Page 65 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

But he shook his head as he began to head upstairs. “They will when I call them. I’ll make them listen.”

I knew he was right.

They’d listen to him.

A man.

A rich man.

But me?

I could’ve walked into that police station with the bloody heart in the box, and they’d probably still doubt me. Or arrest me for the offence, thinking I’d committed the murder.

Everything had become too much. I was frightened of this guy stalking me. Terrified, in fact. Grace wasn’t returning any calls. The police weren’t helping me, and work had thrown me to the wolves, causing the nightmare and then leaving me to deal with the fallout. I couldn’t handle this on my own anymore. It was at times like these I missed having a mum and dad to rely on. I felt so alone, and yet, I was relieved that Alex was involved now. That I had someone else on my side. He’d told me he’d fight my corner. I’d spent too long in that corner alone. It’d be nice to have company.

“Upstairs is clear,” Alex stated as he came back down. “Is there anyone with access to your house or anyone who has a spare key?”

“There’s only Ethel next door. She has a key for emergencies. But there’s no one else.”

“Then let’s go and talk to Ethel,” he said, heading for the door.

I followed him, glancing nervously up and down the street as we emerged from my house. I was praying I wouldn’t see a dark figure hiding in the shadows, making hand gestures, like the heart one he’d done on that street the other day, to show me who he was.

Alex knocked on Ethel’s door as we both stood outside, waiting. She muted her television, and then, seconds later, she opened her door. Her eyes bugged when she saw Alex, and she looked him up and down before turning to me with a knowing smile.

“This is a nice surprise. How are you, love? I noticed you haven’t been home for a while,” she said with a sparkle in her eyes, then she glanced at Alex and smirked to herself.

“No, I haven’t. I took a short break away. I had a bit of time off work, you see,” I replied, and then I tried to find the words to tell her why we were there. I didn’t want to scare her by saying I’d had a break-in. She was in her eighties. It’d cause her stress she didn’t need at her age. But it was tough to sugarcoat it.

“That reminds me...” She held her hand up in a gesture that told us to wait where we were, and she turned and walked to the console table in her hallway. She picked up a card and then came back to the door, saying, “A delivery truck came a few days ago with something for you. The boxes were huge, though, so I took their card and told them you’d call back to arrange another delivery date. It was too big for me to store in here, and I don’t like using your spare key.”

She handed me the card, and I glanced at the gold letters on the black background, ‘The Void Gallery’.

“What’s this?” I turned to Alex, showing him the card.

He ran his hand over his face and sighed.

“Talk about crap timing,” he said. “That would’ve been a missed delivery for the Shattered Heart piece I bought for you from the gallery the other night.”

“The piece you bought for me?” I frowned, trying to understand what the hell was going on.

“The S.K.A.M. piece you saw... I bought it... for you.” He hung his head. “But now, it’s the last thing I want you to have in your home. I feel like burning the bloody thing.”

“That piece cost thousands. What were you... Why did you... What the...”

“Oh my word,” Ethel gasped as I struggled to form coherent sentences, putting her hand on her chest in shock.

“It was a well-meant gift that’s gone a bit... wrong.” Alex took the card out of my hand and put it into the inside pocket of his jacket. “I’ll deal with it. Please don’t give it a second thought.”

“You bought it for me,” I stated quietly, shock and wonder at such a touching, thoughtful, and frankly extravagant gift overclouding the realisation that it was a gift with his name on it.

“Of course I did. I wanted you to have it. You loved that piece so much. It was my way of saying thank you for spending time with me that evening. You made the whole event quite...” He paused to find the right word. “...memorable.”

“Wow,” Ethel gasped again, and I suddenly became aware that we were standing on her doorstep, having this whole intimate encounter in her presence.

“It was a beautiful evening. But you don’t have to buy me expensive gifts to say thank you.” I turned to face Ethel, who now had stars in her eyes as she watched us. “And thank you for sorting out the deliveries for me. You’re one in a million, Ethel.”

She blushed at that, adding, “I’m just being a good neighbour, dear.” And then she muttered to herself, “This is better than a Hallmark movie. Please don’t stop on my account. It’s the most entertainment I’ve had since the eighties.”