Chapter One: The Book of the Dead
Rain traced silent veins down the city’s windows as Detective Mark Dalton stepped into the alley. The police tape fluttered in the breeze like torn ribbon at a funeral. It smelled like blood and old metal.
Max Keller lay face-up beneath a rusted fire escape, arms sprawled like he was trying to catch the sky. The scene was already cold. Too cold. And too clean.
“Time of death—between ten and midnight,” said the coroner, scribbling something down on a clipboard. “No signs of a struggle. Looks like a suicide.”
Mark didn’t answer. He was staring at Max’s boots. One was half off. Mud smeared the sole. He didn’t jump. He ran.
“You knew him?” the coroner asked, glancing up.
Mark nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “I knew him.”
But that wasn’t even the half of it.
The next morning, the rain had thinned into a quiet drizzle, like the sky was apologizing. A little bookstore sat tucked between a nail salon and an empty café on Maple Street. Its sign read Reyes & Sons Rare Books, though Ani Reyes had no sons, and the last person named “Reyes” before her had been her grandfather.
She unlocked the door, flipped the sign to Open, and stepped inside, breathing in the scent of paper and dust. The bell above the door chimed behind her, warm and familiar.
The poetry shelf called to her like it always did. Tennyson. Hughes. Bishop. She reached behind the Faulkners to straighten a leaning volume—and froze.
A book was jammed between the rows. A thick, leather-bound one she hadn’t seen in weeks. Her fingers closed around it slowly. It wasn’t a store copy.
It was Max’s.
A folded paper stuck out from the inside like a tongue.
Ani—if anything happens to me, don’t trust anyone. Especially him.
— MaxHer mouth went dry.
She turned to the door like someone might walk in that second. But the street was empty. Just drizzle and gray sky.
She opened the book. The margins were filled with red ink—names, symbols, clipped sentences she didn’t understand. Page after page of obsessive notes. One photo was tucked inside, browned at the edges: Max, standing beside a tall man in a suit, half-smiling, half-blurred.
The name was scrawled on the back in shaky writing: Dr. Joshua Hale.
By the time Detective Dalton stepped into the bookstore, Ani had already read the message three times.
He looked like someone who hadn’t slept. Tall. Soaked from the rain. Eyes too sharp for comfort.
“Ani Reyes?” he asked.
“Yes?” she said carefully, putting the book behind the counter.
He held up a badge. “Detective Mark Dalton. You knew Max Keller?”
Her chest tightened. “He came in sometimes. Dropped off books. Talked about poems no one else cared about. Then he stopped showing up.”
Mark studied her. “He left something with you.”
Ani hesitated, then reached under the counter. The book thudded on the wood.
Mark opened it. His eyes flicked over the pages like they were burning.
“He mentioned a name,” Ani offered. “Joshua Hale. I think he was trying to warn me.”
Mark pulled the photo out. His jaw clenched.
“Josh Hale is a clinical psychologist,” he said. “Consults with us sometimes. High profile. Talks on TV. Wears good suits.”
Ani frowned. “Then what was Max afraid of?”
Mark didn’t answer. He just closed the book with a slow, deliberate snap.
Elsewhere in the city, Dr. Joshua Hale leaned back in his chair, calm and unreadable. The lights in his office were warm. Controlled.
A patient sat in front of him, speaking with trembling hands.
“I feel like… I’m being watched,” the man whispered.
Josh smiled gently. “Let’s talk about control,” he said. His voice was soft. Musical. Almost comforting.
He wasn’t listening.
His eyes had drifted to the bookshelf behind his patient. One book was gone. The leather-bound one. The one Max had borrowed.
He already knew where it was.
And who had it.
Later that night, Ani locked the bookstore alone. She was about to close the blinds when her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
She answered. “Hello?”
“Ani, it’s Mark.” His voice was low, urgent. “Don’t show anyone that book. Especially not Hale.”
Her heart kicked.
There was a long silence on the line.
Then she whispered, “Too late. He was just here.”
Chapter Two: The Gentle Visitor
The next morning, Ani barely slept.
She had stayed up re-reading every red scribble in Max’s book, memorizing every circled word and name, every underlined sentence. The text itself was some kind of obscure psychology volume—maybe even self-published. But Max had turned it into something else.
A warning.
Now she stared at her front door, coffee gone cold beside her.
The knock came just after 8:00 a.m.
Three light taps. Polite. Practiced.
She didn’t want to open it. She knew who it was.
But she did.
And there he was—Dr. Joshua Hale, dressed in a slate-gray coat, a black umbrella over his shoulder, and a smile as smooth as polished glass.
“Miss Reyes,” he said warmly. “May I come in?”
He made himself comfortable in the reading nook without being invited. The rain clung to his coat, but he showed no signs of cold. He looked like someone who’d never had a bad day in his life.
Ani sat stiffly across from him.
“You knew Max?” she asked.
Josh smiled, hands folded. “I did. We were… colleagues, in a way. He struggled with many things. But he was brilliant.”
“Why did he leave me that book?”
He tilted his head, the smile never leaving. “Max was paranoid. You saw what he wrote, didn’t you?”
Ani didn’t answer.
“Don’t take it personally,” he added gently. “He was unraveling. I tried to help.”
He leaned forward, dropping his voice slightly.
“Detective Dalton… he’s very persuasive, isn’t he? Passionate. But unstable. Especially since Max died. You shouldn’t let him pull you into his theories. They’re dangerous.”
She blinked, unsure what to say. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her chair.
Josh stood.
“If you come across anything else Max left you—anything troubling—please don’t hesitate to call me.” He handed her a pristine business card. Joshua Hale, PhD. Clinical Psychology. Consultation. Crisis Counseling.
She didn’t take it.
Josh placed it gently on a nearby book and gave her one last smile.
“Books are powerful things,” he said as he stepped outside. “But they only tell the truth if we read them the right way.”
Then he was gone.