THE READER : read at your own risk

THE READER CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 2: THE MAN WHO ASKED ABOUT MICKEY

Detective Daniel Cruz arrived forty minutes later. By then, the rain had softened to a steady whisper against the windows, but the apartment is alive with movement. Uniformed officers guarded the entrance. Crime-scene technicians moved between the kitchen and the living room, photographing everything, collecting evidence, and speaking in low voices.

At forty-two, Cruz had spent enough years investigating murders to recognize the usual reactions: shock, panic, anger, denial. He had seen people collapse, scream, and insist they had nothing to hide.

Monette Smith did none of those things.

She sat on the living room couch, wrapped in a blanket an officer had given her. Her hands trembled around a paper cup of water she hadn't touched.

Cruz pulled a chair closer and sat facing her.

"Monette, I'm Detective Cruz. I know you've already spoken to the responding officers. I need to ask you a few questions".

"Can you tell me what happened tonight?"

"I was reading."

Cruz waited for more.

"What were you reading?"

"A book."

"Which book?"

She looked toward the coffee table.

"That one."

Cruz glanced at the black cover with its gold lettering.

THE READER.

"All right," he said. "You were reading. Then what happened?" "Then what happened?"

"I heard a noise in the kitchen."

"What kind of noise?"

"I'm not sure. Something falling"

"And when you heard the noise?"

"I got up. I went to the kitchen."

She stopped.

Her fingers tightened around the cup.

Cruz waited.

"What did you see?"

"Mark."

"Tell me what you saw."

"He was on the floor. His face was turned up. His mouth was open."

Her voice thinned until it was barely audible.

"I thought he was breathing. I actually thought he was breathing, Detective. I called his name, but he wouldn't answer. I touched his shoulder, and—"

She shut her eyes.

"I knew."

Cruz let a few seconds pass before asking his next question.

"Did you touch anything else?"

"No."

"Did you move the body?"

"No."

"Did you call emergency services?"

"Yes."

Then he asked, "Did Mark have any enemies?"

"Anyone who might want him dead?"

Then a name surfaced in her mind.

"My nephew'

"Mickey Hart."

"How old is he?"

"Nineteen."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know."

Monette's expression hardened.

"I raised him."

"Tell me about him."

"He came to live with me when he was seven. His mother couldn't take care of him. I was young myself, but I took him in."

"I made his meals. Took him to school. Went to every meeting with his teachers"

"I did everything I could to make sure he knew somebody wanted him."

"He disappear".

"When did he disappear?"

"Yesterday."

"Did he take his belongings?"

"His backpack. A few clothes. I thought he was angry and needed space."

"Did he tell you where he was going?"

"No."

"Because Mickey does this sometimes. He gets angry, walks out, and stays somewhere else. He always comes back."

"Did he have a problem with Mark?

"They hated each other."

"Mark thought Mickey was irresponsible. Mickey thought Mark was controlling". They argued constantly. Mark said Mickey was ungrateful. Mickey said Mark wasn't family and had no right to tell him what to do."

"Did they ever become violent?"

"Not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"Mark shoved him once. Mickey punched a hole in the wall. I made them both apologize."

"He told Mark he would regret everything he'd done.

"He said, 'One day, you'll understand what it feels like to lose everything.'"

For the first time since he'd entered the apartment, his expression changed.

"Those were his exact words?"

"Yes."

"And then he left yesterday."

"Yes."

"And tonight, Mark is dead."

Monette looked at him

"He's not a killer."

"You just told me he threatened Mark."

"I told you they fought. That's different."

Monette set the cup on the table. A little water spilled over the rim.

"You don't know Mickey."

Cruz held her gaze.

"I'm not deciding anything. I'm trying to understand what happened to Mark."

He had learned long ago that people often defended the ones they feared losing most.

Sometimes they were right.

He closed his notebook.

"Was there anything unusual about tonight? Any strange phone calls? Anyone asking about Mark? Anyone asking about Mickey?"

Her face changed.

Cruz caught it.

"What?"

"Two days ago, Mickey asked me something strange."

"What did he ask?"

"He wanted to know if I'd ever heard of a book that could predict how someone would die."

Cruz sat back.

"A book?"

"Yes."

"What did you tell him?"

"I laughed. I thought he was talking about some horror novel he'd found online."

"And what did he say?"

"He said it wasn't a joke."

Cruz glanced at the black book on the coffee table.

"Was he talking about this one?"

"I don't know.'

"Did he mention the title?"

"No."

"Did he say where he'd heard about it?"

"No. He just asked whether I believed something like that could exist."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him books are stories. They don't know the future."

Cruz followed her gaze to the coffee table.

"Do you believe that now?"

Monette didn't answer.

Instead, she reached for the book.

"There's something you need to see."

Cruz watched as she opened it to the first chapter.

The pages had been bent back at the corner. The paper was slightly rough beneath her fingertips.

She turned the book toward him.

"Read that."

Cruz looked down.

The opening lines described a woman named Jenna discovering a man named Leo dead in a kitchen.

Face up.

Mouth open.

He read the passage twice.

Then he looked at Monette.

"Is this what you found when you discovered Mark?"

"Yes."

"Did you read this before you went into the kitchen?"

"Yes."

"How long before?"

"Five minutes. Maybe less."

Cruz closed the book.

"Monette, books don't predict murders."

"Then explain what happened."

"Coincidence."

"Of course."

He stood.

"We'll investigate every possibility. For now, I need you to stay available. And if Mickey contacts you, call me immediately."

Cruz was almost at the door when Monette spoke.

"Detective?"

He turned.

"Do you believe me?"

He looked at her for a moment.

"No"

"Then explain it to me. Explain how I read about a man being found exactly the way I found Mark. Explain why Mickey asked me about a book that could predict death two days before Mark died."

Monette, It is fiction."

"I know what it is."

"People write stories about murders every day."

"I know."

"Sometimes real life resembles things we've read."

"I know!"

After he left, Monette sat motionless.

Outside, the rain continued.

On the coffee table, the book had fallen open.

A sentence near the bottom of the page caught her eye.

THE FIRST DEATH IS NEVER THE MOST IMPORTANT.

Monette stared at the words.

She was certain they hadn't been there before.