Page 101 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

I expected his cock to soften, but it didn’t. It pulsed and throbbed but stayed hard and thick inside my pussy. I could tell he was ready for round two and I couldn’t believe the stamina he had. I’d never met anyone like him. He was insatiable.

“That’s the dirtiest shower I’ve ever had,” I laughed.

“We’re going to have so much fun, you and me,” he replied. “This is just the beginning.”

CHAPTER

FORTY-ONE

EMMA

After experiencing the most amazing morning of my life, Alex apologised profusely about having to leave me to go to work. He had a few appointments that he had to keep, which meant leaving me alone in the house again. But I didn’t mind. I was on cloud nine.

Before he left, he’d asked the staff about the rose that’d been decimated in my room the night before. No one admitted to anything, not that I expected them to after what’d happened to Alma, being fired after working on the estate for thirty-eight years. Yes, the drugged tea was worse than a damaged rose, but the fear was there now. I don’t think the staff trusted me, and because of that, I wanted to keep a low profile. I didn’t trust them either.

I decided to head to Alex’s office again and see if, after the shot of adrenaline and endorphins he’d given me that morning, I could do something more meaningful with my day.

I walked into the office and headed for the desk. Then I sat down in his comfy leather chair and gave the mouse a wiggle. His screen came to life, but when I saw what was on there, my heart sank to my feet.

I swallowed, feeling sick as I read the title of the video, ‘S.K.A.M. Performance, Italy.’

I should’ve walked away and spoken to Alex about it when he got home. He’d told me this fucker was locked up. That he was in a secure unit and wouldn’t be let out for a long time.

So why was he in Italy performing like nothing had happened?

What the fuck was going on?

Morbid curiosity got the better of me, and with a shaky hand, I moved the mouse and clicked the play button to start the video. Then I sat forward, feeling tension in every inch of my body as I watched the performance play out.

At the beginning, I could hear the murmur of voices as the people in the crowd waited for the show to start. It looked like it’d been recorded in an old warehouse, and on the back wall, at the rear of the building, were the words ‘Life in Reverse’ projected onto the brick with stark white lights.

Eventually, the murmur of voices died down, and the sound of a life support machine flatlining, with the familiar constant ‘burrrrrr’ noise sounded throughout the warehouse.

Two figures dressed all in black came running into shot from the bottom of the screen, pushing a gurney through the crowds with a body bag on it. When they reached the front, they moved to stand beside the gurney and face the audience, their faces hidden behind black masks. One of them unzipped the body bag, and the other picked up two shock pads from a defibrillator.

A mechanical voice boomed, “Stand clear.” As the masked guy placed the pads onto the body in the bag and zapped it. The body jumped. He shocked it again. Another jump. And then, the flatline noise turned to the sound of a pulsing heartbeat, with the pulse pattern displayed on a huge monitor behind them.

They’d brought him back to life.

The heartbeat morphed into thumping bass as the body in the bag sat up and then jumped off the gurney.

He stood in front of them in his signature blue boiler suit, but this time he had a black balaclava on and a blue LED mask to cover his face, with crosses for the eyes and a stitched-up mouth. As the crowd cheered, he tilted his head to make himself look more demonic. If that were at all possible.

The two men who’d wheeled him on faded into the background, standing against the wall as the spotlight focused on him. And then a deep voice spoke, and my stomach rolled.

“Life in reverse.

A story must be told.”

The screen behind started to roll old black and white photographs really fast across the screen. Starting with elderly men and women, turning into older adults, then getting younger and younger, until it slowed down as images of babies appeared. And then his mechanical voice bellowed loudly.

"As a child, he saw more crime,

from his crib that was filled with dirt and grime,

than any child should ever see.

It was such a fucking tragedy.