Page 69 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

I’d do everything in my power to stop that happening.

I turned my back on those words, and walked out the door.

Alex put my case into his car and then began to question my neighbours one at a time about the attic space, and whether they’d had any visitors that’d used it lately.

Ethel had no idea what he was on about, and said she thought the landlord had closed the space off years ago. Like me, she never went up there.

Meg and Charlie hadn’t been in their house for very long, and said they’d been told it was being secured in the next few weeks. But they’d stayed out of the attic. The only things they kept up there were old Christmas decorations.

And our elusive neighbour, Bill, Bob, or whatever he was called, the guy who lived at the end house, he was nowhere to be seen. That would have to be a conversation for another day.

“I will get to the bottom of this,” Alex huffed as we climbed into his car. “He thinks he’s so fucking smart, but I’m onto him. We have the upperhand. He won’t know what’s hit him when I catch up with him and make him pay for what he’s done.”

We drove to Grace’s apartment in a tense and knife-could-cut-the-air kind of silence. Alex held the steering wheel in a death-like grip, turning his knuckles white, and I knew he was imagining all the ways he was going to make S.K.A.M. pay.

Meanwhile, I tried to ignore my churning stomach, and overwhelming need to throw up. I counted my breaths, trying to calm myself, and wrung my hands in my lap, twisting my fingers in an effort to soothe my erratic, frantic brain.

I was sitting in a car with a man who was insanely attractive, who wanted to get to know me, and I couldn’t get lost in that... because another man wanted me dead.

“He won’t bother you again,” Alex reiterated as if he was reading my mind. I guess my body language was enough to know what I was thinking, though.

“I hope you’re right,” I replied, gazing out of the window and wondering where S.K.A.M. was now. What was he doing? What did he have planned next? And did it involve cutting off my body parts for his next art piece.

“I’m always right. Trust me.”

I turned to look at Alex, watching his perfect profile; that strong jaw and chiselled cheekbones that reminded me of the name I’d given him when we first met... Mr. GQ. “You ask me to trust you a lot.”

“And this time, I’ll prove to you what kind of man I am.”

He turned to look at me before focusing on the road ahead, and the way his eyes burned made the churn in my stomach turn to a gentle flutter.

I did want to trust him.

I wanted to give him a chance.

But until I knew who S.K.A.M. was, and that I was safe, I had to be guarded.

It was the sensible thing to do.

I couldn’t deny, though, it felt nice to have him by my side.

Once we arrived at Grace’s building, we got out of the car and walked through the doors into the small hallway leading to her front door. I felt relieved to be there. Grace’s apartment block felt safe. But as I rang her doorbell, and no one answered, it became clear she wasn’t home. After ringing and knocking more times than was considered sane, ignoring Alex’s pleas for me to give up, I heard the door behind me open.

I turned to see Grace’s neighbour, who lived opposite, had come out to see what all the noise was.

“She’s not in,” he announced, like I was a bit stupid and needed telling.

“Where is she?”

“She’s gone away for a few days. Something about a work’s team building thing, I think she said.”

It wasn’t unusual for Grace to go on one of those. I knew her company did that kind of thing all the time. What was unusual was she hadn’t told me. She always told me where she was going.

It did explain why she hadn’t replied to any calls or messages, though. Nine times out of ten, she had poor or non-existent reception on her phone when she was away at a work event like that.

“Do you know when she’ll be back?” I asked.

“No idea,” he announced and shut his door, leaving us standing there like a pair of muppets.