u/DoomReads

Jared took a ladleful of chilli. “Smells delicious Teddy.”

I tried to smile back. 

Lisa was focused on sprinkling cheese into her bowl. They could feel something was off. I hated to create an atmosphere, but things had gone too far.

Jared broke under the tension. “Teddy? Is everything okay?”

“Actually, Jared…not really.”

*

I knew living with a couple would create a certain dynamic, but I was surprised by how naturally we fell into a groove. Jared and Lisa were so easygoing. They were just a good hang. I’d never met anyone like them before. It was kind of an awakening for me.

But over time, things started to change.

I’m a people-pleaser. That’s how I’m built. It feels good to help others. I guess I wanted to impress them a little bit too. I was the newcomer moving into their spare room, and I wanted them to feel like they’d made the right choice. 

So I cooked lasagne on that first night. They loved it. And I did the dishes afterwards. The next night I used the leftover beef for tacos. And I cleaned the dishes again while they drank red wine on the couch. 

The next morning I vacuumed and dusted a little. I collected all the books lying around the place and put them back on the bookshelves. The kind of thing I’d do in my own home. Because this was now my home. Jared and Lisa were thrilled when they came back from work. And that felt great. 

For six months, that’s how it was. We hung out, watched movies, played games. I met their friends. I did most of the cooking and cleaning because I like to stay busy. I’m just wired that way. It was nice. 

Gradually at first, then all of a sudden, it became more than cooking and cleaning. It was anything that needed doing. And there was never any question of Jared or Lisa tackling any of those jobs. It was always me. 

I’ll never forget making Lisa coffee one morning when she said, “Ted, can you see to the basket of laundry in the hallway? It’s been sitting there all day.”

I’d done her laundry once or twice before. But that had been my choice, to help clear the clutter. I’d never been asked to do it. And her tone was…weirdly demanding. I didn’t know how to react, so just said… “sure?”

And from there on out, I did everyone’s laundry. 

Soon I was making breakfast too. Jared casually asked if I could load up the toaster with two slices of sourdough. I was right there in the kitchen so it would’ve been rude to refuse. By the end of that week I was preparing avocado omelettes and three-seed oatmeal while they were still in their pyjamas. 

And it got worse. 

Lisa’s friend Michelle went through a bad break-up. She needed a place to crash. After what I thought was a nice evening together, they dropped the bombshell. I’d need to vacate my room for a month. I’d be staying in the “box room” at the back. They didn’t have the nerve to call it what it was: a large storage closet. No windows. Not even enough room for a bed. 

Michelle expected the same treatment as Lisa and Jared. If anything she was worse. Outright rude at times. At one point she asked if I could paint her toenails.

It’s reached a point where Jared and Lisa don’t even ask any more. They just grumble when things don’t get done. I appreciate it’s their apartment, but boy do they know it. They’ll watch TV loud till late into the night. Host dinner parties and not even think to tell me. If I try and sit down to relax, even for a couple of minutes, they look at me like I’ve grown another head. Sometimes they don’t even acknowledge me at dinner, eating the meal that I cooked. 

We used to laugh and joke and celebrate and commiserate together. I’d give them advice, listen to their anecdotes, sympathise when they complained endlessly about their colleagues. We were best friends. Now they treat me like I’m a piece of furniture. 

So I made them one last chilli. Then I sat at the table with them. 

And it’s awkward.

“Teddy? Is everything okay?”

“Actually, Jared…not really. These last few months…things have changed. I don’t feel like a housemate anymore.”

Jared and Lisa shared a look. Like they knew this was coming. Like they’d been dreading it. Lisa mumbled something about making a phone call and left the room.

“This is what I’m talking about. That was rude, Jared.”

Jared ran his hand over his face. “Yeah, things have gotten out of hand.”

It was encouraging to hear him admit it. “So what can we do to fix it?”

Lisa’s voice thumped through from the hallway: really? There’s no other way? 

Jared looked downbeat. “Yeah…I don’t know. I mean…we’re trying to figure that out.”

This felt like progress. “Well— let’s do it together. We can start by sharing the household chores more evenly.”

Jared sighed deeply.

I went to speak again, but Lisa came back into the room. Jared looked to her, his eyes questioning. 

“They said full factory reset.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s our only option.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry?” But were ignoring me, as usual. 

Jared stuttered. “We’ll lose everything. His whole personality. All the memories we made.”

“Yep. We screwed up.”

“He’s our friend.”

“Which is exactly what the user guide warned against.”

Jared looked at me balefully. I was so confused I couldn’t even form a question. Lisa’s voice was like a knife in the silence. “Jared we could void our warranty.”

Jared came and sat next to me. He opened his arms to hug me. I hugged him back.

I felt two fingers press against the base of my skull, just behind my ear. Darkness crept in. 

“I’m sorry buddy. I’ll miss you.”

Unfortunately she'd forgotten to wish me out of my coffin.

“Could you walk us through your exact movements last night, Mr Grabe?”

I put on my best let me think face. 

