I Think My Roomate is a Murderer

Chapter 1

I think my roommate is a murderer. No, I know my roommate is a murderer. A pretty big accusation, I know, but all the pieces fit together.

Ever since the day I met him I knew he strayed a little bit off the beaten path. Not to sound judgmental, but this guy was weird. When he was in the apartment, he would spend almost all of his time in his closet. Not his room. His fucking closet. It was a pretty big walk-in so it probably was uncomfortable, but what the fuck? If you want so much privacy, why not just lock your bedroom door?

I now know the answer to that question.

After staying perched in his closet for several months, he took up a new activity - leaving. Not just going out for a drink or to parties. No, he would disappear from our apartment for days at a time, not bothering to hint where he was going or when he would be back; not that I ever asked. One time he didn't come back for two weeks.

The first time he disappeared he came back a day later. Knowing what I know now, I know where he had been. I remember that when he did return, news broke of a murder in our town. At the time, I didn't think to connect the two occurrences. Why would I? For all I knew he just stayed the night at his buddy's place or went back to his parents' house.