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Bears are evil creatures,he thought, brutal and vicious. They deserved to die. That fairytale had always bothered him. Now, he was setting it right by creating a new version, a wicked fantasy in his mind that had now become reality.
He paced through the house, knowing that for a while, he would be walking in Mama Bear’s shoes, living her life and eating her porridge. He smiled at the thought.
“Who’s been preparing food inmykitchen?” he murmured. “Mama Bear has a fine setup here. Note the lovely tiles on the floor, dear reader, their pale color adding such a sophisticated note to this otherwise dark space. As you can see, she went for black counters and dark wood in the cupboards."
He ran the back of his hand caressingly along that shiny granite. He loved the way it felt. So smooth.
"The coffee machine is a little erratic, but it does cook up a good brew. The fridge can turn on suddenly, and the motor is loud, startling any Goldilocks the first few times."
He walked through to the dining room. He hadn't spent much time in this room, and he guessed, nor had his Mama Bear. It didn't seem like it was used much, and it was devoid of character. The only thing in it that seemed frequently used was the large wine rack in the corner.
"Beyond here, the living room. And it's perfectly obvious which chair is Mama Bear’s favorite—the left-hand side of this leather couch, which faces the large, flatscreen TV. It's an extremely comfortable place to relax. I found myself tempted to put my feet up on the coffee table, just like I’m sure she did," he admitted to his silent and invisible audience, who he imagined were following this tale.
"The walls are covered in photos, which I'm sure Mama Bear chose carefully. I'm sure she will be able to relate the history of each and every one of them." He paused for a moment, looking at the pictures. There were so many.They were all landscapes, and probably not taken by the homeowner herself. He'd seen no other evidence of artistic or photographic ability—and if anyone would know, it was him. He was artistic; he enjoyed the arts, and stories.
So, he had concluded that these photos had been acquired. She must be in the habit of purchasing shots she liked and getting them enlarged and framed.
He climbed the stairs, appreciating the immaculate wooden treads and the wide elegance of the stairway. But he found himself getting rather breathless with excitement as he ascended. He always did when the time was nearing. He'd been so patient, and finally, the moment was approaching.
"Now, readers, this is a guest bedroom, and opposite it, another. One is simply furnished, but the other is used as a gym and study. I enjoyed the state-of-the-art equipment that contained." He peeked again into the room, which contained a writing desk, two bookshelves, a big scanner and printer, as well as a treadmill, a spin bike, and a small set of weights. "I have the feeling Mama Bear spends a lot of time in this room," he confided. He even gave a smile. How could he help but smile, knowing the climax of the story that he was relishing was drawing nearer?
"This is the master bedroom, and of course, this is my favorite place in the whole house," he said, walking into the big room. Its enormous window gave a panoramic view over the well-tended backyard, and its bed was neatly made.
He paused in the doorway and stood, hands on hips, and regarded it. "You'll love the art around you," he said. "It's all by a modern artist. I particularly liked the one showing the hands on the wall. They look hauntingly alive, don't you think?"
He allowed himself, for a moment, the luxury of taking in that view once more. Because there would be no further chances. Sadly, this was the very last time he would be able to move freely within this wonderful place. And what a pleasure it had been to feel that he was within the home, within the life, within the very mind of its occupant. Just as if he was living out the fairytale.
"It would be wrong not to mention the master bathroom. Particularly well equipped and comfortable. You'll notice the lovely, high back tub that she installed for her comfort. It's perfect for those long nights when you want to wash away all of your cares. I love how it's accented with the dark, decorative mirror frame and the soft, red towel hanging from the rail."
He couldn't help it. He reached out a hand and caressed that towel. He knew he shouldn't, but he thought that it would probably be safe. Just a towel. A towel could hold no prints.
"You will agree that she really did choose well," he said to himself. "I wish I could spend more time in her home, in her life. It's so comfortable, so beautiful. I hope this all makes sense to you, dearest readers." He gave a small sigh. "I'm sure that you'll find everything to be in perfect working order and extremely cozy. I found myself wanting to make a home here, but it's not to be. Because, sadly, in a few more minutes, Mama Bear herself will be home. And then, your patience will be rewarded. You’ve been very good, taking in all this boring background, but from here, the story accelerates."
He paced back into the bedroom.
"She's going to ask herself: Who's been eatingmyfood? Who's been working inmykitchen? And when she gets up here, she might find herself asking the important question, ‘Who's been sleeping inmybed?’”
Or words to that effect, at any rate. Most of them didn't actually ask a question. That was a figment of his own imagination, which he acknowledged was rich and fertile. Most of them just screamed.
In any case, he wouldn't be in the bed. He had planned this very carefully and decided exactly how he would lead this woman to the final place that he had planned, the place where they would briefly meet, before he would unsheathe his claws.
"Mama Bear will have to die," he whispered. "Because unfortunately, this is the waymyfairytale ends."
He smoothed his fingertips over the handle of the knife he carried as he sat thoughtfully down on the bed to plan his final scenario.
CHAPTER FIVE
The crime scene was abuzz with cops. The sounds of their voices, tense but muted, respectful yet urgent, combined with the frantic crackle of radios was something that Cami realized had become familiar to her.
She and Connor walked up to the front door of the well-kept, double-story home. It was early evening, and the home was silhouetted against the glow of the setting sun.
As she walked, Cami was trying to ignore the heavier than usual feel of her laptop bag on her shoulder. She wasn't going to think about that. Instead, she was going to try and take in every possible detail of this scene, with particular reference to anything that could help her use her particular strengths.
Immediately, Cami's eyes were drawn to the stain on the tiles, and she couldn’t help feeling a sense of horror that this was where the murder had occurred. Right here, inside her own front door.
To her relief, the body had already been removed. But why had she been there? Was she looking to escape? Had she not known the killer was inside? Or had the killer followed her inside and overpowered her there?
"Morning, Smithson," Connor greeted the forensic tech in the hallway, who was wearing PPE and dusting for fingerprints on the inside of the door.
