My Novel Became a Killer's Blueprint

My new suspense novel went viral for one reason: the serial killer terrorizing the city was using my plotlines, murder for murder. Worse, each crime was committed ten minutes before my chapter went live. The day I finished the book, the police found the murder weapons in my house. I was named the prime suspect. My husband, Noah, sold his company to try and clear my name. But in the end, the evidence was ironclad. They convicted me. I was executed. Now, I’ve been reborn. And this time, I’m not finishing that damned book. There’s just one problem. My husband just told me his company is about to go bankrupt. He says he needs a massive cash injection to save it. Otherwise, he’ll have to jump off a bridge. 1 “Dee, don’t listen to that online bullshit. This book is a goldmine. You can’t stop now, you just can’t! They’re just jealous haters.” Hearing that familiar voice, I knew. I was back. Reborn. The person trying to convince me to keep writing was my best friend, Chloe. In this timeline, I had just finished writing about the second victim. His death was unique—sewn inside the belly of a pig and left to suffocate. Eerily, on the very day my chapter was published, the city’s real-life serial killer had done the exact same thing to his second victim. The first murder had also mirrored my book perfectly. The internet was in a frenzy, convinced the author—me—was the killer, drumming up publicity for my own novel. The police had visited my home multiple times, always leaving empty-handed. In my past life, I thought it was all absurd. How could a writer like me be tangled up with a murderer? That delusion lasted right up until I posted the final chapter. The police searched my house, found the weapons, and dragged me away as the prime suspect in a city-wide manhunt. I was in a state of shock, frantically trying to explain. “I’m just a writer! I couldn’t kill anyone!” My husband, Noah, was home. He was just as desperate, even trying to create a fake alibi for me. But the police investigation quickly proved he’d been out of the house during the murders. His lie only made me look guiltier. To clear my name, Noah sold his company, pouring everything he had into proving my innocence. But it was no use. Every piece of evidence pointed directly at me. And I had no explanation for the most damning fact of all: how the killer managed to replicate my methods, in real-time, with every single chapter I published. Online forums were calling for my head. [This author is sick. She’s so desperate for fame she started killing people? A whole string of them?] [She’s worse than an animal. What are we waiting for? Just put her down!] In the end, I was sentenced to death. On the day of my execution, Noah came to see me. He had just turned thirty, but his hair was completely white. A wave of pain crashed over me. Maybe God himself thought my death was an injustice. Maybe that’s why He gave me a second chance. This time, I would abandon the novel. I would just live a quiet life with Noah. But Chloe was still here, pushing me. “Let the police handle the murders. You’re a writer. Just write!” I shook my head. “I can’t. Too many people have died. Whether it’s connected to my book or not, I can’t keep going.” She looked horrified that I would just give up. “Dee, you’ve been writing for years! You finally have a hit, a real blockbuster! How can you just quit?” “Even if Noah can support you, you need to be able to support yourself! He says he loves you today, but what about tomorrow?” I walked over and hugged her tight. “Tomorrow, you can support me.” 2 Chloe and I grew up together. After college, I became a full-time writer while she went into sales. It was Chloe who introduced me to Noah. He was supposed to be her blind date, but she insisted on dragging me along. After the date, Noah confessed to Chloe that it was me he’d fallen for at first sight. I tried to explain, to smooth things over, but Chloe just waved it off. “Who doesn’t love a pretty face? I get it.” The next day, she flew to Korea. She came back a month later, and when I picked her up from the airport, she was stunning—a total bombshell. Later, at my wedding to Noah, Chloe hit it off with the best man: Larry Byrne, the heir to Byrne Industries. After the wedding, Noah was always warning me about her. “A guy like Larry has seen every kind of woman there is. He used to despise girls who’ve had work done, but Chloe has him wrapped around her little finger. That tells you how slick she is. And she comes from a sales background… you have no idea how cutthroat that world is. You need to be careful around her.” I’d always dismissed his concerns. Chloe would never hurt me. Now, as I hugged her, she seemed to soften. “What if,” she murmured, “one day I can’t support you either?” That evening, when Noah got home, I told him my decision to stop writing the novel. His hand paused as he was setting down his briefcase. His brow furrowed. “Was this Chloe’s idea? Did she tell you to stop?” He was so worked up, I found it almost funny. I teased him, “What if it was?” Noah slammed his briefcase onto the