It was light outside, thin fingers of sunlight penetrating the slatted blind and dappling the carpet. Since there was no clock in the room and Rachel no longer had a watch, she was unable to check the time. All she knew was that her bladder was so full that it was giving off sharp stabbing pains, and the headache that was a mere tapping the evening before was now a jackhammer. She attempted to exercise her sore, weak legs with a cycling motion and ankle rotations.

This was the second morning she had woken up to find herself lying here on this bed, almost immobile. Nearly forty-eight hours of thinking that surely, soon, someone would come. But nobody had. Where were they? Where was Rob? And what about Joe? Would he be worrying about his messages going unanswered? A wave of despair washed over her, bringing tears in its wake. She brushed them away with her left hand and wiped her nose on her sleeve, which was all she had.

Harland noticed her reddened eyes when she came in, but instead of mollifying her they seemed to cause fury. Mean Harland was back with a vengeance, jabbing the bed pan against Rachel’s buttocks, forcing her to drink scaldingly hot coffee, refusing to let her feed herself cereal in case she spilled the milk. Harland didn’t need to feed her at all – what purpose did it serve? And yet she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself, as though propelled by some dormant nurturing instinct. Would she have been different, Rachel wondered, if her family had been a functional one, if she’d been happy and accepted at school? Would that have put paid to the powerlessness that flipped itself inside out, becoming a need to overpower.

As she went to the door with the breakfast tray, Rachel asked. ‘Could I have some painkillers? Please.’

There it was again: the tight-lipped, mean look. But Harland returned a few minutes later with two Tylenol and some water, waiting silently while Rachel swallowed the tablets. Then she left Rachel alone for what felt like hours. There was the noise of sweeping, then vacuuming in the background. Rachel continued her feeble attempts at exercise, waiting. It was Sunday. The next morning, Rob would be back at his desk. Back in London, in only a matter of hours, she would be a no-show at the NCA, and not answering her mobile either. Would someone there check on her, or would they think she was extending her paid leave into an unauthorised absence? Surely, given her potential promotion, they wouldn’t think she’d stayed away of her own volition?

Harland eventually reappeared, looking serious. She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I want to ask you something.’ She wasn’t wearing the glasses or the dental plate or the fat suit, but her body was shrouded in loose clothes, as though she needed to keep it in check.

‘Go on.’

‘Do you think I’m crazy?’

Rachel did not reply.

‘You do!’ said Harland shrilly. ‘You think the only explanation for this is that I’m crazy.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘No, I was just thinking how to answer the question, that’s all.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘I think you suffered trauma in the past, and that’s acted as a trigger for you acting in a way that many people would consider to be… abnormal. I understand that you were driven to your actions by some very powerful feelings. Not all of which seem crazy to me, no.’

Harland had stood up and picked up her wig, grooming it as though it was a pet. ‘I don’t believe you. You were probably one of the popular girls at school yourself. I expect you had things pretty easy.’

Keep her sweet, thought Rachel. Keep her talking, and someone might come. Please let someone come.

‘Actually, Harland, you’re wrong.’ Rachel pulled herself up with her free elbow so that she was sitting. ‘I was definitely not one of the cool kids.’

Harland gave her a wary look, but Rachel could tell that she really wanted this to be true. Which indeed it was.

‘I was a bit of a heifer, and shy. Not a huge fat blimp, but tubby. In a kind of shapeless way.’ She held up a strand of blonde hair. ‘And before I could afford to spend a fortune on highlights, this was just plain mouse-coloured. I wore braces on my teeth for years. I wasn’t academically gifted, or musical, and – like you – I never got picked for acting roles. I was okay at athletics, but way too clumsy to do well in team sports. I was just a bit of a nothing, really. And I was picked on.’

‘For real?’ She had Harland’s full attention now.

‘Yep. Nothing as extreme as you went through, just name-calling, having my bag snatched, my games kit nicked. That kind of thing. But it affected my confidence, even so.’

Harland sat on the bed again. ‘So what did you do about it?’

‘Worked as hard as I could and got a place at police college. I got into fitness and running, and shed the puppy fat. Lost the braces, dyed my hair blonde. But it was finding something that I was good at that made the real difference.’ She tried not to let her voice shake when she spoke the next words. ‘I’m a good police officer, and that gives me confidence. And that’s what defines me now, not what happened in my past.’

It was impossible not to make this last bit sound like a criticism, but Harland disregarded it, instead latching onto the tale of Rachel’s transformation. ‘So in a way you’re just like me.’ This seemed to please her inordinately.

