The Read of Death

I can see the homicide detective ringing the doorbell through my living room window.  Her partner, who is the strong quiet type is with her again.

“Hello detectives,” I say, opening the door. Their postures are stiffened, their faces are sober. 

“We know this hard for you, but could we have a few minutes of your time again with you for the case?” Detective Catherine Smiley asks.

“Yes,” I answer as formally as possible. The only reason I can do so is because I am fully medicated. “Please come in.”

They enter my living room and seat themselves on my grey sofa couch. My tuxedo cat does not seem to be happy to share his favourite lounging spot with them. But he has no choice but to let them sit there. He jumps off. He knows that they mean business. He wanders into the kitchen.

I sit across them in one of my velvet hippie-like soft armchairs. I force myself to keep my composure. I know I am not guilty, but I still feel guilty.

“We need to hear your story again in case we’ve missed something,” Smiley says. “Take all the time that you need.” She tilts her head slightly to the left and looks straight into my eyes. And opens her notebook with pen in hand.

“Um, I was browsing online and I found this site www.onlyonebook.com. The site hooked me due to its concept: selling only one book by genre. After browsing for a bit, I clicked on the self–help category and the book recommended in that category was Transcend the Inner Voices of your Bullies. I ordered it.”

My body defies me and starts shaking. The events of the past few weeks have been stressful. It is the first time in years that I have not been able to eat, sleep, or focus on work. Even my neighbour, Aidan Reilly, has been visiting me religiously to make sure that I do not do anything foolish. He is a good man who works as an Art Director, which has come in handy since I am a freelance copywriter. He has given me plenty of referrals for writing anything from bubble-bath to do-it-yourself-tattoo commercials.

“You’re safe. It’s going to be okay,” the male detective reassures. His last name is Hunter, apropos for a sleuth.

I take a deep breath, pause to regain my courage, and continue telling them my story.

“In high school, I was “soft-bullied” by my three girlfriends. Until, I had read the book, I did not realize how they had treated back then, and how it was still affecting my present life. I was the smart one, so I did their homework. They let me into their lives only when it was convenient for them.”

“What did they do to you?” Smiley asks.

“Well, they would not invite me to parties; they made fun of me when boys were around; they cancelled plans with me at the last minute if they found something better to do; they picked on me for the way I dressed and looked; they made fun of me for the boys I liked, and then, dated them; they said I was a geek and that I was lucky to be part of their clique.”

“They caused you long-term psychological effects,” Smiley says.

“Yes, it has affected my confidence, something I’m still working on. I found my people when I did my literature degree.”

“As we have told you, our Cyber Unit still can’t find the people behind the site from where you ordered the book. At this stage of the investigation, we only know—your order was the only one placed. They also launched the site one day before your order and shut it down one day after your order was placed.”

“Why did you send these women whom you used to be friends in high school this book on bullying?”

“There was a section in the book that explained to them why they had targeted me. I was nerdy and solicitous. It gave an in-depth description as to why bullying happens within the female population. The books were drop-shipped, but I like how I could type in a note of forgiveness in the "gift message" box online.”  

“The author of the book, JJ, suggested that we send the people who hurt us his book as a gift to break the chain of suffering. Maybe, they would understand what their actions had on others.”

“They all died upon receiving the book from the ominous website. Your book was the only one that was not laced with the poison. Forensics has never seen anything like this. It’s a contact toxin—highly volatile. It kills the first person to touch the page."

Upon Smiley finishing her sentence, I start making sounds of nausea. Hunter runs down to my kitchen and grabs my garbage bin and brings it over to me. He knows I am about to throw up. I do. Seconds later, sweat starts dripping from my forehead to the floor; and my body becomes burdened by a heat sensation.

Once I regroup, I look up at them with a soiled face. Smiley, on cue, passes me Kleenex to clean myself. “I’m embarrassed. The guilt is tormenting me.”

“We know that you didn’t kill them. Your alibi checks out and there was no evidence at the crime scenes linking you to any of their deaths,” Smiley says.

“But I sent them the books of death. They died because of me,” I say, trying to make them understand.

The detectives take a break from their questioning.

Smiley paces back and forth.

Hunter goes to pet my cat, Henry, who was sitting curiously watching the three of us after eating. Henry seems to appreciate the new attention given to him.

Hunter finally speaks directly into my eyes, “If wishing the people you disliked death would automatically kill them, then the criminal courts would be backlogged for ages. My partner and I have put away some of the most despicable people on earth. We wish them dead, but they are breathing. So, your theory, does not pan out.”

“I appreciate what you are trying to do. But I still feel guilty,” I say, weakly.

Detective Hunter gives my cat one last pat on the head.

“It’s not your fault, Blaze,” Detective Hunter gently says. “Your guilt is not justified.”

“The media thinks I am guilty, they have named me the “Self-Help Killer.”

“That was just the tabloids. We have already announced to the media that you are no longer a suspect,” Detective Hunter reassures me.

Smiley, in the meanwhile, is still relentlessly pacing back and forth.

“Are you feeling better?” She asks before continuing her line of questioning.

“I don’t know.”

“Is there anything else about the women you can tell us?”

For this last question, I take my time to think.

“I’m so sorry,” I say as I start wailing. “Their poor families.”

“Have you been seeing anybody to help you go through all this?” Smiley asks concerned.

“Yes, I am seeing Dr. Marla Jolly, a local psychiatrist” I reply.

