Kizzy collapses on the bed inside her apartment. Her body twitches as Danni-Jo watches and waits. Anvil, plus the anti-depressants, Kizzy had ingested them in the lasagne and the Prosecco. She’d put more in the coffee too though it seems they weren’t needed.

She’s in a slumber now, the first stages, and Danni-Jo observes the room. Kizzy’s apartment is almost identical to her own, only in reverse, left is right and vice versa, like a mirror. Kizzy’s frame is lumped to one side on the bed. She still has her shoes on and she’s fully clothed. Danni-Jo imagines her slipping into a dark abyss of sleeping pills and prescription drugs, and she listens to the weighty heaviness of her breathing as she disappears inside herself. She begins to undress her, folding her clothes neatly and placing them on the chair next to the bed. She’s wearing latex gloves. Kizzy moans lightly as she strips her down to her practical underwear. Her eyes are closed, her limbs like iron bars. She takes a nightdress from her chest of draws and pulls her into an upright position, struggling a little to get the garment over her head as it rolls like a marionette’s. A puppet, that’s what Kizzy is really, has been all her rotten life. She removes her sensible shoes and places them on the floor next to her clothes. Silently, calmly, her own breathing low and measured, she begins to search for Kizzy’s journal, the one she had found that afternoon when she’d had a snoop around. Finding it in the living area, she places it on the bedside table, open on today’s date. There’s no entry. She decides to flick through it and scans the previous day’s pages. They’re filled with despair over the demise of Kizzy’s beloved cat. Words jump out at Danni-Jo, ‘feeling so low’, ‘depressed’, ‘life’s not worth living’, ‘how could he do this?’ ‘He’s found me, he’s after me again… I’m terrified’. She flicks through the pages, ‘at least I have my new friend, Danni-Jo… she’s been so kind to me. There are kind people in this world… people like Danni-Jo, she’s invited me for dinner this week… I’m so happy to have made a new friend, she’s restored my faith in humanity, a little at least.’

Danni-Jo smiles, genuinely touched.

She leaves the page open and goes into the living area where she sits on the sofa and lights a cigarette, blowing smoke rings above her, watching as they form perfect O’s before gradually curling out of shape to nothing. She plays with the razor blade between her thumb and index finger, flicking it over between them, fascinated at how it catches the light from the window. She doesn’t bother to draw the curtains; they’re on the top floor, they’re not overlooked by anyone, no one can see. Her thoughts are troubled once more by the potential issue of having been caught on CCTV entering Kizzy’s apartment on the day she poisoned the cat. She’s already told the police a lie: that she wasn’t there. First thing in the morning, she would pay the building security bloke a visit and somehow get him to erase the past few weeks of footage. This annoying problem bothers Danni-Jo, but it’s not enough of a deterrent to put her off returning to her apartment, leaving Kizzy to reach a deep sleep. She has a purpose now, a divine one. She owes it to Mummy Bear, poor unhappy Mummy Bear, a martyr to her own misery, a slave to her own delusions of goodness and hope. Danni-Jo can no longer bear to see her suffer in such a way, just like her own mother did. She is kind; Kizzy recognises this in her, just as her mother did too. And so she must, must commit this selfless act of kindness and put an end to her suffering.

Danni-Jo extinguishes her cigarette in the sink, pushing the butt down the plughole and running the tap. Kizzy is asleep now, comatose. She moves closer towards the bed and watches her breathing heavily for a moment, the rhythmic sound is almost hypnotic. Entering the bathroom, she opens the cabinet and takes out the selection of pill bottles inside, before emptying most of their contents into some toilet tissue. She saves a few, putting them to one side before flushing the paper down the toilet. Then she places the bottles haphazardly on the bed, and one on its side on the bedside table with the remaining few tablets spilling out of it. She removes the top from the bottle of vodka she’s brought with her and empties half of it down the sink, before taking a few generous swigs herself, pulling her lips over her teeth as the breath leaves her body – she hates vodka, it’s a disgusting tramp’s drink, tasteless and spiteful on the throat, a means-to-an-end kind of drink, crass. She parts Kizzy’s lips and pours a little of the clear liquid into her mouth. She begins to choke, a dry, retching sound emanating from her as she convulses. It’s enough to cause an involuntary physical reaction, but not enough to wake her, not quite anyway. She moans and murmurs.

‘Shhhh now, Mummy Bear,’ Danni-Jo soothes her, ‘we don’t want a scene, think of the neighbours…’

Kizzy coughs, attempting to expel the foreign liquid that’s burning into her oesophagus. Her eyes shoot open for a second, only to close just as quickly. She spasms, sits up for a fleeting moment and collapses onto her back. Her heart is beating rapidly.

Music; Danni-Jo decides she wants music. She replaces the bottle on the bedside table and goes to turn the radio on. Magic FM. It’s playing Everything But The Girl’s ‘Walking Wounded’. She smiles at the appropriateness. This is a sign. She’s sure of that. A fait accompli. She begins to sing softly underneath her breath, ‘what do you want from me, you’re trying to punish me, punish me for loving you, punishing me for giving to you…’ She knows this song. She’s heard it before. Her mother liked it. She picks up the razor blade that she’s placed on the side of the sink and marches towards the bed. Kizzy’s wrist is limp as she takes it in her hand before slicing it vertically. The blood hits her directly, sprays across her chest and lower face, a warm jet on her lips and chin. She isn’t repulsed by it like she was with Daddy Bear. She wants this intimacy with Kizzy, with Mummy Bear. She doesn’t flinch or wipe it away, but marvels at the warmth of Kizzy’s life force on her skin, before taking her other wrist, holding it in her hand like a trophy.

But suddenly Kizzy buckles, her eyes shoot open and she gasps, a curdled scream comes from her mouth. Oh no, Mummy Bear! Please don’t fight it! Kizzy’s eyes open in horror. She knows something terrible is taking place. Quickly Danni-Jo pushes her onto her back and puts her hand over her mouth. Kizzy is awake, a look of despair and confusion in her eyes as she appears to realise the horror of her situation. But she’s too incapacitated to fight – to prevent what is happening to her. She tries to call out but her voice is a paralysed, rasping silence instead. Kizzy slips back into unconsciousness.

‘Now you were doing so well, Mummy Bear,’ Danni-Jo says, ‘I’m very disappointed in you.’ She opens up her left wrist, watching as the blood rushes to the surface of Kizzy’s thin skin. It drips onto the bed. ‘It’s okay now, Mummy Bear,’ she says, soothing her, watching her body twitch and spasm, until eventually it is still.