behind him. Sorry to barge in, but we need to talk.
About what? she asks, voice a little too high.
Andrew looks around as if checking the room is empty, then sits opposite her.
It concerns Simon, he says quietly. And you.
Were over, Emily replies curtly. If you have business with him, address him directly.
Its not about the breakup. Its far more serious.
He leans forward, lowering his voice.
Did you get my note?
Emily feels a chill run down her spine.
Your note? He knows. Run? What does that mean?
Andrew glances at the door, then back at her.
It means Simon isnt who he says he is. Hes been investigated, and he knows Ive uncovered something. He probably thinks you know as well.
Know what? Emilys mind races.
What Simon actually does, Andrew pulls a phone from his pocket and shows a photo. It shows Simon talking to a man outside a drab grey building. This was taken three days ago. Do you recognize the place?
Emily shakes her head.
Thats the office of Eastgate Investments, Andrew explains. The firm that recently made headlines for swindling hundreds of pensioners with fake highinterest accounts. They vanished with the money.
And Simon? Emily asks, bewildered. He works at a car dealership.
Thats a front, Andrew says, showing another picture. Hes one of the organisers.
Emily cant believe it. The man she lived with for four years, who loved cooking on weekends and collected old vinyl, a fraud?
Why did you write run? she asks, trying to keep her composure.
Because hes dangerous, Andrews eyes are serious. When I started asking questions, they began watching me. Someone who tried to expose the scheme earlier died in a car accident.
Emily remembers feeling watched that evening. Was it paranoia or real surveillance?
What should I do? she asks, unsettled.
Get out of town, at least until this blows over. Do you have somewhere to go?
Emily thinks of her mother, who lives in a small market town three hundred miles away.
I do, she says.
Then pack and leave today. Ill contact you when its safe to return.
When Andrew leaves, Emily sits staring at the empty space, the situation feeling like a plot from the detective novels she loves. Yet the photos he showed were real, and the note was real.
She walks to Angelas office.
I need a few days off for family reasons. Can I have emergency leave? she asks.
Angela looks concerned.
Is something wrong? You look pale.
My mother is ill, Emily lies. I need to be with her.
Of course, go. Well manage the author event without you.
Emily hurriedly packs a small bag: passport, some cash, a change of clothes. She calls her mother.
Mum, Im coming tonight on the evening train.
Is everything alright? her mothers voice trembles.
No, just I miss you.
She passes the bookcase and stops at a framed photograph: her and Simon on a sunny beach, both grinning. She stares at his face, wondering how she could have been so wrong about him.
A knock at the front door makes her jump. She peers through the peephole. Its Simon.
Her heart thumps. He knows. Run. She freezes, unsure what to do.
Emily, I know youre home, Simons voice is calm, a little weary. Please open the door. We need to talk.
She stays silent, barely breathing.
Its about Andrew, Simon continues. He was here earlier, right? Told you about Eastgate Investments?
How does he know? Could he have been watching her?
Emily, listen, this isnt what you think, his tone becomes pleading. Andrew misunderstood everything. I can explain.
She remains silent, weighing options. Jump out the balcony? She lives on the third floor. Call the police? What would she sayher exhusband is at the door pleading?
Fine, sighs Simon. If you wont open, Ill leave a note.
She hears the rustle of paper, then footsteps receding up the stairs. After a few minutes she carefully opens the door. On the floor lies a folded sheet. She snatches it up and shuts the door.
The note reads: Emily, Im working undercover. Investigating Eastgate Investments with the police. Andrew is a suspect. Dont trust him. Call me, Ill explain. Simon.
Emily reads it repeatedly. Who to believe? Andrew, a near stranger, or Simon, the man she spent four years with, now claiming hes been undercover?
She collapses onto the sofa, the two notes clutched in her hands He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both feel simultaneously true and false.
She dials her old friend Marina, a prosecutor.
Marina, sorry to bother you, Emily begins. I need your help. Can you check a persons background? Its important.
What happened? Marinas voice shows concern.
Its complicated, can we meet?
An hour later they sit in a small café two streets from Emilys flat. Marina listens without interrupting, then taps her fingers on the cold coffee cup.
I can look into both Simon and Andrew. Itll take time, but well get to the bottom of it.
And what should I do now? Emily asks.
Go to your mothers. Itll be safer while we sort this out.
That evening Emily boards the eastbound train. Watching the city lights fade, she thinks of how ordinary she was yesterday, a librarian mourning a lost husband, and how today shes become the heroine of a reallife thriller.
The train rings, and Marinas voice comes through.
Emily, Ive found out that Simon really is working undercover. Hes cooperating with the economic crime unit.
So he was telling the truth? Emilys heart quickens.
Yes. And Andrew his ties to Eastgate Investments are genuine. Hes actually one of the founders.
A cold shiver runs down Emilys spine. Andrew tried to use her to trap Simon.
What now? she asks.
Return, Marina says. Simons looking for you. Hes worried.
Why didnt he tell me earlier?
Thats something youll have to ask him.
Emily gets off at the next station and catches a train back. Dozens of questions whirl in her mind, waiting for answers only Simon can give.
He meets her on the platform, looking worn but relieved.
Thank God youre okay, he exclaims.
Why didnt you tell me? she asks, the first words that escape her.
I couldnt, he says, spreading his hands. It was a secret operation. Any leak could have ruined everything. When we got close to the end, it got too dangerous, so I stepped away to keep you safe.
Protect? Emily laughs bitterly. You broke my heart!
Im sorry, his eyes show genuine pain. I had no other choice.
They stand in the bustling station, two people separated not only by months of distance but also by mistrust that grew between them.
I dont know if I can trust you again, Emily admits. Too many lies.
I understand, he nods. But I want to make things right, if youll let me.
Emily looks at the man she thought she knew best and realises she still knows very little about him. Perhaps now that all the cards are on the table, they can start anew.
Lets go home, she says. Well talk there.
On the train back, Simon explains everything: how he went undercover, infiltrated the firm, met Andrew and the other conspirators, and why he had to disappear.
And now? Emily asks. Is the operation finished?
Almost, he replies. We just need to arrest a few more people. Andrews already in custody.
At her flats door, Emily pauses.
I dont know what comes next. I need time to process everything.
I understand, Simon says softly. Ill wait as long as you need.
He walks away, and Emily steps inside her empty flat. On the table lie the two notes: He knows. Run and Dont trust him. Both turned out to be halftruths. Life is far more complicated than the detective stories she loves.
She walks to the window, watches the night city sparkle. The future is uncertain, but for the first time in a long while she feels she has a choice.
