A Stolen Book

She frowns as she searches, once again for it. It should be right here among the mystery books. She knows no one has purchased it. This particular book, were it to be bought, the sheriff would have to be notified. No ordinary book was this for it told the story of a killer.

Ten years ago around the time she opened her little book store, a young boy was found raped and strangled behind the boiling alley. In this small town such things didn't happen. The last murder had been almost thirty years prior, a domestic violence situation that got out of hand.

They had to bring in some help from the state to help in the investigation. His detestated parents were interviewed as were the two known sex abusers. No clues were found outside the battered body of the victim. No DNA which met as the investigators announced in the widely covered press conference. “We are dealing with a professional, someone who has done this before.”

This hadn't quieted the disquiet that ran through the previously safe little town. Locks that were stuff with disuse were twisted into place. Children that had been used to their freedom were suddenly watched over with the eagle eyes from their parents and their neighbors. Neighborhood watches were organized and fully staffed. The library and schools held various child safety classes. Stranger danger was a word on everyone's lips.

Time passed. The little boy was buried with over half the town in attendance. State police also were there, not just to honor the poor child and his family but also in hope that his killer would show.

“They sometimes do. Can't help themselves.”

So everyone was photographed in the overflowing where the inhuman weeping of his mom brought chills to all who heard it. The same was done at the graveside service. Each was compared with the family, friends, and townspeople. With no surprises, unfortunately.

More time passes. His grave always has fresh flowers. On the anniversaries of his birth and death, balloons are added. The case remains open, worked on, and unsolved.

Then the book appeared. She found it leaning against the door of her shop when she came to open it one Friday morning. It was five years to the day since the horrible murder. The town hadn't forgotten, how could they? Moving on though is necessary.

So that morning, she wasn't thinking about the murder. Her mind was on the coming weekend and all she had to get done in her small house. She picks it up, wrapped up in a yellowing newspaper. It turns out to be the one that announced, in the biggest headline the small local paper ever used, the horrible news about the murder.

When she unwraps it and sees this, she already has an uneasy feeling. The screaming headline: MURDER! FIVE YEAR OLD JOSEPH STERLING FOUND DEAD BEHIND THE BOWLING ALLEY!, already brought back the horror of that day. She recalls weeping uncontrollably at seeing it. The heavy feeling that came over everyone who she met that day and for months after. Little Joey’s spirit seemed to restlessly move through them all, seeking rest.

Then she looked at the book. Bound professionally but obviously self published. The cover page shows no publishing house just that year's date. That sometimes happens. She gets a self published book every few years, a local writer hoping to get their art out there. This one was strange though, past the old newspaper it was wrapped in. There is no author named. Anonymous is printed on the front. Both the name of the unknown writer but seems to be the name of the book itself. She is intrigued.

Sitting behind her desk/ counter she starts to read. It doesn't take long before she is throwing it down in disgust and trying not to vomit herself. The book describes in GRAPHIC details the rape, sodomy, and murder of Joey.

When she catches her breath and the overwhelming nausea passes, she calls the sheriff. He comes right over.

“It was just laying there?”

She nodded before saying. “ Yes, I thought it was just another book until, well first the newspaper then the content.” she shudders and gestures to the book where it landed on the center of the desk where she threw it when she came to understand what it was.

He lifts up the newspaper out of her wastebasket where she had placed it before knowing it was evidence. It is placed in an evidence bag and sealed. Then he turns to the book.

After changing gloves, he turns it over. It only takes a few sentences before he declares. “This was either written by the killer or someone who knows him. These details are unknown to the public.”

“Good gracious!” Her hand goes to her chest, “a type of confession then?”

He nods. “I am going to have to take this.”

Her chuckle is full of nerves. “Please. I surely don't want such a thing here.”

It is also placed in an evidence bag. He takes her fingerprints to separate them from any he hopes to find in either the book or newspaper.

Once again, he is disappointed. The only ones on there are hers.

He forces himself to read through the small book. After he is sick. It wasn't just details they kept from the public to rule out false confessions. No, it is things that they didn't even know.

The killer had stalked Joey, waiting until his attentive mom had turned away for just a moment. It was all he needed to snatch him. He had offered him a huge sucker to lure the boy away.

Other details of the actual assault and murder are new to him as well.

The task force is reformed and the investigation grows hot again. They interviewed the book seller again as well as anyone who might have seen the book being dropped off. All with nothing to show.

A small town, a small store and there were no security cameras.

“Before this,” the sheriff explains to the small press gaggle gathered to hear the news, “we really didn't think they were needed.”

“So, there is no way to know who dropped off the book?” One asks.

“Not via that method. We aren't giving up though. The investigation continues.”

They examine the newspaper and the book in every forensic way possible and find no fingerprints or any DNA outside the book sellers.

Finally, they come up with a plan.

“We are returning the book back to you.” She stares at him, her mouth slightly open.

“What?”

“Whoever wrote it, wants it out there. Maybe by placing it in the stacks, we can draw them out.”

“It is evil. I’m not sure I want it in my store.”

He completely understands that. Still…

“Even if it means it will help catch this monster?”

At the end, they place it back there and wait, praying the monster will reveal itself.

Now it is missing.

“Whoever has the book is the killer.” They believe this, it is just who is it?

He or is it she, sits on a bed, knees up, reading their own words, reliving the crime, gleefully.