Page 41 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

He gave a slight smile, but there was pity in his eyes. I didn’t want his pity.

“I’m sure you’re not making it up,” he went on. “But without the email evidence or any other details, all I can do is log it, file a report, and keep your details on our system. And in the meantime, if anything else happens, come straight to us.”

“I can do better than that,” I stated. “If you want evidence, I’ll go and get the fucking evidence. Maybe then you’ll take me seriously.”

“We take all reports seriously, ma’am,” he replied.

“Emma,” I snapped. “My name is Emma.” And I turned and stormed out, determined to go to my house and find that box, bring it back to the station, and drop it on his desk so I could see his face when he realised how wrong he’d been about me.

I wasn’t the crazy one here.

The street was darker now, and the dimly lit streetlamps shone on the ground like golden flickering shadows subtly lighting my way.

Every house I walked past had the curtains closed, and it made me feel a little unnerved knowing I was alone out here. That no one could see me. I peered over my shoulder, feeling exposed, but there was no one behind me.

I carried on, heading towards my house, and more importantly, the bin that was sitting right under one of the streetlamps. I stopped in front of it and braced myself with a fortifying breath, then I opened the lid.

There was nothing there.

No plastic bag.

No box.

Nothing.

Just the regular rubbish that’d been in there earlier this morning.

I frowned.

Maybe I’d put it in another bin?

So, I checked Ethel’s bin.

Nothing.

I slammed the lid down and went to Meg and Charlie’s bin. Then Bill or Bob’s or whatever he was called.

Nothing.

I glanced around, wondering where the hell it had gone. And I went back to my bin again and checked one last time. Not that I expected it to magically appear. But I was feeling erratic and acting it too.

“What the fuck?” I hissed. “Did he come back and take it?”

Chills crept down my spine, as if I was being watched. I didn’t want to stay for a moment longer, I didn’t feel safe. I knew I had to get out of here. I had no idea where that heart had gone, but I knew one thing, someone was fucking with my head.

I know what I saw in that box, and I know what it meant.

He was coming for me.

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

EMMA

“I’m trying not to spiral here, but I’m freaking the fuck out. I can’t help it.”

Grace had poured us both a glass of wine, but I couldn’t face drinking mine. My nerves were shredded, and I wanted to keep a clear head. I still had to work tomorrow.