"Life is hard but how can you live can make it harder."

- SimplyZephy

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Chapter 5:
Death Note

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ZANE

"Where's your companion? Is he joining us or not? I'll report him if he becomes a nuisance," the man from the car asked. His voice faded as they stepped into the house.

Cop? What does she mean by that? What is this, a crime scene? Impossible!

"Mr. Nuñez!" Raine's voice cut through the air, drawing my gaze to her as she stood by the door, waiting.

"Oh! I just have a question," I called out, quickening my pace to catch up with her. Despite my efforts, she continued ascending the stairs without a backward glance. "Where are we really?"

Silence met my inquiry until we reached the second floor, where our companions awaited, both dressed in matching white suits.

"Put this on," the guard instructed, a hint of distaste in his expression. He picked up a garment identical to his own from the table and handed it to Raine.

My companion promptly complied, putting the attire on behind her clothing without hesitation.

If she is doing something illegal, I'm ready to —

A sudden realization struck me: my phone battery was down to a mere twenty percent. If I needed to document or send something important to my loved ones, I had to time it precisely. I couldn't afford to waste any more battery power.

Raine handed me a garment, her expression briefly softening. "Put that on if you don't want to arouse suspicion," she advised, before resuming her task of donning gloves.

"Just a minute and a half, clear?" the guard reminded us sternly.

"Time's ticking away," Raine muttered to herself.

As I struggled to calm my nerves while changing attire, the guy who greeted us earlier opened a door on the right side of the hallway, revealing a woman slumped unconscious on the sofa within.

"Step there first! You'll need foot coverings," Raine cautioned, stepping onto a thing that instantly covered her feet with blue fabric.

"A minute and a half!" the guard reiterated, maintaining his post in the hallway alongside the others.

George and Raine entered the room, and I followed. My eyes widened at the sight of a gun in the woman’s hand and a red mark on her temple.

"What's going on?" I blurted out, unable to contain my bewilderment.

"Raine, doesn’t he know?" George asked. "Why did you bring him here? Is he a witness?"

"I thought you were already aware. Didn’t you see it when you searched for me on my website?" Raine sighed, glancing towards me.

"I thought it was some sort of joke. I assumed you made it up for a story," I admitted, my heart rate spiking as I recognized him as the young policeman from the photo.

"Okay, just try to stay calm. If you prefer, you can wait outside in the car," George suggested calmly. "And keep this quiet from my colleagues, Raine. If they find out, they might bar you from coming again."

"You're not... bad people, are you?" I stammered, realizing the absurdity of my question yet unable to suppress the unease that had settled upon me since our arrival.

From his pocket, George shoved off a black wallet, and as he glanced at me, he flipped it open. It revealed his badge, which instantly caught my attention.

Before I could make out the details, a sharp voice cut through my focus. "Can you keep it down? If you're going to make noise, go outside! You were the ones who said it would only take a minute and a half, right?" Raine snapped, annoyance clear in her voice. "You're wasting time."

"Just read it quietly—" George began, but Raine cut him off.

"Seriously?" Raine interrupted, shifting the conversation.

I fell silent, as did George.

IS SHE ALWAYS LIKE THAT? I mouthed, letting him read my lips.

BE USED TO IT, George replied in kind, his smile betraying a hint of resignation.

Desiring to continue our conversation, Raine's restless action constantly diverted my attention. She circled the sofa, seeming to examine the man as if she was searching for clues.

"What details do you have about him?" Raine inquired in a serious tone.

"C- Can I speak now?" George whispered, seeking permission.

"Go ahead. Just make it quick," Raine replied.

"Andrea Rivera, 32 years old," George began. "A neighbour spotted her. Apparently, they were planning to surprise her for her birthday, but upon noticing the door open, they rushed in to investigate."

"According to other neighbours, Andrea had returned home just moments before they heard the gunshot. It was barely an hour after they last saw her," he concluded.

"It seems you're already confused by the events, Detective," Raine noted, pausing her pacing to focus on us.

"Why do you keep insisting it's a planned killing? It's clear they all committed suicide," George countered. "Reports show each victim was found with their own gun, and forensics confirmed only their fingerprints were on the weapons. It means the same bullet from each gun ended their lives."

"Yes, the truth baffled me when I realized my own findings," Raine admitted. "There must be something to support my theory!" She scratched her head, finally showing signs of frustration.

"The note!" I exclaimed, the memory of George mentioning it to us suddenly resurfacing.

Raine's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's right, um... Mr. Nuñez!" she exclaimed. "Now, where is this note you mentioned, sir?"

"It's on the table right there, opposite the sofa. A suicide note, supposedly penned by Andrea," George answered, pointing to a paper laid out before me.

"I can't fight my conscience anymore. That accident keeps haunting me. Forgive me," Raine read aloud from the note.

"That sounds genuine!" I exclaimed.

"Hmm... Someone tore a paper from somewhere and scribbled on it, possibly in a moment of panic," Raine remarked as she scanned the paper in her grasp.

"This only complicates matters," George noted. "I can't help but wonder why she would panic if she was the one who decided to end her own life."

"That's the question. Someone planned Andrea's murder — and possibly the others — to resemble suicides. But this note..." Raine's grin widened, a spark of realization gleaming in her eyes.

"What's the importance of that note?" I asked, taken aback by her sudden enthusiasm amid the unfolding crisis. "Why are you smiling? This is a crime scene, isn’t it?"

"This note reveals their scheme, or however many were involved," she explained, her smile widening.

"Was it a mistake? Did they slip up?" George asked.

"What makes this case even more intriguing is that one victim was a nurse," Raine added.

"I didn't mention — I didn’t tell you that," George interjected, his confusion mirroring mine.

"How did you know that?" I asked.

"It's quite simple, really," she replied nonchalantly. "Did you notice the lingering scent of antiseptic on her clothes, even after she changed? The well-worn white shoes beneath the sofa show frequent use. There's street dust on them, suggesting she walked before reaching the terminal and going home. She usually does this, but now it was a strange situation that met her back home."

"Okay, that's impressive!" I exclaimed.

"But what is the connection with—" George began, but his question was cut short by a sudden realization.

"You're overthinking it, Mr. Ferrer. That’s why you’re missing the bigger picture," she remarked. "Aren’t nurses trained to maintain composure in high-pressure situations?"

"Yes, I remember now!" he exclaimed.

"And yet, she seemed terrified of that note... Brilliant!" I exclaimed again. "Her actions contradicted her final act!"

"You've hit the nail on the head, Mr. Nuñez. And I’m not used to receiving so much agreement," she admitted, a hint of discomfort in her tone.

"Sorry," I apologized. Perhaps she wasn't used to compliments, or maybe she felt uneasy because we were still unfamiliar with each other.

"The handwriting? Did it match hers?" Raine asked, pointing to a notebook near the edge of a cabinet, which might belong to the victim. "Since you can’t answer, I’ll do it."

"Sorry. I’m just really tired of these cases," George admitted, scratching his head.

"You should cut down on your late night jobs, Mr. Ferrer," Raine suggested.

George grimaced and shook his head. "What about the note, then?"

"Did her handwriting match the one on the suicide note? The answer is..." Raine trailed off for a moment before delivering her verdict. "No."

"No?!" both George and I exclaimed in disbelief.

"You heard me correctly. This note is easily identifiable as it appears to be written by a left-handed person. However, Ms. Rivera is right-handed, as shown by the position of the gun, the cup on the table, and several other details," Raine affirmed. "Someone else wrote this death note, and knows that the police are after them."