Page 60 of The Art of Being a Psychopath

“I don’t remember any of that.”

“But you think you saw someone else here?” He reached forward to touch my arm, but I moved it away before he could. “There was no one else in here. You had moments where you became distressed as you slept. You thrashed a little in the bed, but I did what I could to calm you.”

“What exactly did you do?” I asked, glaring back at him.

“I stroked your hair and placed a cold, damp cloth on your forehead to try and bring down your fever. You were having fever dreams, Emma. And I know how scary that must’ve been for you, especially being in a strange environment. But that’s all they were... dreams.”

I was still confused, but what he said did make sense. A fever dream that’d felt so real it had twisted my mind, pulling nightmare images from my brain, and using them in the worst way.

“I want to go home,” I stated plainly, intent on getting my things together and leaving within the hour, sooner hopefully, regardless of how sick I felt.

“I’m not sure leaving now would be a good idea. You were running a temperature for a long time while you were asleep. You’re still going to be weak.”

“Drugged you mean,” I snapped back. “I wasn’t asleep.”

He didn’t respond. He wouldn’t admit to it.

And as I started to shift my body, trying to move off the bed, horror hit me once again.

“If I was safe in here, then where the fuck did my underwear go?”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

EMMA

He looked at me like I’d accused him of first-degree murder. Then all hell broke loose as he marched out of the room, shouting to speak to Alma.

I wanted to follow him, to see what was happening, but I wasn’t that steady on my feet, and I was only wearing the damn T-shirt they’d put me in. So I stayed where I was, determined to use the time to get myself together and ready to leave.

I could hear him shouting down the hallway, and I stood on shaky legs, listening for a while. Then, I noticed my clothes, freshly laundered, on a chair beside the door, and I picked them up and walked towards the bathroom to lock myself inside and sort myself out.

Once I was in the bathroom, I took the quickest shower I’d ever taken, then put my clothes on, feeling a little stronger with each passing minute. Every now and then, though, I couldn’t help but touch my neck, flashbacks burning me with shame and anger.

Why was he stalking me, even in my nightmares?

None of this was fucking fair.

I didn’t deserve his wrath, and I hoped to God that he’d burn in hell and leave me the fuck alone.

Tentatively, I unlocked the bathroom door. The room was still empty, so I crept towards the door to leave. As I stepped out and began to head down the corridor, I could hear voices shouting. I reached the staircase, grabbing the banister tightly to help me stay upright as my head swirled and my legs threatened to collapse beneath me from the effort of walking. As I began to descend, I saw Alma march across the foyer with her coat on and a bag slung over her shoulders.

“Thirty-eight years I’ve worked here,” she barked. “And you believe her word over mine? It’s disgusting what you’re accusing me of.”

I froze, moving to stand against the wall so they wouldn’t see me on the stairs.

“The facts speak for themselves,” Alex snarled, coming into view as he stormed towards her. “I invited a guest into my home, and she was injured. The only person I can attribute any responsibility for that happening is you. You served the tea that she drank right before she passed out. She was fine up until that point. And I knew, I knew in my gut that something was wrong. So, I’ll ask you again, is there anything you want to tell me?”

As he advanced towards her, she backed up towards the door.

“I don’t have to answer to you,” she spat. “And I’m not going to stand here and listen to your ridiculous accusations and defend myself because I don’t have to. My reputation and my work ethic here has always been first-class. It speaks for itself. I won’t stay here for a second longer and have you tarnish my good name. Good luck finding a housemaid as conscientious as I am.” And with that, she turned and walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

I didn’t know how to feel about her leaving. She said she’d worked here for thirty-eight years. That had to mean something. But Alex was right; something must have been put into that tea.

Was she really the one that drugged me?

I started to walk down the stairs again, and catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Alex turned to face me.