“My last class finished at 5PM. Couple of students stayed behind to discuss their coursework. After that I marked some papers. Closed up and left at about 6.30pm. Came home, changed. Went out for dinner—”

“Where?” One of the officers leaned forward slightly, frowning. His bulky vest creaked. 

“Randy’s. Just on the high street.”

“Who with?” He had a small tattoo under his ear. Some kind of Celtic cross. 

“By myself. I ate alone.”

The two cops cut each other a glance, but said nothing. I continued.

“I left at maybe 9.30. Then I came home, called a friend. We spoke for about an hour. I watched some TV and went to bed.”

I knew exactly how much detail I needed to give. Not so much it felt rehearsed, not so little that I seemed evasive. This all came with practice. Every close call had been a valuable lesson. 

“You had dinner by yourself. In a restaurant. Is that typical?”

I shrugged. “Once or twice a month. I like to get out. Otherwise I’m just cooped up in the house.” 

The officer with the tattoo took notes. As he did he asked. “You live alone?”

“Yep.”

“Rental?”

“Uhuh.”

His eyes scanned the room, the doorway beyond. “All this for one person?”

“It’s what was available at the time. I wanted a garden”

He went back to taking notes. This was my opportunity to ask the question they’d expect of me. 

“Sorry, can you tell me what this is about? You said something about a— an incident?”

The other officer, the one with the wispy thinning hair and kind eyes in a round face, produced a photograph and handed it to me. It was a picture of a young woman smiling, maybe at a barbecue. Recognition flared.

“Do you know this woman?”

I made a vague, noncommittal noise. 

“She was murdered last night, not far from here.”

“Good lord. That’s awful.”

“You’re aware she’s an English student at your college?”

I blinked. “Oh— right, I thought she looked familiar. She must be in Mr Marchant’s class. That’s terrible.”

Kind eyes plucked the photo out of my hand and tucked it into a pocket on his vest. “You don’t know her personally?”

“I don’t think I ever spoke to her. I must’ve seen her around.”

Tattoo spoke up. There was an impatient edge to his voice. “A man matching your description was seen by multiple eye witnesses fleeing the scene. Covered in blood.”

“My description?” I swept my hair out my eyes. Bright blond and arrow-straight. No mistaking it, even from a distance. I hated it at this length. I could never stop fussing with it. Made me look more nervous than I was.

“Do you have any proof you were at Randy’s at the time of the attack?”

That let me think face again. “Proof…The waitress would remember me. I’m sure of that. And— hold on…” I stood up and moved over to my jacket hanging in the hallway. Careful to make my actions seem spontaneous. 

I rifled through my wallet and handed over the neatly folded receipt. That alone should lift me out of the investigation. The CCTV footage and a quick cross-check with the waitress would tie up any lingering doubt. As usual, I’d concocted a unique and memorable order. No one’s ever asked for that. She’d said with a giggle. Exactly what I’d needed to hear. 

Kind eyes examined the receipt, then passed it to his colleague. Tattoo read it, almost scowling.

*“*And after dinner you called a friend?”

I instinctively dug my phone out of my pocket. “Here, it’ll be on my—“

But they were already standing up with a vague air of dismay and frustration, which I ignored. They’d be out the house within thirty seconds. 

“We may have a few more questions…” said tattoo.

“Of course, whatever you need.”

They drifted into the hallway. Tattoo took a moment to step towards the kitchen and poke his head through the door. A dart of ice stabbed my gut. From the back window he could see into the garden. All he’d have to do was ask to take a look around. Any resistance would be noted. For a half-second the Randy’s receipt felt thin and flimsy in my hand. 

But he swung back round, unsatisfied, and the two of them made for the door. I opened it quickly, pre-emptively. 

“We’ll be in touch.” 

“Absolutely.” I said with a tight smile. Then I asked, because I knew it was the type of question people asked out of morbid curiosity, “was it…bad?”

Those kind eyes dimmed, clouded over. “Really bad. Brutal.”

Tattoo was waiting for him by the patrol car, pursing his lips in disapproval. 

*

I gave it a few minutes before heading down the garden path, through the wall of foliage to the low half-hidden bunker. The morning rain had made the locks stiff. 

The door swung open to darkness. I pulled a cord and an ugly yellow glow filled the room. 

He was sitting cross-legged in the corner, looking a little sheepish. It was like staring into a warped mirror. 

“I told you to stay away from campus.”

He chuckled guiltily. The blood had dried brown on his hands, forearms, around his mouth.

“It’s not funny. I don’t want to have to move again.” We’d skipped town half a dozen times since I’d found him gnawing on father’s shin bone. That case was still open, as was mother’s. 

I sighed. “You got too hungry, that’s my fault. But please, from now on, find them at random. At least a mile from where I’m eating.”

As usual, I felt nauseous at the thought. But it was my duty to protect him. He was my brother, and I was all he had in the world. 

“Take your clothes off, I’ll hose you down. Then we’re getting a haircut.”

“Could you walk us through your exact movements last night, Mr Grabe?”

