small closet-like bathroom. Her blood left a telltale trail behind him. The dark bathroom smelt of apples. A toilet flushed somewhere upstairs and the sound of the water rushed down to him through the open ventilation window. He dumped her in the bath tub and arranged her body so that it was in the foetal position, with her arms curled around her legs, switching on the bathroom light so he could admire his handiwork. The light flickered above his head and then flashed on, giving the scene a bright, harsh light. The room reminded him of the bathroom she'd locked him in, where he had so often cried himself to sleep, wet and cold, curled up in the tub. Conflicting emotions stirred within him. He felt triumphant, almost godlike staring down at his creation, but there was a part of him that wanted to scream out in pain at what he'd done. He shut his mind to the guilt that was making him weak. He needed to urinate, so he stood over the bathtub, unzipped his pants and sprayed over her body. Relief flooded over him. The joy of pissing on a woman like her made him smile. When he was done he zipped himself up and left the bathroom. He walked to the kitchen, leaving bloody footprints in his wake, retrieved his rucksack from the top of the kitchen counter and carried it back to the bathroom. He opened the bag and removed his digital camera. He placed himself