Page 37 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

Of course. I’ll be there at two. Thank you.

I replied, and when Dan said a little too enthusiastically, “What’s happened now? Is he stalking you again? Do you have more material for another story?” I realised I was sitting there with a startled look on my face, staring at my phone.

“I’m glad you think my misery is excellent fodder for the newspaper,” I replied, shoving my phone back into my bag.

Dan screwed his face up. “If you’re not chasing a story twenty-four-seven, what’s your point for being here?” He stuck his nose in the air and turned back to his computer.

“Not everything is about that,” I said quietly, knowing he couldn’t really hear, but wanting to say it anyway. “Some things are more important than getting ahead.”

He didn’t reply, and I didn’t have time to pander to him. I had a shitty boss, a killer poet trolling me, and a hot, rich guy, that if I was honest, I couldn’t work out, messaging me. I had more than enough on my plate. Catty colleagues would have to wait in line for me to give a shit because all I could think about right now was why was Alex so invested?

As everyone filed out of the office at the end of the day, I checked my emails one last time. Thankfully, I hadn’t received anything else from him. So I shut down my computer and got ready to leave.

I glanced at my phone as I headed out. There were no messages there either, and I couldn’t deny, I felt a little disappointed. Alex Kingston intrigued me. And getting the messages from him today had eased the sting from the fallout of the latest article. Even if he did leave me questioning everything.

The train home was crowded as usual, and I stood in the aisle, holding onto the rail to stop myself from falling. When it reached my stop, I got off, like I did every day, and walked the short distance to my road. Then, I looked up as I strolled down the short, uneven path to my door. All so mundane, so normal, and yet, it didn’t feel normal today. Something felt off. After the day I’d had, I was on my guard.

My house was an end of terrace. The lights from my neighbour Ethel’s living room lit up the dark path, and I could hear her television, which was always too loud, playing the quiz shows she liked to watch while she ate her dinner.

The house next to hers belonged to a young, recently married couple called Meg and Charlie Howard. And on the opposite end, lived some random guy that I’d never spoken to. A loner that no one really knew. I think his name was Bill or Bob. He kept himself to himself. Had done for years, which suited me just fine.

But I was relieved I lived next to Ethel. As neighbours go, she was a good one. She was home all day and watched over the road like a hawk. She was probably watching me right now as I stepped up to my front door and put the key in the lock.

I pushed the door that led straight into my living room open and turned the lights on, and I gasped when I saw a small cardboard box sitting in the middle of my coffee table.

That hadn’t been there when I left this morning.

How the fuck did it get there?

Fuck.

My instincts told me this wasn’t good.

My feet were rooted to the spot, and my heart pounded in my chest as I stared at it. Then, like a fool, I called out, “Hello.” I don’t know why. It wasn’t like a murderer or a killer-poet-slash-artist was going to answer me and say hi back or pop out from the shadows to introduce himself.

I glanced quickly at the ground to see if the postman had put a card through the letterbox, perhaps to tell me he’d tried to deliver a parcel while I was out. Maybe Ethel took it from him and then left it in here. She did have a key in case of emergencies. But she’d never used it. She always kept my parcels at her house until I got home.

In all honesty, I knew there was something bad about this parcel. I had that sixth sense tapping away at my brain, telling me to beware. So, I decided to back out of the house and go straight to Ethel’s.

I rang her doorbell and heard her shuffling about inside. Then she opened the door and gave me a kind smile. The warm scent of her home-cooked dinner wafted over me, but even that couldn’t calm my nerves.

“Emma. It’s lovely to see you, dear. Do you want to come in?” She held her door open for me, probably hoping I’d come in for a cuppa, and I felt bad about not spending more time with my lonely, elderly neighbour, but I had to get to the bottom of this.

“I can’t at moment, Ethel. I just wanted to ask you about the parcel that came for me today.”

Ethel frowned.

“Parcel? I didn’t take in any parcels for you today, love. Did Ken leave a note?”

Ethel spent so much time at home she was on first-name terms with the postman, Ken.

“No,” I replied, my nerves spiking. “There was no note. I just thought you might know something about the parcel that was left in my living room.”

“I’ve been here all day, pet, and I haven’t seen anyone come to your door,” Ethel said, and then noticing the panic I was trying to mask, she added, “Do you want me to come over and help you with anything?”

“No, it’s fine.” I lied. “I think one of my friends must’ve dropped it off earlier.” I could tell by the way her brows knitted together that she didn’t believe me.

“Is everything okay, Emma?”