My Roommate: The Untold Story

The Confrontation

Agent Walker stood in front of the door labeled "B-4," her knuckles rapping against the wood. Silence. She knocked again, louder this time.

"This is Agent Walker, FBI! Is anyone there?" she called, her voice sharp and authoritative.

Still no answer. The quiet inside gnawed at her nerves, but her instincts told her something was off. She stepped back, inhaled deeply, then lunged at the door, slamming her shoulder into it with force. The door cracked open with a loud bang.

The room was a mess. Papers scattered, clothes tossed across furniture, and overturned chairs spoke of chaos. With her pistol drawn, Walker advanced into the room, each step deliberate and cautious. She scanned the room, her eyes darting from corner to corner, expecting the unexpected. Moving deeper, she yanked open the cabinet, glancing inside to find nothing but shadows.

Her gaze fell on the bed, where crumpled papers lay like discarded thoughts. Five, maybe six of them. She grabbed one, smoothing it out with a quick motion. The writing on it was unnerving:

**You think you know who I am. But who am I really? The fourth isn't the fourth. The last should be the next.**

A chill crawled down her spine. This was no random note; it was a taunt. A message meant for her.

Walker unfolded the rest of the papers—each one bore the same cryptic riddle. It wasn't lost on her that the author wanted her to figure it out. The killer was playing a game, and she was now part of it. Stuffing the papers into her pocket, she continued her search through the wreckage of the room before swiftly exiting.

---

"Alex, the third victim is dead. Mr. Kang," I said, my voice shaky. "The list is real, Alex. It's happening."

"Oh, man..." Alex replied, a grin creeping across his face. "This is straight out of a thriller! The end of the month is coming up. I need to finish writing this story—this could be the front page of my magazine!"

His excitement made my blood boil. "What? For your *magazine*? People are dying, Alex!" I snapped, unable to hide my anger. "This isn't some twisted movie plot. Are you really more interested in writing a bestseller than the fact that people are being murdered?"

Alex blinked, taken aback by my outburst. "Whoa, cool it, man. I didn't mean it like that," he said, his voice softening. "I'm just caught up in it, that's all. I don't want anyone dead—especially not you."

I sighed, the tension in my chest easing a little. "Sorry. I didn't mean to snap. I just can't believe this is all happening. It's like a nightmare."

Alex shrugged. "Well, you wanted proof. Now you've got it. Chris is clearly the killer. A serial killer at that."

I bit my lip, unsure. "You know, Abby said she saw the guy who did it. He was wearing a hood... just like the one in my dream. But Chris was still in our room when I left for Mr. Kang's house."

Alex leaned back, thoughtful. "So you're saying Chris might *not* be the one?"

"I don't know," I admitted, my head spinning. "None of it makes sense."

Alex suddenly lowered his voice, his eyes locking onto mine. "Eddy... I was at Mr. Kang's apartment that day."

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. My breath caught in my throat, my body frozen in shock. "What? No... no way!" I stammered, taking a step back. "Don't tell me you—"

Alex raised his hands, his face calm but his voice hushed. "Eddy, I didn't kill him. I swear. You know me."

I backed away, my legs trembling. "Then why... why were you there? What were you doing?" My voice was cracking now, every muscle in my body on edge.

Alex took a step toward me, but I wasn't having it. My eyes caught sight of a rusted shovel in the corner, and without thinking, I grabbed it, holding it out like a shield between us.

"Don't come any closer!" I warned, my hands shaking violently as I gripped the shovel. "I'll use this if I have to!"

"Eddy, listen to me!" Alex's voice was calm, but urgent. "You know me. I couldn't hurt a fly, let alone kill someone! What would I even have to gain? I'm a writer, not a murderer. Think about it!"

I was sweating, my heart racing, every part of me screaming that something wasn't right. But deep down, I knew Alex. He wasn't capable of something like this. Slowly, I lowered the shovel, my breath still coming in short, panicked bursts.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, barely audible. "I don't know what's happening anymore. This whole thing has me so messed up. I didn't mean to—"

Alex stepped forward cautiously, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It's okay, man. I get it. You're under a lot of pressure. But you've got to trust me. I'm on your side."

He gently pried the shovel from my grip and set it down. I collapsed back into my seat, overwhelmed, trying to process everything.

"Look," Alex said softly. "Walker's got this. She'll find the real killer. She'll catch Chris if it's him. You don't have to go back to that dorm room tonight. You're safe, okay? Just breathe."

I nodded, exhaling deeply. For the first time in days, I felt a flicker of relief. "Thanks, Alex," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Alex smiled, patting my shoulder again. "Don't mention it."