She took the communal stairs up to her apartment on the fourth floor carrying the purchases from a day’s West End shopping trip. Spending money had felt good; she’d earned it. High on adrenaline, she took the stairs two at a time, an abundance of energy coursing through her and making her feel powerful as the array of designer shopping bags she was carrying in both hands scraped against the walls. She’d spent around three and a half grand in as many hours today in Gucci, Victoria’s Secret, Selfridges, All Saints… But it was the thrill of what had taken place at La Reymond in penthouse suite 106 that had really given her a sense of omnipotence. She marvelled at how easy it had been to take another life and the unadulterated pleasure rush she had derived from it, and she wondered why she hadn’t done it sooner. Getting away with it felt like a reason to celebrate. She knew the first forty-eight hours were critical and they had passed by with no cause for concern. At least not for her. Clearly she’d covered her tracks efficiently enough and she felt a touch silly at fleetingly having doubted herself. She’d purposefully made the scene look like a grisly suicide on first sight, but she was aware that with further investigation the real motive would become apparent. Subconsciously she wanted it to be, really throw those fuckers into a spin questioning themselves. She’d been careful to cover any DNA trail but the idea that the police would eventually discover that Daddy Bear had been murdered excited her.

She imagined the moment someone, probably the housekeeper, had walked into suite 106 and discovered the gruesome scene. Witnessing something like that scarred a person and it only added to her pleasure to know she had affected a total stranger’s life in such a manner. Daddy Bear’s wife though, she’d be having real problems right about now. That she could count on. He’d confessed to being married with two kids pretty much instantly when they’d connected online; she was sure he’d given their names and ages too, but she’d only feigned interest and couldn’t recall them. Now she wished she could, because it would have allowed her to visualise their grief with much more clarity. On a conscious level, she knew she was supposed to feel some type of remorse, pity or guilt for the family he’d left behind. Because that’s what human beings are supposed to feel. But her subconscious was blank, void and empty like a dark abyss. She had no access to such emotions and could only picture what they might look and feel like. Her emotions consisted only of visual fantasies, as she imagined his wife, hunched and crying at his graveside, the tragedy taking its toll on her face as she silently blamed herself, and his children, bereft, propping her up as they sobbed and grieved for their fat, useless fuck of a cheating father. She caught herself smiling at the thought of this scenario. It was the first time she’d considered his family since the slaying. Slaying. She liked that word; it was somehow more befitting than ‘murder’. Daddy Bear had been a sacrifice and his demise had left her feeling a height of euphoria she’d never reached before, not even during her past repertoire of deviant and perverted behaviour. It was sustenance to her psyche, filling up a measurable void inside her to the extent that she almost felt human, real, alive.

She wondered if this was how other people felt in their everyday lives? Her morbid jealousy of other people’s ‘ordinary’ lives and their ability to self-generate happiness was part of the disorder that drove her to secure, entrap, then devalue and discard people. But not before sucking the very life from them first; draining them of every good, joyful human feeling and experience and leaving them a broken, empty husk of their former glorious selves.

Taking things one step further towards physical murder however had been a long time coming. It had been a dark, insidious, gradual fantasy until it had manifested itself as a progressively logical reality in her twisted mind. It was a story she needed to tell – one in which she got to write the ending and set herself free.

Thoughts of Daddy Bear’s family evaporated quickly as a pang in her belly alerted her to her hunger. All that shopping had given her an appetite. Maybe she’d treat herself to a takeaway tonight before getting back online again. She didn’t want to waste time, not when she was riding such a high wave. However, she suspected that procuring Mummy Bear was going to be a trickier process than entrapping Daddy Bear had been.

Lost in her thoughts, she almost didn’t see the woman from the apartment opposite her at the top of the stairs. She was red-faced and looked agitated; a pile of grocery shopping bags was clustered around her feet. The woman smiled almost apologetically when she saw her coming up the stairs.

‘Hi,’ she said in response to her neighbour’s smile. She was in a good, no, great mood and felt like she wanted someone to witness it. ‘You okay? You look a little stressed out.’

She didn’t recognise this woman. She must be new.

The neighbour sighed heavily. ‘I’ve only gone and locked myself out,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief at her own stupidity. ‘I’m such… such an idiot. Don’t know where my head’s at at the moment… All over the place…’ she berated herself, embarrassed.

‘Oh shit, really?’ She smiled, in an attempt to appear sympathetic. ‘You not got a spare set of keys?’

The neighbour opened out her palms and looked to the ceiling. ‘Well, you’d think, wouldn’t you, but no. The spare set’s…’ she pointed to the locked door, eyes rolling, ‘in there.’

‘Oops… you poor thing.’

‘Dozy arse you mean… honestly, the week I’ve had…’ She shook her head, her unruly curly ginger hair looking almost as angry as she was with herself. ‘I’m going to have to call a locksmith now, more bloody expense.’

She nodded.

‘Yeah… those guys aren’t cheap. You can’t call your landlord? He’ll have a set, won’t he?’ She was being helpful, making suggestions. Sometimes it was fun playing human.

‘I own it,’ the red-haired woman said, apologetically again.

She realised she was the type of person whose foot you could stamp on and they would end up being the one apologising to you for having a foot in the first place. A nice person. Now she had her interest.

‘Oh, you bought the place… lucky you. Wish I could afford to buy. The rent’s extortionate on my place.’

‘Part of my divorce settlement; he got to keep the house, but he didn’t get to keep me… It’s okay though,’ she quickly added, clearly not wanting to overshare.

Her mind began to rev with possibilities as she mentally assessed the woman.

‘Look, why don’t you come inside, bring your shopping in and wait while you call a locksmith?’

The woman’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

‘Really? Oh, that’s so kind of you.’ Her neighbour’s head fell to the side, reminding her of Daddy Bear and how he’d looked in the bath with his head titled, like it was trying to escape from his neck. ‘Only if you’re sure… I’m not putting you out am I? It’s Saturday, I’m sure you’ve got plans…’

She smiled. ‘Yeah, planning on sorting through this lot,’ she held her purchases up proudly, ‘getting a takeaway and watching crap telly… it’s no bother at all.’

The woman was picking up her bags now. ‘I’m so grateful, thank you…’

‘… Danni-Jo,’ she said. She’d been Danni-Jo for a while now.

‘I’m Karen, but everyone calls me Kizzy… my friends call me Kizzy.’

‘Nice to meet you, Kizzy,’ Danni-Jo reached for her keys, ‘come on in.’