Izzy pressed her foot down on the accelerator. Her little Fiat tore through the Saturday night streets. She passed people clustered around bars, clubs, and takeaway restaurants. Drunken laughter and shouting exploded everywhere.
An icy breeze came from the broken window and blasted the side of Izzy’s face, making her even colder than she would otherwise have been.
Confronting Adam was risky, but she wanted to see him one last time. She had to know if he’d started the fire.
If she looked him in the eyes and asked him, she’d know if he answered truthfully.
Wouldn’t she?
The place wasn’t just a shop. It was a home. So if Adam started that fire, he meant for people to die. Izzy wondered if he was really capable of such a thing.
Adam was sick. Controlling and cruel. But Izzy couldn’t face the possibility that he was a murderer. What would that say about her? That she was dumb enough to be taken in by a killer? She wouldn’t be the first.
For the millionth time, Izzy thought of Ruth. Had the Scottish girl been taken in by Adam too? Had he killed her and moved on, eager to find another sucker?
Who knew?
Even the Scottish court seemed uncertain.
Not proven.
The apartment complex appeared ahead. Izzy shunned her usual parking spot in front of the building, and ditched the Fiat outside the next block, so Adam wouldn’t see it if he was around.
Within her, a battle was taking place.
She needed to see Adam. At the same time, she never wanted to see him again. She suspected he was a killer, but desperately wanted proof that he was not. It was enough to make her crazy.
She stepped out of the car and walked briskly across the tarmac. Her breath misted in the night air.
Seeing no one, she let herself into her old building. She took the stairs, pushed through the door to the familiar, dim corridor.
The usual hum of the lights came from overhead. She forced herself to continue to the door of Adam’s apartment.
After a moment’s hesitation, she knocked.
A bitter taste filled her mouth as she waited for the door to open. Her ears strained for the sound of movement from within, but she heard nothing.
She wondered if Adam had gone to hospital to get his wound taken care of. If he had any sense, he would have gone straight to the Accident and Emergency Department. But if he’d had any sense, he wouldn’t have sliced his arm open like that in the first place.
The image of his mutilated flesh shot into her mind. Vivid red blood against pale skin. Dark water lapping against the pier’s side.
And Dylan’s stunned face.
There was still no sound from inside the apartment, so Izzy slid her key into the hole. She swallowed as she turned the key.
Gingerly, she pushed the door. She was half-expecting Adam to rush out at her. He didn’t. There was still only silence and stillness.
Izzy stepped inside.
The lights were on, but Adam was nowhere to be seen. Closing the door, Izzy walked across the sitting room. She paused by the kitchen area, which smelled like stale take-away. The bin was overflowing, the sink full of dirty dishes.
That was more alarming than anything else.
Adam was so organised, so neat. In her time living with him, Izzy had never seen the bin overflow, had never witnessed him leaving dirty dishes unwashed. He controlled the dishes the way he tried to control everything else.
Curious now, she checked the cupboard over the sink, where he kept canned food in meticulously neat order.
Now there was chaos. Tins of tomatoes, beans, and fruit were all mixed up and some lay on their side. Someone who didn’t know Adam would not have been shocked by the disorder. But Izzy had never seen such a sight in Adam’s place before. That, even more than him carving IZZY into his arm, told her that Adam was melting down.
She closed the cupboard, then moved to the bedroom. She needed to take her passport. Izzy was surprised to see a black holdall sitting on top of the bed.
Izzy had never seen the bag before. It looked full and somehow ominous, though she couldn’t have said why.
She walked to the bedside drawer. There was no sign of her passport inside. Adam must have taken it.
She cursed under her breath, then turned her attention to the holdall. What was inside? She grasped the zip and opened it. A motley collection of items came into view. They sent her pulse racing even faster.
A blindfold, a bottle of bleach, cable ties, a couple of knives, duct tape, a gag, a length of rope, a hammer, and a small axe.
It was a murder kit.
Izzy’s breath quickened at the sight.
Everything Dylan had said was true. Adam was a killer. And he was planning to kill her.
Perhaps torching Dylan’s home was only one part of the night’s fun.
It was then that she heard a faint sound from the next room. Someone had just entered the apartment.