Captain Robert Johnson stared at me.

“Someone just died at the Riverside Aquatic Center.”

“So now this proves I’m not the killer, right?” I asked.

“Come with me.”

Captain Johnson unlocked the holding cell and rushed me out.

On the drive to the scene, I asked,

“Captain Johnson, did the victim tie up his own hands and feet before jumping into the pool to drown himself?”

Screeech!

The car jerked to a halt. Captain Johnson grabbed me by the collar and hissed,

“All I said was someone died at the pool. I never told you how. Yet what you just described matches the security footage exactly. And you still want me to believe you’re not the killer?”

“That’s because it was in my novel. I wrote that scene. The murderer is following my story. Isn’t it natural that I’d know the details?”

I paused, then added sharply,

“Besides, at the time of this murder, you and I were both inside the holding cell. How the hell could I have done it?”

Captain Johnson said nothing. He only squinted at me, then finally released my shirt and drove on.

When we arrived at the scene, I saw the body being pulled from the water.

And I saw the surveillance footage.

Just like in my novel.

The victim walked to the poolside carrying a rope, his face blank. He calmly tied up his own hands and feet, then leapt straight into the pool.

He struggled only for a few seconds before going still.

“Captain, is this guy insane?” one officer muttered.

“Who binds themselves hand and foot just to jump into a pool?”

“This is way too bizarre.”

None of them could make sense of it.

“Send the body to the medical examiner,” Captain Johnson ordered.

“Check if there are any traces of drugs inside him.”

He suspected it wasn’t suicide at all, but murder—though the footage made it look like suicide.

Afterward, Captain Johnson shoved me back into the car.

“Where are we going now?” I asked.

He gave only two words:

“Your home.”

“What for?”

He didn’t answer.

Ten minutes later, the car pulled up in front of my house.

Inside, my mother Linda Miller and my wife Emily Parker were waiting, along with a few relatives.

Linda’s eyes were swollen from crying. She lit up with relief when she saw me walk in.

The relatives looked stunned.

But Emily’s reaction was explosive.

She shot to her feet, pointing at me with wide eyes.

“You—you were arrested as a murderer! How are you back here? Did you escape from prison, David?”

Her face was twisted with fear and disbelief, as if she couldn’t accept I had returned so soon.

“What’s wrong, Emily? You gonna call the cops on me again?” I sneered.

I wouldn’t hold it against anyone for suspecting me.

If I weren’t the author myself, I’d think the same—who else but the writer could come up with such methods?

Even if someone tried to imitate them, at most they’d resemble my plots. But never be identical.

What I hadn’t expected… was that the person who reported me—

was the woman lying beside me every night.

“I did it out of justice!” Emily shouted, her voice trembling but fierce. “So what if we’re married? If you killed someone, then you’re a murderer—and you deserve to be punished by the law!”

Emily Parker wore an air of righteous determination.

Without hesitation, she pulled out her phone.

“I’m calling the police right now. I don’t believe you can keep escaping every time.”

“Emily, please don’t!”

My mother, Linda Miller, rushed to stop her.

“Get out of my way!”

Emily shoved Linda so hard she lost her balance and fell to the ground.

“Emily, damn it!”

Seeing my mother collapse, I roared and rushed forward, helping her up.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, David,” Linda whispered, shaking her head. She forced herself to stand despite the pain, tears spilling down her face. “Emily, just… don’t call the police. Whatever conditions you just mentioned—I’ll agree to them all.”

Emily’s eyes flicked up, sharp. “You mean it?”

“Yes,” Linda sobbed. “All of it. As long as David is safe, I’ll give you whatever you want. Even my life, if that’s what it takes.”

“Your life isn’t worth much.” Emily sneered, curling her lip.

“Mom, what the hell are you talking about? What does she want from you?”

“David, don’t ask,” Linda said quickly, refusing to explain.

But my aunt could no longer keep silent. She rose to her feet and snapped,

“David, before you came back, your wife said she didn’t want to be married to a murderer. She demanded a divorce—and she also wanted your mother to sign over the house and give her fifty thousand dollars in compensation.”

My blood boiled. I glared at Emily. “Is that true?”

“So what if it is?” she shot back coldly, folding her arms. “Everyone’s already calling me the murderer’s wife. The divorce was my parents’ idea too. I’ve been married to you for two years—consider the house and the money as payment for my lost youth and ruined reputation.”

“We’ve got thirty thousand in our joint account. That’s more than enough to compensate you. But you want to take my mother’s house and her life savings on top of that? Are you even human?”

“Thirty thousand? That’s barely enough for a car.” Emily scoffed.

“David, please don’t fight with her,” Linda pleaded, tears streaming down her face. “As long as she doesn’t call the police, she can have the house and the money. I’ll give her everything.”

“No.” I snapped. “Not a cent.”

I turned to Captain Johnson, my finger stabbing toward Emily.

“She’s the real murderer!”

The entire room froze.

“David, don’t talk nonsense,” Linda gasped, terrified I was only lashing out in revenge for Emily reporting me.

“Watch your words,” my aunt hissed, shooting me a warning look to back down.

But I stood firm, staring straight at Captain Johnson.

“Three bizarre murders have shaken Chicago in less than a week. Even if she didn’t kill them with her own hands, Emily was involved. I’m certain of it.”

Linda clutched my arm, frantic. “David, please—don’t do this.”

“Mom, trust me. I know what I’m saying.”

Captain Johnson’s brow furrowed as his voice grew heavy.

“David Miller, fabricating a murder accusation is a serious crime.”

I could hear the warning behind his words—he was giving me a chance to back off.

But I didn’t. I laid out my reasoning instead:

“Three murders in under a week, all identical to the plots of my novel. No one can believe that’s a coincidence. The only explanation is… someone knew my story before I published it. They used it as a blueprint to kill, either to frame me—or for some other purpose.”