“Good,” Hunter replies. “It looks like you need a breather. We’re going to go into your kitchen to get some work done while you get some rest.”

Once they leave, thoughts begin swimming frantically through my mind: Should I contact the victims’ families to apologize? How can I forgive myself? Why did I order that stupid book? Why didn’t I let go of the past?

I doze off on my couch. A bald man is mouthing something in my stress dream. “What are you trying to tell me. Please speak up, I can’t hear you,” I say, desperately.

Then a scene from grade 11 from high school appears, which wakes me up in a state of terror.

Detective Smiley puts a tight grip on my shoulder with her hand. It helps ground me.

“I remembered something,” I say.

“Just tell us, it might help.”

“It was on the last school day of grade 11 when Janey Jones, a girl outside my clique, offered me a lift home. The offer seemed benign, but it was not.

As soon as she pulled up my street, she did not stop in front of my house but pulled into an alley down the road. She stopped the car and turned toward me and stared pounding me with her fists. Escaping her rage had proved difficult. My side door could not open. She just kept screaming, “This is for everything your group has done to me. I hate your guts, Bitch.”

Somehow, I managed to get in the back seat; she pulled my hair so hard that I lost a chunk of it. Luckily, the back-seat door window was open halfway as the car did not have air-conditioning and I opened the car door. Afterward, I ran at high speeds to get to my house, fearful and panting.

“Did you ever report her?”

“No, I just stayed away from her from then on. I told my friends, though. They said they would shake her up.”

“The leader of our group, Joanna, got some compromising pictures of Janey, who was obese, in her bikini and put in the blooper’s sections of our yearbook.

Joanna bribed Janey’s brother in exchange for those pictures for a date with her. She was the most popular and prettiest girl in school, so her brother was easily seduced. Even today, I still believe that Janey beat me up because I was the weakest one in my group.”

My doorbell rings. It must be Aidan. Sunset is approaching which normally is his cue to bring over supper for us to eat together and watch TV. He knows how guilty I feel for sending those books.

I get up to get door to let Aidan in and the detectives rise from their seats. Aidan peeks in with two bags in his hands from the local deli. Aidan gives the standard response, “Sorry, I did not know you had company.” 

He has heard me talk about the detectives, but has not seen them in the flesh, until now. This is the only explanation I can come up with in my mind to justify his unease and how his eyes are scrutinizing the detectives. It is hard to tell if he is curious or dumbfounded, regardless, it is embarrassing. So, I invite him in and smile saying, “You can set up supper in the kitchen.”

“Yeah,” he utters. “I will give you some privacy.” As he walks the short distance into my kitchen. He looks back with inquisitive eyes.

Once he is in the kitchen, Detective Smiley immediately says, “We get that a lot in this line of work. We better get going. If you think of anything else, you know how to get in touch with us.”

“I will,” I reaffirm.

“Go on ahead, Partner. I just need another minute with Blaze,” Hunter says to Smiley. She walks out of my home briskly.

“Blaze, we have had many serial cases. The guilt I have experienced for not catching them sooner is a monster that remains by my side. If only I would have caught certain clues earlier, then she or he would be still alive,” he says once we are alone.

“You just bought books like millions of people do every day do online. You did not kill them. Someone else did.”

As he leaves, I close the door and head to my living room window to see off the detectives. But, minutes later, they are still talking in the car. I cannot hear them. My stomach starts growling, so I decide it is time to let go and go eat. I can already hear Aidan snacking on some chips as he patiently waits for me to join him. Due to my guilt, I have been eating all the wrong foods lately—junk food—to poison myself as some sort of penance.

 

#

 

“You are going to burn out if you get involved with the victims of every case,” Smiley says to Hunter, once he is in the car.

“I care. And if it kills me, it kills me,” Hunter says.

Smiley’s mobile rings. Before answering, she says, “It’s my favourite techie, Jay Li.”

Hunter patiently listens to his partner talking to LJ from the station.

“Yes . . . Pause. Uh huh . . .  Pause. I see . . . Pause. I do not understand a word you’re saying. Pause. Give it to me in plain English. Pause. I bet the picture on the book is of Janey Jones. Long pause. How did I know? Long story. Pause. We are on our way in, we will be at the station soon. End of call.

“What is going on?” Hunter asks expressionless.

“The Website is back up. There is a new book up by Janey Jones: How to Get Away of Killing Your Enemy. In just a couple of hours, there have been over a million books sold. The tech team can’t find where the site is located. They are going to check if they are going to mailed from Kazakhstan like the one Blaze received by express post. And guess what . . . Janey Jones earned her PhD in Chemistry at the University of Cambridge. She works as an independent contractor for anyone willing to pay for unethical chemical concoctions designed to kill.”

“Are you trying to tell me these murders were not only part of a revenge scheme, but a perverse marketing tactic to sell her book. How sick,” Hunter reacts.

“Yes.”

Smiley downloads the website on her phone, and they watch the sales counter ticking up for the book.

“Oh God,” Hunter says turning pale and gray. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. She wanted to torture Blaze like she beat her back then.”

“I know. I think I need to take a few minutes before heading back. The chief is calling in the Feds on this one.”

“Yeah, let’s take a few minutes before going back in. I’m still in shock. Can you believe it after all these years in homicide, “Hunter says, and then, Smiley pats her partner on the back to comfort him.

The two continue to stay seated in silence with bewildered faces. They can feel all the nerves in their bodies twisting and turning in immense disgust.