ne jamais juger un livre à sa couverture

Story by: Den Forestt (25) SG

D lowercase is the opposite of P, which refers to Pen. That means that I will publish only the few stories deemed noteworthy. Forestt represents the papers made up of trees in the forest. The double tt when capitalised, mirrors that of a tree canopy, 

providing shelter for the years to come.

Genre: Mystery, Crime, Contemporary, Fiction

Disclaimer: The entirety of this work is a piece of fiction. No real person or persons’ names have been used.  Any resemblance to real life is accidental. 

The characters in this story are fiction.

Special thanks to: My family, all my dear friends whom I cherish every day and count my blessings that I have them in my life, my colleagues for cheering me on, my manager and boss who supported my decision and most of all, the person I am dating for their

support and encouragement.

A morning passing shower formed a rainbow and dazzled onlookers. Peter awoke from his coma in tears. He sensed something was amiss. He saw that a woman was fast asleep on his lap beside him; snoring.

The whirring of helicopter blades could be heard above the sky as a single military helicopter flew overhead the hospital past the mountain range, disappearing completely. 

Spring had just passed.

-

As the relentless sunlight pierced through the window full of condensation, Peter (36) rose from his bed gently. It was early May and the birds were chirping excitedly to herald in a new day. Peter stared at his medicine bottle in silence and hesitated for a moment. He knew that he had to take it regardless. He picked up the bottle and placed one tablet into his mouth, flushing it down with a gulp of water. 

He would put on his slippers, stepping into the bathroom with light feet. The tiles were not anti-slip. Thus, the previous time he did not put on slippers, he slipped hard on the obsidian ground and must have lost consciousness for about fifteen seconds. He gripped the side handlebars for dear life.

The heater buzzed noisily in the background as hot water vapour escaped from the shower. He slipped into an ironed white collared shirt and black formal pants. After he brushed his teeth, he would drip coffee afterwards and eat a piece of French toast. He packed his lunch like clockwork, defrosting the leftover meal from yesterday’s dinner.  The day ahead would be filled with supervising the factory operations.

Peter shut the door firmly behind him and made his way swiftly to the train station. He was neither early nor late. He was very much on time today. A rare occasion as he was usually early. The train was sparsely packed. The morning dew lingered in the air coupled with the icy cold breeze from the air-conditioning made it smell like flowers.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Peter leaned on the train door as he peeked at the Do Not Lean sticker on the side. Outside, the rice plantations landscape of the countryside was frozen over. Trees had become bald and shrubs were covered in thick white snow. Peter’s breath created a round dense layer of condensation on the train door. He drew 11/11 on it. The rest of the train journey was silent and peaceful as Peter read a digital e-book off his phone.

The white paint inside the factory was peeling off, revealing a naked foundation inside. Work was typical. The assembly line ran smoothly due to Peter’s expertise and experience. He had worked at this job for fifteen years after all. And by this time he had seen it all. From workplace quarrels to politics, nothing fazed him now. He glanced at the clock at the top of the factory floor. It was still five o’clock; one more hour, he told himself silently in his heart. Peter looked at the clock with hollowed eyes, he could not wait to get home to finish his novel.

Peter was always single. He rented this room on the outskirts of the city where the rent was cheap. This way, he could save enough money for a family in the future. However, that in itself lengthened the commute. It was the sacrifice he was willing to make. He wanted a wife and two kids, a house and a car. A typical middle-class family life was his ultimate goal. Peter had been saving for years.

The next day was Friday, therefore it was atypical that Peter did not leave his room that morning. It was neither a holiday nor his day off. His landlord, Mary, the housewife, knocked on his door questioningly when he did not come out. She grew tired after ten minutes. Mary shouted his name at the top of her lungs multiple times before she decided to use the spare key instead. To Mary’s great surprise, the door unlocked with a click, and Mary’s jaw dropped to the ground when she saw Peter’s lifeless body on the ground.

Mary screamed and immediately rushed to Peter, trying to shake him awake violently but to no avail. He was already gone. Mary muttered to herself while figuring out what to do next. She fished out her trusty mobile phone from her pocket and dialled for the police.

“Beep… Beep… Beep… Hello? 911. How may I assist you today?”

“Help! Help! My tenant has collapsed!”

Mary furnished the address over the phone with bated breath. Soon, a single police siren filled the neighbourhood. A stern knock on the front door followed soon after. The police trudged through the neatly arranged apartment to Albert’s room. They cranked opened a blood collection kit and a fingerprint kit. Every detail of the corpse was scrutinised to the very last fingernail. However, they were unable to find any signs of foul play from the crime scene. The autopsy will reveal more details, the policemen told Mary. 

There were five major suspects. Albert, the factory operator, Mary the landlord, Sven the security guard, Ken, the boss and Wendy, the housekeeper. Each of them had a powerful alibi, which made the case tough and impossible to crack for the local detectives. 

In particular, there were five major instances of them interacting with Peter. 

Albert spoke to Peter before he clocked out of the factory last night, while Ken shared with Peter about operations during the workday and passed him a manual. Mary handed Peter some cookies and a glass of milk the previous night and Wendy, the housekeeper, chatted to Peter over their shared interest in gardening. She gave him a potted plant made of exotic flowers. Sven was at the guardhouse that evening. No one admitted to the crime. And that made complete sense because a murder charge meant a life sentence for the perpetrator. Nonetheless, a little-known detective known as David Lee took on the tedious task of finding out the truth. 

David was summoned by the police, he was asked to lend his expertise to this perplexing case that had stumped even the most seasoned of investigators. He was a towering scruffy-looking guy over six feet with unkempt hair, round eyeglasses and a long hat. He always carried a walking cane even though he never needed the support. David was dressed lightly in these cold winter months. One could tell that he was an odd one out, but hey perhaps the special ones could be the ones to solve the case. David went to work straightaway, interviewing the suspects one by one. By the end of it, he was convinced that the truth had to be found by investigating each suspects’ past.

Diving deep into the past of each subject was a herculean task. It’s a brutal invasion of privacy but David had no choice. It was either that or the case would have remained unsolved. Therefore he requested all the documents that he needed - from receipts to medical records, school transcripts to work testimonials, he wanted as many as he could get. The piles of paperwork stacked taller and taller over time at his desk while he perused each one carefully. In each, it revealed a story of a lifetime.