THE READER CHAPTER 3
691 Words
CHAPTER 3: A BOOK THAT SOLD BLOOD
By morning, Mark's death had become a local news story.
By noon, it was a national one.
A neighbor had spoken to a reporter. Someone had photographed the police outside Monette's apartment. Before long, a grainy image of her leaving the building appeared across social media.
The headline read:
WOMAN READS ABOUT MURDER MOMENTS BEFORE BOYFRIEND'S DEATH.
Monette watched the report from her couch.
The news anchor stood in front of a photograph of the black book.
"An extraordinary coincidence—or something far more disturbing? Authorities have confirmed that the victim's body was discovered in a position almost identical to a fictional murder described in the novel The Reader."
The camera shifted to a smiling woman in a tailored black suit.
Lina Vance.
Publisher. Businesswoman. Head of Hawthorne Press.
"At this point, we have no reason to believe the novel has any connection to the crime," Lina said. "However, the similarities are undeniably unsettling."
The reporter asked whether the book would be withdrawn.
Lina smiled sadly.
"We're thinking of the victims and their families. We have no plans to exploit a tragedy."
She paused.
"That said, readers are naturally curious about the story."
Monette threw the remote onto the couch.
"You're lying," she whispered.
She didn't know why she said it.
She simply felt it.
Her phone began ringing.
Unknown number.
She answered.
"Hello?"
"Monette Smith?"
"Yes."
"This is Lina Vance from Hawthorne Press. I'm sorry to contact you during such a difficult time."
Monette sat up.
"How did you get my number?"
"We've been contacted by several journalists. I wanted to offer my condolences before things become even more overwhelming."
"You could have sent an email."
"I could have."
"Why didn't you?"
A brief silence followed.
"Because I wanted to hear your voice."
Monette felt a chill.
"What does that mean?"
"I understand that you were reading our book when the tragedy occurred."
"Your book?"
"Our publication. Yes."
"You make it sound like a product recall."
Lina gave a small laugh.
"You're angry. That's understandable."
"Do you know what happened in my kitchen?"
"No, of course not."
"Then stop talking like you do."
Lina's voice softened.
"Monette, I know this sounds inappropriate, but I would like to meet you. We may be able to help you manage the attention."
"Why would you help me?"
"Because sometimes terrible things happen to people who never asked to be part of a story."
The words unsettled Monette.
She ended the call.
That afternoon, Hawthorne Press announced a temporary reprint of The Reader because of extraordinary demand.
By evening, the first edition was sold out.
The price of used copies climbed online. Bookstores reported customers waiting outside. Video creators read the opening chapter aloud, daring their followers to finish it alone at night.
Some called the book cursed.
Others called it brilliant marketing.
Monette wanted to throw her copy into the trash.
Instead, she opened it.
She turned to the beginning, then to the page where she'd stopped the night before.
Her eyes moved slowly down the page.
There was a new paragraph.
Jenna had always believed that the people closest to her could never become strangers. She would soon learn that love was simply another word for the things people were willing to hide.
Monette stared.
She was certain the paragraph hadn't been there before.
She checked the page number.
Seventeen.
She turned backward, then forward.
Nothing else had changed.
Her phone rang again.
This time, it was Detective Cruz.
"Monette, I need you to come down to the station tomorrow."
"Why?"
"We found something during our investigation."
"What?"
He hesitated.
"Mark's phone contains a message he received shortly before his death."
"What did it say?"
"Come in tomorrow. I'll explain everything in person."
"Detective, please."
"Tomorrow, Monette."
He hung up.
She returned to the book.
At the bottom of page seventeen, a final line had appeared.
The next person to die will be someone Jenna has spent her entire life trying to save.
Monette's fingers tightened around the paper.
There was only one person she had spent her entire life trying to save.
Mickey.
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