Page 113 of The Psychopath Next Door

‘Liar,’ Dylan yelled. ‘You’re a liar!’

‘It was Fiona!’ Rose said.

‘Then why is there blood all over your hands and your face?’

‘Because I tried to help her.’

‘Quiet!’ I snapped at both of them. My ears were buzzing like they were full of flies; all I could smell was blood, and I had to get out of this room.

I ushered both my children out into the corridor, shutting the door behind me so I could no longer see the scene. Not that I would ever manage that, I knew.

My dead wife. Oh God, mydeadwife. The knowledge hit me and I staggered, slamming against the wall, almost sliding into the same position I’d found Emma in. Somehow, I managed to stay upright. The steady drone of rain hitting the roof above my head. The light from the phone I was still holding bouncing around me,adding to the nausea. I felt like I was trapped in some nightmarish funfair attraction, a house of horrors, everything spinning and crooked and warped.

‘Dad?Dad?’

I lifted my head to find Dylan shaking my shoulder, his face inches from mine. He looked stricken, too shocked to cry, and clearly asking for help. From me. His dad. Beside him, Rose stood motionless, except I could see she was breathing heavily, her eyes ablaze.

I looked down at the phone in my hand. There was something I needed to do. My brain wouldn’t work. I don’t know how many seconds passed before I figured it out.

‘Did you call the police already?’

My voice was shaking so much I had to say it twice before Dylan understood.

‘No. Not yet. But I couldn’t wait at the car. I was scared, Dad. Scared they’d done something to you.’ And that was when it really hit him, the grief taking over from his anger at Rose, and his face crumpled. He sobbed, covering his face with his hands.

I pulled him into a hug and held him for a moment. Over his shoulder, I saw Rose watching us with what looked like curiosity. Was she smiling? Whatever Dylan had said about her, it still wouldn’t cut through. I still couldn’t believe it of her. My little girl.

I let go of Dylan and handed him my phone. ‘Can you call the police while I talk to Rose?’

He managed to get hold of himself, though his words came out strangled. ‘Why do you want to talk to her?’

‘Dylan, please.’

Hand shaking, he made the call while I crouched in front of Rose.

‘I need you to promise me that you’re telling the truth,’ I said to her.

‘I am.’

‘What about Iris? Did Fiona kill her?’

She hesitated a moment too long before saying, ‘No, we just went to say goodbye. To wish her a happy trip.’

I nodded, but that was it; my heart was shattered. Because I knew she was lying.

Standing up was like fighting against gravity. I could feel it trying to pull me down – make me lie there on the floor and give in. But then I looked at Dylan, holding the phone out to me, and I knew I couldn’t do that. I had to stay strong enough to act, for him.

‘You have to tell them,’ Dylan said. ‘Tell them it was her.’

‘Dylan—’ I took the phone. Disconnected the call.

‘Why did you do that? She’s a psychopath. She killed Mum!’

‘Daddy, don’t let him say those things about me.’

She never called me Daddy. Hadn’t for years. I looked at her and her bloody hands, recalled the lie she’d just told me about Iris, and any final doubts I might have had were obliterated.

She was lying about all of it.

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