The Traitorous Reader

The hospital faded into the distance as we walked silently down the road. The asphalt gave way to a dirt path and dry leaves that crunched beneath our feet. The sound of cars was replaced by the barking of dogs and the creaking of tree branches swaying in the night breeze. The small town stretched out before us, its low, dark houses seeming to sleep, but the storefront windows were still lit, casting a warm and welcoming glow into the night. However, the street was littered with trash, and the streetlights flickered weakly, as if they were about to go out. A cat meowed in the distance, and I thought of my own pet, Orion, whom I hadn't seen in hours. Was he okay? Had someone found him? Had he been attacked too?

Lian walked ahead of me, his tall, dark figure silhouetted against the clear sky. His black hair was disheveled and fell across his forehead in a cascade of loose strands. His pale skin seemed almost translucent in the moonlight, and his dark red eyes gleamed with an intensity that made me feel uneasy. His stride was confident and authoritative, and his posture revealed a stubbornness and pride that made me wonder how someone so obstinate could be my only option.

I followed him closely, but not so closely that I couldn't react if necessary. I felt a knot in my throat, and my heart pounded against my chest. Where was he taking me? What would happen when we reached our destination?

Suddenly, Lian stopped and turned to face me. "Are you tired?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly. I shook my head, though I was actually exhausted. "No," I lied. Lian nodded and continued walking. "Not much farther. We'll be there soon."

An old, dirty, and abandoned house loomed before us, surrounded by what seemed to be a forest. The house seemed to have an oppressive atmosphere, and I felt a chill run down my spine as I approached it. We entered the house, and I found myself face to face with a man who looked very much like Lian. It was Luca.

Luca looked at me with surprise and compassion. "What have you done, Lian?" he asked, confused. "Didn't I tell you to leave her alone?" Lian tensed, and his face darkened. "She's the writer," he said, his voice full of distrust. "She's the one who wrote the book. She's the one who's been on the news." I defended myself, feeling a wave of indignation. "No, it's not true," I said. "I didn't write the book. I didn't lie. I'm not the killer."

Lian laughed, a cold and unpleasant sound. "Don't believe her, Luca," he said. "She's lying. She's trying to deceive us. She's working with the real killer." Luca stood up, and approached me. "Lian, calm down," he said. "We can't accuse her without proof. Besides, we saw the news. She's supposed to be dead. Did you bring a ghost?" Luca looked me in the eye, and I saw a spark of curiosity in them. "We need to hear her side of the story," he said. "We need to know the truth." Lian tensed, but eventually nodded. "Okay," he said. "Let's interrogate her. But don't trust her, Luca. Don't let her pretty face fool you. She's cursed. She bites."

Luca took me to a small, dark room with a table and two chairs. The room seemed to have been abandoned for a long time, and the air was thick with dust and the smell of mildew. He indicated that I should sit in one of the chairs, and he sat in the other. Lian remained standing, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and one leg bent, his face a picture of distrust. "Adara, I know you're scared," Luca said, his voice soft and soothing. "But I need you to tell me the truth. How did you get mixed up in all this?" "Luca, truth?" I asked, my voice slightly tremulous, while pointing at Lian. "Is that idiot Lian?" Lian tried to approach me, but Luca stopped him with a cold glance and replied, "Yes." I defended myself, my voice firm. "I had nothing to do with it," I said. "I'm innocent. I've been used, and it seems I'm not the only one whose life has been torn apart. I want to know who did this to me." Luca listened attentively, his face reflective and thoughtful. He leaned forward, his eyes intense. "What happened?" he asked, his voice low and serious. "How did you get mixed up in all this?"

"A few hours ago, I was at home, quiet, working on my next book," I replied, trying to remember the details. "I was focused on my work, when suddenly..." Lian spoke, impatiently: "And then?" Luca raised a hand, stopping Lian. "Let her speak," he said, his voice firm but calm. "I want to know what happened." I took a moment to gather my thoughts, trying to remember every detail. "I was working on my book," I began again. "And then, I heard a noise at the door. I thought it was my pet, Orion, but when I went to open it, I saw a man with a mask. He attacked me and left me unconscious." Luca nodded, his face serious. "Continue," he said. "What happened after that?" I continued, trying to remember everything. "It all started with an email that arrived in my inbox with a soft and familiar sound. A congratulatory message for my book, 'The Hidden Truth', where I narrated the most chilling cases of serial killers, all fruit of my imagination. That book had catapulted me to fame, and I still remembered the smell of fresh ink and the sound of the pages turning when I held it in my hands for the first time. While struggling with writer's block on my new project, I decided to read my readers' emails to distract myself. One in particular caught my attention: praise for 'The Hidden Truth' and a request to include an unsolved case, that of a young woman named Clarion, whose death from an overdose was disguised as a suicide. The description of the case sent shivers down my spine, and my mind began to imagine the scenes that were described. At first, I didn't pay much attention. But the insistence and the details provided made me doubt. How did this reader know about my stalled project? Was he one of my zero readers? Had Simon, my editor, shared my most direct contact? I replied to the email, seeking more details, and my index finger slid over the keyboard with a soft sound. The response was a detailed file, a tale of hell that repulsed me. I felt like I was reading a confession, and my heart was beating at an alarming frequency. I decided to ignore it and rejected the proposal, but the feeling of unease stayed with me. But the next day, a call from Simon altered my world: "Adara, what have you done?" his voice was a tremble of panic that sent shivers down my spine. "What are you talking about?" I asked, confused by his agitated tone, and my voice echoed in the silent room. "Your book, Adara. 'The Hidden Truth'. Published without my consent, with that case, with that name. You confess to being the killer." The accusation hit me like a lightning bolt, and my world crumbled. "I haven't published anything. I haven't killed anyone. I'm not what you say I am." my voice was a whisper of fear that escaped from my trembling lips. "It's on your social media, Adara. It's your confession. It's your downfall." he sentenced before hanging up, and the sound of the phone cutting off the call made me feel a void in my chest. Frozen, I frantically searched my social media, and my index finger slid over the keyboard with a soft sound. There it was, a book with my name, with the case that the stranger had sent me. It wasn't mine, but someone had made it pass for mine. Someone had set a deadly trap for me. Who? Why? How? I had no answers, only the imminent sound of someone knocking on my door. Someone who was coming for me.