THE READER : read at your own risk

THE READER : read at your own risk By Miguel L. Haw A Psychological Thriller --- CHAPTER 1: THE NIGHT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING HARD RAIN AT NIGHT The rain had been falling over Dayton since late afternoon, turning the streets into long, trembling mirrors beneath the streetlights. Monette Smith sat alone on her couch, wearing an oversized gray sweater and a pair of faded pajama pants. At twenty-eight, she had learned to appreciate quiet evenings. They were easier than dealing with people, their expectations, and their endless disappointments. A half-empty mug of coffee rested on the table beside her. Her phone lay face down. The television was muted. In her hands was a black book with silver lettering across its cover. THE READER — READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. The author was listed as L. Keller, a name Monette had never heard before. The publisher, Hawthorne Press, was better known for celebrity memoirs and inexpensive romance novels than psychological thrillers. Yet the book had received a remarkable endorsement from publisher Lina Vance. A thriller that makes a killer out of its reader. She turned the page. The opening sentence had bothered her from the beginning. "Jenna found Leo dead in the kitchen. Face up. Mouth open." Monette frowned. "Who writes something like that?" she muttered. She read the paragraph again. Jenna had returned home after a long day at work. She had heard a strange noise from the kitchen, followed by the sound of something falling. When she entered, her husband was lying on the tiled floor. A knife protruded from his chest. The description was uncomfortably vivid. The author even described the thin line of blood running between two floor tiles. Monette shivered. She glanced toward her own kitchen. It was dark beyond the doorway. "Okay," she whispered to herself. "That's enough for tonight." She closed the book. Then she heard a sound. THUD. Monette looked up. The noise had come from the kitchen. For a moment, she didn't move. She listened for another sound, perhaps a glass rolling across the floor or the familiar scrape of a chair. Nothing. "Mark?" Her boyfriend had said he would stop by after work. He had been unusually quiet on the phone, but that wasn't uncommon lately. She put the book down and stood. "Mark, if you're trying to scare me, it isn't funny." She walked toward the kitchen. The first thing she noticed was the smell. Metallic. Sharp. Then she saw his shoes. Mark Ford, thirty-five years old, was lying on his back beside the kitchen island. His face was turned slightly toward the ceiling. His mouth hung open. A kitchen knife protruded from his chest. Blood had spread beneath him, seeping into the grout between the tiles. For several seconds, Monette couldn't understand what she was seeing. Her mind kept trying to replace the image with something ordinary. Mark sleeping. Mark pretending to be dead. Mark getting up and laughing at her. "Mark?" She stepped forward. Her legs weakened. "Mark, get up." She dropped to her knees beside him. His skin was already cold. "No. No, no, no." She touched his shoulder and pulled her hand away when she felt how limp he was. The scream that escaped her sounded like it belonged to somebody else. She stumbled backward, knocked a chair over, and fumbled for her phone. Her fingers refused to cooperate. "911. Please. Please, somebody—" The dispatcher answered. Monette tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken gasp. "Ma'am? What's your emergency?" "My boyfriend. He's—there's blood. He's on the floor." "Is he breathing?" Monette looked at Mark. She couldn't bring herself to touch him again. "I don't know." "What's your address?" She gave it, barely managing to finish the sentence. "Stay on the line with me. Is there anyone else in the apartment?" Monette stared at the open kitchen doorway. "No." Then she remembered the book. It was still lying on the couch, exactly where she'd left it. She looked at the cover, then at Mark. Her throat tightened. "Ma'am?" The dispatcher called her name. Monette didn't answer. Because the book had described the scene before it happened. And Mark was lying exactly as Leo on the first page. Face up. Mouth open. The rain continued to beat against the windows. For the first time in her life, Monette felt that something had been waiting for her to finish reading. And now it had turned the page. ---