Prey and Predator [Ranpo x Reader] + Bonus ✓

5. The women of the tea plantation

It was informed to me that he was a suspect in the recent case which made headlines the following morning, but not explicitly the culprit; his clothes were apparent to have been pulled by someone else before he walked in the bookstore, and the clerk behind the counter noticed he looked nervous and was shaking. He claimed brother brushed the issue aside by blaming it on the chilly weather outside and headed straight into the shop to browse for the book he bought. The novel he bought was taken from my possession temporarily while they interrogated him at the dining table, and I overheard that its genre was against him also.

I'd like to be certain of his innocence, and the novel had nothing to do with him even if he was guilty.

It's a common trend to have serial killers or criminals as a collective interested in literature which illustrates the psychology behind crimes and the way these cases may be solved by the authority. It's no surprise gruesome themes of murder, cannibalism and sexual crimes can arouse them, too; from the knowledge I had of the novel, a handful of these were present in it, and so it added on further to his suspicion.

They did state (whether he was the culprit or not) that they hadn't "enough evidence to make an arrest" - but they were prompt in escorting brother to the police station for interrogation the following morning due to a possible fault in the accuracy to his answers as a result of the drinks he had had earlier that day.

'We'll pray for the best, [Y/N], dear. Culprit or not culprit, we should love him just the same, even if that is difficult to do at first,' mother said as she ran her fingers through my hair before beginning to style it; I would usually do my hair in the morning before school, but she insisted on doing it herself on this particular day. She said it could help both of us to be distracted from the possibility my brother - her only son - was capable of murder.

We were deadly quiet while she fixed the locks of my hair. My mind was too busy with thoughts I believed to be exaggerated but possible - those I wished to be entirely wrong about in the end.

'You've never been into my stories much, but I know how much you love your father's. Would you like to hear one?'

I was beginning to grow scared of these; recently, every case father had solved and had been made to my knowledge had happened within the next 24 hours, and I was afraid the same would happen with this one, but I could not find the words within me to reject her proposal.

'I can tell you don't want to hear it, you don't have to be scared to say so, dear. I won't force it on you,' she remarked, lifting her hands from my head and smiling softly as she looked at the finished product of the hairstyle. 'Your grandmother often did this hairstyle on me when I was your age. I never understood why she loved doing it, but, by looking at you now, I understand.'

She left me alone in my room to have breakfast made, leaving behind the door slightly ajar to allow the smell of the freshly fried deli inside while I checked in my bag to see if all the books I'd need for the days were packed. At this point I came across a thin notebook placed by my desk, thin enough to hold about 20 pages maximum.

'What's this?' I muttered to myself as I picked it up and flicked through; dad's handwriting was recognisable and from the previous piece my brother had provided me with the other day I could tell this may have been one of those journals which he kept to record solved cases - though this one was a little older.

Before heading downstairs for breakfast, I visited the sleeping body of my father, quietly closing the door behind him to leave when I became aware of his state. When I went downstairs the table was already set for two, mum still by the counter packing my lunch for the day.

I questioned her about the journal during breakfast, which I assumed she had placed on my desk as she had left my room. She revealed that dad wanted me to keep said journal because he was afraid his lung condition would soon leave him mute or would hurt him too much to tell me his stories; his positive disposition often made me forget he was sick in the first place, and the exposure of his drug abuse at an earlier age was simply a fact hard to accept considering the contrasting views it holds in contemporary society in regards to his attitude to life and treatment of people.