The Chains That Bind - MLM (John Kramer X M!Reader)

Chapter 29: Shadows of Suspicion

A week after your father's death, life settles back into an uneasy quiet. The air in your apartment feels dense, almost suffocating, as if lingering with secrets better left buried. Each day, you're aware of an invisible weight pressing down, a quiet paranoia that maybe someone, somewhere, is watching. The police, though professional in their approach, don't seem to buy your version of events quite so easily.

The knock on the door one evening is enough to quicken your pulse. When you open it, two men stand there, dressed in plain clothes with police badges clipped to their belts.

"Good evening," one of them greets, his tone calm, but his gaze is sharp. "We're here to follow up on the circumstances surrounding your father's death."

You keep your expression neutral. "Of course. Please, come in."

They step inside, their eyes sweeping over the apartment. The taller detective, a man with graying hair and a worn, skeptical look, clears his throat.

"Just a few questions if you don't mind," he says, pulling a small notebook from his pocket. "We've reviewed the initial report, but there are some... inconsistencies."

"Inconsistencies?" You mirror back the question, allowing a touch of bewilderment to color your voice.

The detective nods. "According to your statement, you discovered your father's body late that night. But based on what we know, it appears he may have been dead for closer to two days before you made the call."

The silence that follows feels like a noose tightening. You push down the urge to react, staying outwardly calm as you formulate your response. "I... I honestly didn't realize," you say, your voice full of feigned bewilderment. "I'd been so busy with work, I hadn't seen him around much. I thought he was just... sleeping."

The detective's gaze sharpens slightly, but he nods, as if appeased for now. "You work long hours, you say? Where do you work?"

"At an office downtown," you answer smoothly, keeping your story tight. "I work in logistics. We've been short-staffed lately, so I've been pulling extra shifts."

"Understandable." He jots down a note before exchanging a look with his partner. "And you were at work the day your father passed?"

You nod. "Yes. I worked the full day."

The rest of their questions come quickly, giving you little time to think. But your practiced responses slide easily into place, as if you're simply replaying a script. You stick to your story without deviation, leaving out any mention of your prolonged absence.

After a tense pause, they thank you and leave. When the door clicks shut, you finally release the breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. But deep down, you can still feel it-their suspicion lingering like a shadow.

.............

A few days later, the police start digging deeper. They cross-check your statements with your workplace, seeking answers from Mr. Harper. The next day at the office, the tension in the air is palpable, and your boss approaches you cautiously as you pack up for the day.

"They came asking questions about you," he says in a low voice.

You keep your tone casual, even though your heart is pounding. "I figured they might. What did they want?"

"They were double-checking some things, trying to confirm your work hours." He glances around, hesitant. "I told them what I knew-that you'd only been back in the office on the day you found him."

You mask any flicker of unease and force a slight smile. "Thanks for letting me know, Mr. Harper. I'll be sure to handle it if they come my way again."

That night, the chill in the air feels sharper, colder. The walls seem to close in as you go through the motions, trying to convince yourself that your story will hold. You've rehearsed it enough, haven't you?

..............

The detectives return, their approach sharper, more calculated. This time, there's a new intensity in their questions. When you open the door, the taller detective skips the small talk.

"We'd like to go over a few more things about the day you found your father," he says, his voice smooth but laced with quiet tension.

You nod, letting them step inside once again. They settle onto the couch, but this time they waste no time pulling out their notebooks.

"We talked to your boss," the shorter detective says, flipping through his notes. "He mentioned that you hadn't been at work for a considerable time before the day you found your father."

You stay calm, though your mind is racing. "That's true," you say slowly, knowing you need to adjust your story carefully. "But I started going back once he got sick. I'd been out so long because I was looking after him."

They exchange a look, perhaps a bit taken aback at your quick admission.

"Interesting," the taller detective says, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. "Yet the day you came back to work was the very day you reported finding him."

"Yes," you reply, keeping your voice steady. "It was my first day back, and when I got home, I found him. I was... overwhelmed."

They pause, weighing your words carefully, but you know they're digging for inconsistencies. After a few more questions that lead nowhere, they finally leave, though the silence they leave behind feels thick, oppressive.

.............

The investigation continues, circling closer, probing further. But for now, you're one step ahead. The art of lying has woven itself into your very being, and despite their suspicions, you'll hold your ground-no matter how close they get to uncovering the truth.