sofa. “I knew it! She can’t stand to see us happy!” Seeing how agitated he was, I quickly backtracked. “No, it was my idea. Every time I post a chapter, someone dies. I know it’s not my fault, but it feels awful. I thought maybe I could wait until the case is solved?” Noah hesitated, then took my hand. “But, honey… my company is about to go bankrupt.” I was stunned. In my previous life, I’d never heard a single word about his company having problems. His voice was muffled with stress. “It just happened today. Larry Byrne was supposed to invest in the new AI software we’re developing. We’ve already poured a ton of time and resources into it. Today, he just pulled the plug. I have to wonder if it’s because of Chloe…” The moment he mentioned her name, his voice rose, filled with agitation. “Did you see her today? Did you tell her you were thinking of quitting the book?” When I didn’t deny it, he barreled on. “I knew it. She’s still trying to get back at me. She hates me for choosing you over her!” I replayed the events of my past life in my head. I’d worked on that novel for over a month, and not once had Noah’s company been in trouble. Could it be true? Did my decision to stop writing really cause Larry to pull his investment? And if Chloe was involved, why would she do that? I pulled out my phone and called her. Her tone was clipped. “I don’t get involved in Larry’s business dealings. Besides, Noah and Larry grew up together. If Noah has a problem, why can’t he talk to Larry directly? This is between them. We should stay out of it.” Then she sighed. “Let me guess, Noah doesn’t want you to stop writing? For once, I’m on his side. What’s wrong with making more money? From the first day I met Noah, I knew he was no good. Actually, let me rephrase that. No man is any good.” I sighed. The animosity between Noah and Chloe was a constant I’d learned to live with. But now, reality was forcing my hand. I had to keep writing. Which meant I had to be careful. Very, very careful. 3 I thought about it for a long time and decided to change the murder methods from my previous life. A home invasion robbery, being sewn into a pig… the tools for those murders were too easy to find. I needed something new. Something impossible. I landed on it: being thrown from a helicopter. Let’s see the serial killer get his hands on a helicopter. With a solution in hand, I wrote like a woman possessed. By 9 PM, the new chapter was done. I hit the publish button, praying the killer would finally leave me alone. The forums exploded. [Thrown from a helicopter? Looks like the author is working overtime to clear her name!] [A helicopter isn’t exactly easy to come by. Think the killer can pull this one off?] [I still think she’s the killer. The crazier the murder method, the more clicks she gets. She’s earned a fortune from this book. Buying a helicopter would be chump change for her.] My heart leaped into my throat. Please, I prayed, don’t get a helicopter. I can’t be a murder suspect again. I was a nervous wreck all night, unable to sleep. The next day passed in silence. No news. It was the best news I could have hoped for. Noah breathed a sigh of relief. “See? It was all just a coincidence. I told you you were overthinking it.” The internet seemed to agree. [Guess the killer doesn't have a chopper after all. The author really went to great lengths to prove her innocence!] [Okay, maybe she’s not the killer. The real murderer was just piggybacking on her fame.] That night, I slept soundly. But the next morning, a news alert lit up my phone. [CITY’S SERIAL KILLER STRIKES AGAIN. VICTIM THROWN FROM HELICOPTER AT 15,000 FEET.] My scalp went numb. I clicked the article. The victim’s time of death was just slightly before my chapter update. But because the body had been obliterated on impact, it wasn’t discovered until a dog walker found the remains this morning. I was losing my mind. I couldn’t understand how the killer knew my plot in adByrne. And how did he get a helicopter? This person had to have incredible resources. The police came again. And again, they found nothing. But I knew my time was running out. I asked Noah to check my computer, suspecting it had been hacked or bugged. How else could the killer know what I was going to write? Noah did a full sweep but found nothing. “If you’re still worried,” he said, “I’ll just buy you a new one.” I agreed. Next, I went back to the online forum thread that had started it all. It was now the number one trending topic in the city. I tracked down the username of the person who first connected the murders to my novel. My first victim in the book had been stabbed in the shower—a common trope. The second death was more bizarre, but in the long history of suspense fiction, what hasn't been done? Why was this one user so intent on pinning it on me? I gave the username to Noah, asking him to trace the IP address. He tapped away at his keyboard for a few minutes, then spoke slowly. “The address is 188 Goldcrest Drive, on Riverside…” A chill ran down my spine. That was the house right next door to Chloe’s.

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