Page 57 of The Psychopath Next Door

The gun – a black revolver, quite old-looking – was pointed straight at her chest. Fiona stood with her back to the cellar steps, hands held aloft. Patrick moved left so he was directly in front of her in the hall, with his back to the kitchen door. He must have lied about going into the cellar. Instead, he had crept upstairs, which was presumably where he kept his gun.

‘Did you really think I wouldn’t recognise you? Even with the new hair colour, the fake accent, I’d know those eyes anywhere. I’ve watched all the news reports, Fiona. Looked into those eyes of yours a hundred times. And do you know why?’

He was breathing heavily now. But the hand that held the gun was stable. Not shaking.

‘I was trying to see if there was any humanity in there. After what you tried to do to Dinah. I wanted to know if you felt any remorse.’

She didn’t know what to say. Theoretically, she knew what remorse meant. But the closest she’d ever got was self-pity. Regret for ways the world had screwed her over.

‘I knew you were out of prison,’ he went on. ‘Though I’m not sure if you can even call that place a prison. Franklin Grange.’ He spat the words. ‘More like a holiday camp. I bet you had a grand old time, didn’t you?’

‘Patrick,’ Fiona said, dropping the accent. ‘I came to apologise.’

‘What rot! You’ve come here for revenge. You know, I saw the report about your lawyer dying.’

Shit. He really had followed the case in detail.

‘I bet that was you too. Are you working your way down a list, eh?’ His lip curled. ‘I hope I’m only number two and that you didn’t manage to bump anyone else off before you came up against a proper adversary.’ He moved away from the main staircase, the gun still aimed at her heart. The kitchen was to her right, the front door to her left. ‘Because that’s what you and that other little bitch specialised in, isn’t it? Picking on people weaker than you.’

Most people would be going into flight, fight or freeze mode now. Heart rate soaring, cortisol and adrenaline pumping. But Fiona barely felt anything. Annoyance at herself for being arrogant. Surprised respect for Patrick – well, a little, anyway. And, of course, she didn’t want to be caught or punished. But she was calm. Calculating.Cool.

‘Why don’t you put the gun down, Patrick?’

‘Shut up! Who’s the girl, eh? She’s not really your daughter, is she?’

He took another step closer. She was trapped in the doorway to the cellar.

‘I want you to go down those steps,’ he said.

‘Into the cellar? What are you going to do?’ Fiona asked. ‘Keep me prisoner? Use me as a sex slave?’

He made a disgusted noise. ‘I’m going to call the police, you bloody sicko.’

So he hadn’t called them yet. That was encouraging. All she had to do was get the gun – but the moment she moved towards him he would probably pull the trigger.

‘Come on, Patrick. Can’t we talk? I could make you happy.’

‘You’re revolting. You’re not even properly human.’

He took another couple of steps towards her. They were only a metre apart now. She could almost hear his heart thudding in his chest.

Where was Rose? Was she completely unaware of what was going on out here?

‘This is your last warning,’ he said. ‘I will take great pleasure in shooting you. Get down those steps now. I’m counting to three. One—’

‘Fine.’

Her mind raced, trying to figure out how she was going to get out of this. She couldn’t accept that a man like Patrick could beat her. This was a temporary glitch, that was all. But right now she had no choice but to obey him. She began to walk very slowly down the steps, looking back over her shoulder at him, at his silhouette as it appeared in the cellar doorway, preparing to shut the door, to lock it.

And then a blur of noise and motion behind him.

A little later she would realise that Rose – who had been listening to everything – had come charging out of the kitchen at full speed. And as Patrick stood at the top of the steep cellar steps, his back to Rose, looking down towards Fiona, she charged into him,arms outstretched. Shoving him with as much force as her small body could muster.

But it was enough. He flew down the stairs, arms windmilling. He reached out in desperation, trying to grab on to Fiona on his way down, but she flattened herself against the wall, his fingers brushing her chest, and he was past her in a second. He cried out once as he fell, and then there was a crack as he hit the concrete floor below.

The sound of his neck breaking.

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