I put on my best let me think face. 

“My last class finished at 5PM. Couple of students stayed behind to discuss their coursework. After that I marked some papers. Closed up and left at about 6.30pm. Came home, changed. Went out for dinner—”

“Where?” One of the officers leaned forward slightly, frowning. His bulky vest creaked. 

“Randy’s. Just on the high street.”

“Who with?” He had a small tattoo under his ear. Some kind of Celtic cross. 

“By myself. I ate alone.”

The two cops cut each other a glance, but said nothing. I continued.

“I left at maybe 9.30. Then I came home, called a friend. We spoke for about an hour. I watched some TV and went to bed.”

I knew exactly how much detail I needed to give. Not so much it felt rehearsed, not so little that I seemed evasive. This all came with practice. Every close call had been a valuable lesson. 

“You had dinner by yourself. In a restaurant. Is that typical?”

I shrugged. “Once or twice a month. I like to get out. Otherwise I’m just cooped up in the house.” 

The officer with the tattoo took notes. As he did he asked. “You live alone?”

“Yep.”

“Rental?”

“Uhuh.”

His eyes scanned the room, the doorway beyond. “All this for one person?”

“It’s what was available at the time. I wanted a garden”

He went back to taking notes. This was my opportunity to ask the question they’d expect of me. 

“Sorry, can you tell me what this is about? You said something about a— an incident?”

The other officer, the one with the wispy thinning hair and kind eyes in a round face, produced a photograph and handed it to me. It was a picture of a young woman smiling, maybe at a barbecue. Recognition flared.

“Do you know this woman?”

I made a vague, noncommittal noise. 

“She was murdered last night, not far from here.”

“Good lord. That’s awful.”

“You’re aware she’s an English student at your college?”

I blinked. “Oh— right, I thought she looked familiar. She must be in Mr Marchant’s class. That’s terrible.”

Kind eyes plucked the photo out of my hand and tucked it into a pocket on his vest. “You don’t know her personally?”

“I don’t think I ever spoke to her. I must’ve seen her around.”

Tattoo spoke up. There was an impatient edge to his voice. “A man matching your description was seen by multiple eye witnesses fleeing the scene. Covered in blood.”

“My description?” I swept my hair out my eyes. Bright blond and arrow-straight. No mistaking it, even from a distance. I hated it at this length. I could never stop fussing with it. Made me look more nervous than I was.

“Do you have any proof you were at Randy’s at the time of the attack?”

That let me think face again. “Proof…The waitress would remember me. I’m sure of that. And— hold on…” I stood up and moved over to my jacket hanging in the hallway. Careful to make my actions seem spontaneous. 

I rifled through my wallet and handed over the neatly folded receipt. That alone should lift me out of the investigation. The CCTV footage and a quick cross-check with the waitress would tie up any lingering doubt. As usual, I’d concocted a unique and memorable order. No one’s ever asked for that. She’d said with a giggle. Exactly what I’d needed to hear. 

Kind eyes examined the receipt, then passed it to his colleague. Tattoo read it, almost scowling.

*“*And after dinner you called a friend?”

I instinctively dug my phone out of my pocket. “Here, it’ll be on my—“

But they were already standing up with a vague air of dismay and frustration, which I ignored. They’d be out the house within thirty seconds. 

“We may have a few more questions…” said tattoo.

“Of course, whatever you need.”

They drifted into the hallway. Tattoo took a moment to step towards the kitchen and poke his head through the door. A dart of ice stabbed my gut. From the back window he could see into the garden. All he’d have to do was ask to take a look around. Any resistance would be noted. For a half-second the Randy’s receipt felt thin and flimsy in my hand. 

But he swung back round, unsatisfied, and the two of them made for the door. I opened it quickly, pre-emptively. 

“We’ll be in touch.” 

“Absolutely.” I said with a tight smile. Then I asked, because I knew it was the type of question people asked out of morbid curiosity, “was it…bad?”

Those kind eyes dimmed, clouded over. “Really bad. Brutal.”

Tattoo was waiting for him by the patrol car, pursing his lips in disapproval. 

*

I gave it a few minutes before heading down the garden path, through the wall of foliage to the low half-hidden bunker. The morning rain had made the locks stiff. 

The door swung open to darkness. I pulled a cord and an ugly yellow glow filled the room. 

He was sitting cross-legged in the corner, looking a little sheepish. It was like staring into a warped mirror. 

“I told you to stay away from campus.”

He chuckled guiltily. The blood had dried brown on his hands, forearms, around his mouth.

“It’s not funny. I don’t want to have to move again.” We’d skipped town half a dozen times since I’d found him gnawing on father’s shin bone. That case was still open, as was mother’s. 

I sighed. “You got too hungry, that’s my fault. But please, from now on, find them at random. At least a mile from where I’m eating.”

As usual, I felt nauseous at the thought. But it was my duty to protect him. He was my brother, and I was all he had in the world. 

“Take your clothes off, I’ll hose you down. Then we’re getting a haircut.”