My Roommate: The Untold Story

The Knock

I had to tell Agent Walker. If anyone could make sense of this twisted puzzle, it was her. The weight of the situation pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. I had never imagined being caught in the middle of something like this. But this was no nightmare. This was real.

Heading to my room, I resolved to confront Chris about the list. The whole thing made my skin crawl. I didn't want to be here, tangled up in this web of danger and uncertainty, but there was no escaping it now. Mysteries had never been my thing, but I had no choice. I needed answers, and I needed them fast.

I reached my door and tried the knob. Locked. Chris must've gone out. I pulled out my key, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. My eyes immediately swept over the room, focusing on Chris's bed and his belongings. If he wasn't directly responsible for these murders, he had to be involved. How else would he have the list? Maybe he'd paid someone to carry out the killings. But why? What was his motive?

As I tossed my shirt and pants aside and grabbed my towel, my mind churned with questions. Was Mr. Kang really the next target? Should I warn him? How could I even explain that someone wanted him dead without sounding like a lunatic? Would Agent Walker believe me if I told her about the list? Or would she dismiss it as the ravings of a paranoid mind?

I remembered she'd given me her card. Maybe I should call her. But when I rifled through my bag and wallet, it wasn't there. Of course. I'd given it to Alex after Walker and I had visited his place. Great. I'd have to go to the FBI office after my shower.

I locked the bathroom door and turned on the shower. The sound of water hitting the tiles filled the room, its steady rhythm echoing against the walls. For a moment, the noise was almost soothing, drowning out the chaos in my head. I let myself relax, focusing on the warm spray instead of the murder, the list, or Chris.

But that peace didn't last long. After a few minutes, I felt someone enter the room. Chris must have come back. My heart rate picked up again. Things between us had been tense for a while now, but I couldn't leave—not yet. I needed to keep an eye on him. With the janitor and Mr. Jung already dead, and Mr. Kang next on the list, followed by me and Abby, I had to stay sharp. I needed evidence, something concrete to connect him to the murders.

A knock on the bathroom door jolted me from my thoughts. I paused, turning off the shower to listen. Another knock. And then more, each one louder and more urgent. My pulse quickened, fear slithering through my veins.

"Chris? Do you need to use the bathroom?" I called out, trying to steady my voice.

No response, just more banging on the door, louder and faster, like someone pounding out a frantic rhythm on a drum. My heart pounded in sync with the knocks. Was he just being impatient, or was something else going on?

"Chris? If you need the bathroom, just say so!" I shouted again, my voice trembling.

Still, nothing. The silence on his end made my skin crawl. If he really needed to use the bathroom, why wasn't he saying anything? What was he planning? My mind raced, conjuring up dark possibilities. This wasn't normal. Something was very, very wrong.

"Chris? Why aren't you answering?" I called out one last time, but the words barely escaped my lips. My hands trembled as I dried myself off and threw on some clothes. My phone was on the bed, out of reach. I couldn't call for help. My only option was to face him.

Without any more hesitation, I slammed the door open. There he was, standing at the sink, eyes red-rimmed, his mouth swollen with something. He quickly spit a bright blue liquid into the sink, coughing as he rinsed his mouth.

"Sorry, Eddy," he gasped, turning to face me. "I didn't realize I gargled concentrated mouthwash."

I stood there, dumbfounded. My heart was still racing, but now out of sheer embarrassment. Chris wasn't trying to kill me. He'd just swallowed too much mouthwash.

Feeling foolish, I muttered, "Sorry, Chris." My paranoia had gotten the better of me. I had jumped to the worst possible conclusion, thinking he was out to get me, when all along he'd just been in a minor bathroom crisis.

Moments later, there was a knock at the door. A dormitory assistant stood outside when I opened it.

"Good afternoon," she said. "A policewoman is waiting for you downstairs."

My heart leaped. It had to be Agent Walker. I hurried downstairs and saw her leaning against her car, arms crossed, her face set in serious lines.

"Hey, Mr. Miller!" she called, opening the passenger door. "Get in."

Without a second thought, I climbed in beside her.

"Someone called the FBI today," she said as she put the car into gear. "Claimed responsibility for the murders of the janitor and Mr. Jung. You mentioned a list before. I think it's connected."

I reached into my pocket, pulling out the crumpled paper and handing it to her. "Here it is. The janitor was first, then Mr. Jung. The next target is Mr. Kang, followed by me... and Abby."

"Abby?" Walker asked, glancing at the list. "But it says 'I don't know her name.'"

I explained, "The killer doesn't know her name, but he recognizes her. Abby was there when Mr. Jung was murdered. She saw the man, but he threatened her. That's why she's so scared to talk."

Walker's face tightened in thought. "But Chris was in custody when Mr. Jung was killed. How could he have written this list?"

"That's the big question," I replied. "But I'm certain Mr. Kang is next. We need to get to his apartment now."

Without a second of doubt, Walker turned the wheel and accelerated. We were on our way to Mr. Kang's, determined to stop the killer before he struck again.