Page 59 of The Writer

I tell myself that Marley is young, unpredictable. Like most college students, she probably got a better offer and didn’t think twice about ditching a bunch of older women. But isn’t what we’re trying to do together bigger than that?

I hop in the shower, promising myself that if Marley doesn’t respond to my calls soon, I’m going to show up at her apartment again. She at least owes me an explanation for why she’s ditched me.

The air inside the apartment tickles my wet flesh. I wrap a robe around myself, folding my towel like a turban atop my head. I reach for my phone, checking to see if Marley got back to me while I was in the shower.

There’s one new notification, but it isn’t from Marley. It’s an email from one of my top-ranked literary agents.

Dear Becca,

Thank you so much for sending your opening pages. I’ve just finished reading and absolutely loved…

Giddy with nerves, I drop my phone. I scramble to the living room and log into my email, needing a full screen to make sure I’m seeing what I think I am.

Sure enough, I have a manuscript request from Victoria Lennox at the Lennox Agency. I close my eyes. My heart flutters inside my chest as my mind scrolls through possibilities. Finally, after years and years of struggling, this could be my chance to make something of myself. The iron-clad door between me and the literary industry is opening.

I click on the email.

Dear Becca,

Thank you so much for sending your opening pages. I’ve just finished reading and absolutely loved them! Your writing is tense and gripping, and I believe readers will be hooked. Please send me the entire manuscript in a Word document.

I’ll get back to you within four weeks. Really looking forward to seeing how Layla receives justice!

Kind regards,

Victoria Lennox

I’m so rattled with excitement, it takes a few moments for the entirety of the message to sink in.Layla?Why would this literary agent even mention her name?Night Beathas nothing to do with Layla.

Confused, I scroll back to the original email. I started querying agents over a month ago, and Victoria Lennox wason that list, yet the most recent email was sent only yesterday. When I click on it, my stomach drops.

Although the message has been sent from my account, this isn’t my original query. In fact, it doesn’t mentionNight Beatat all. The query letter describes a book I’ve never written… all about a girl who was murdered and her roommate’s quest to find the killer.

When I click on the attachment, instead of the first ten pages ofNight Beat, it’s the first chapter of the short story I wrote about Layla.

My breathing gets heavier, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I don’t understand. How could someone have used my email address? I scroll through the Sent Messages tab, hoping Victoria Lennox was the only person targeted. The sickening feeling in my stomach grows stronger when I see more than a dozen agents have been contacted, all of them sent a copy of the Layla story.

I slam the computer shut and curse, my shouts echoing through the lonely apartment. For years, I’ve known someone was messing with me, but this? How did they get access to my private computer? It rarely leaves the apartment, apart from my biweekly meetings with the Maidens. Even then, the computer never leaves my sight. I can’t think of a single opportunity where someone would have been able to use it.

I think back to last night’s meeting. I was distracted. I remember going to the restroom to cool off when I was feeling overwhelmed, but I couldn’t have been away from my computer for more than a few minutes. That wouldn’t be enough time for someone to upload my files and send a message from my account, would it? Surely the other women would have seen.

I stake out a table at The Coffee Shop’s outdoor dining area. It’s positioned directly across from both Marley’s apartment and the university’s main crossing point. Since she won’t return any of my calls, catching her here is my best option.

My coffee cup is halfway drained when I spot her. She’s approaching the sidewalk alongside another classmate, a bohemian dressed student who wears her hair in braids, just like Marley. They’re deep in conversation, barely paying attention to me as I cross the street.

“Marley?” I say, my voice innocent. “I thought that was you.”

The light in her face dims when she sees me. Her eyes drift back to her classmate. “Catch you later?”

The student offers a smile before she falls in line with the foot traffic, making her way down the sidewalk. Marley’s smile vanishes once she leaves.

“Are you stalking me now?”

“You didn’t leave me much choice,” I say. “You’ve been ignoring my calls ever since you bailed on the meeting.”

She sighs and looks at the ground. “I know.”

“What’s the point of us meeting up and sharing theories if you’re going to leave me alone to do all the investigating?”

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