It was an uncomfortable idea, but Rachel was starting to see the truth in it. There were undoubtedly similarities between them, however minimal. Harland was a bloodless killer who disliked violence and gore and focused on details to make her crimes clean and tidy. Rachel had had her style of policing described as ‘bloodless’. She didn’t bear grudges or become angry with the criminals she pursued, preferring not to involve her emotions where at all possible. Her romantic partners complained of her self-containment, her detachment, her emotional unavailability. And some of that control stemmed from having been being bullied; she had learned to disassociate herself at will.

‘I think we are alike in some ways, yes,’ Rachel agreed, unwilling to voice the obvious fact that her own mild misanthropy was a long way from Harland’s malignant narcissism.

Harland disappeared and came back with a peace offering in the shape of a bowl of Jello. She watched Rachel eating it; her eyes never leaving her face. ‘Do you promise you didn’t make that stuff up about when you were at school?’

‘It’s God’s honest truth,’ said Rachel. ‘But come on Harland, you’re highly intelligent, and you’re observant. I think you know.’

Harland nodded. ‘Yes. I believe you.’ Her voice was soft. ‘And I’m really, really glad you told me. You get it; I can see that now. And you’ve no idea how much that means.’

She removed the empty Jello bowl and gave Rachel a paper towel to wipe her face. ‘If I were to let you go, what would you do?’

Rachel stared. She was so floored by this possibility that she didn’t know how to answer.

‘What would you do?’ Harland persisted.

‘I suppose I’d go straight to the airport and get on the next flight back to London.’

‘Because I’m thinking that I should let you go. I think you deserve it.’

‘When?’ Rachel’s insides curdled with adrenaline. Was there a real possibility that she was going to get out of that room?

‘This evening, maybe. Yes, probably. I don’t know. I’ve got some stuff to do now, but I’ll think about.’

With that, she disappeared.

---

It was almost dark by the time Harland came back, by which time Rachel’s whole body was one jangling nerve. She looked in dismay at the supper tray that was offered: cheese sandwiches and another yoghurt.

‘I thought you were going to let me go?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Harland sounded sad. ‘I thought about it, and I’ve decided I can’t. Not just now.’

‘What do you mean?’ Rachel struggled to quell her rising panic. Stay calm, she told herself. Stay on her side.

‘I need to keep you here just a tiny bit longer, just while I work some things out.’

‘What kind of things?’

Harland picked up the tray and headed to the door.

‘Harland, what did you mean, what kind of things?’

She turned back. ‘It’s like this: I can’t use a CasaMia account any more. They’ve figured out what I’ve been doing, so any compatible home listings are being suspended. I need to find another way of getting into people’s homes.’

Rachel stared, unable to prevent her mouth dropping open. ‘But Harland, I thought…’

That you’d stopped. She couldn’t say it, it sounded completely absurd now she tried to articulate it. I thought now we’d had a good heart to heart and bonded over our mutual victimhood that you’d stop being a sociopathic killer.

‘I’m working on an idea right now, but I just need to progress it a little further before you can go.’

‘What kind of idea? Can you tell me about it?’ Keep her engaged, Rachel told herself, despite being on the edge of losing control.

‘I’m going to offer health coaching.’ Harland couldn’t hide her delight at her own resourcefulness. ‘All those super-healthy, look-at-me girls can’t get enough of their juicing and their clean eating and their Instagrammed smoothie bowls. I’ll offer home tuition, and they’ll happily let me into their perfect lives.’

‘I see.’ Through a clenched jaw, Rachel pushed up the corners of her mouth into a rictus smile.

‘Wait, let me show you…’ Harland went out of the room and came back with her laptop. She pulled up a half-built web page. ‘Look, this is what I have so far.’

Behind the text, there was a stock image of a fit-looking young woman doing yoga in front of a sunset, and another of a vibrantly green smoothie.

Rachel was at a loss. This was horrific: an online conduit to deceiving and killing innocent women. If she endorsed it, Harland would know she was faking it. But she couldn’t risk flipping the switch marked ‘Psycho Harland’. She might end up having all four of her limbs tied up. Or worse.

‘The page looks impressive,’ she said truthfully. ‘I can see you’ve put a lot of thought into it.’

‘Thanks,’ Harland looked happy again. ‘Maybe we can talk it through together when I’ve worked on it a bit more. You can give me some ideas.’

This is it, Rachel thought, when the door was closed and she was alone again. I can’t lie here waiting for someone to find me while she’s cooking up a new plan to prey on women she sees as the mean girls of this world. There’s only one option: I have to escape. Now.