She felt guilty for insisting that Paula follow the John Santino trial as a chance to see justice done, a chance for them to barrack together for the female victim. All Anita had managed to do was rub Paula’s face in the terrible facts of Kendra Bartlett’s death and then tear her apart with that verdict. Anita was culpable for relaying information about John Santino’s life and what was happening to Brooke Lester. And now she was morally implicated in how Paula had used that information.

But those buckets of remorse didn’t stop Anita from being horrified by what her friend had done. Not that she was sorry Ian Ferguson and John Santino were dead. Their deaths made the world better, no question, but that couldn’t justify murder. It was as if the malevolence from those men had oozed out of them, infecting the air, spreading until it turned a truly good person like Paula into a murderer.

Then again, Paula had let that happen. She had allowed her certainty that she knew what was best for people to lead her down the track to a criminal act. Even if Anita had voiced some wild ideas about killing men, she would never condone it in practice. If Paula had ever hinted at what she was contemplating, Anita would’ve talked her out of it. But she’d never had that chance because Paula always thought she knew better.

Anita was left with surges of anger towards her friend, feeling used by her, lied to, and now lumbered with this information she couldn’t offload, like a lump of radioactive material in her belly, contaminating everything. At the same time, she couldn’t switch off her concern, the worry that Paula might harm herself. If it weren’t for the risk of the crimes being discovered, Anita would’ve called the doctors in her practice, called in psychiatric help, something.

The day after Paula’s confession, Anita had sent a text.

Are you okay? A x

I’m okay. And very sorry for what I’ve done to you. P x

Two days later, Anita messaged again.

People keep asking me how you are. A x

I’m okay.

After that, Paula no longer replied to Anita’s messages. Well, if she didn’t want to be contacted, fuck her then.

Meanwhile, Rohan was sending Anita a text every two or three days. Nothing pushy. It was like a cop doing a welfare check on an individual he was concerned about.

I hope you’re alright. Call me anytime. Rohan

I’m fine. Thank you. Hope you’re in good form. Anita