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Chapter 1
We weren't really a thing. Well, at least not usually. We were just really good friends with the occasional benefits. That's why we shared an apartment, but not a life. That is, until he was killed. Actually, that's not true. He wasn't killed, he was murdered.
But let me start from the top. My name is Liz Stokes, and I was a normal office girl working at a normal day job that normally paid the bills. The only weird part about my life was my roommate for my normal apartment. His name was Timothy Hamilton, and he was, well, eccentric. We stumbled into each other one autumn's evening five years ago. I was taking a walk, he was laying in some bushes with so many bruises over his body he looked like Barney the Dinosaur. I don't like watching stupid animals suffer, so I helped him back to my apartment and like most strays he stayed there.
That's how I learned how weird were his habits. Timothy was a night owl who dragged himself in at early hours of the morning and often collapsed on the couch. That was where I usually found him, if I found him at all. Sometimes he would leave for a few days and come back to crash for a few more days. Other times he would be awake at all hours of the day thanks to a gallon of coffee and superhuman perseverance. I'm sure you're asking why he had such strange hours, and that was because of his job. He told me he was a kind of consultant, and when I found him he'd just had some bad luck in a mediation. That was how he was able to pay for his half of the apartment rent. I suggested a change of occupation, but he argued that he'd been doing it for so long he didn't have any other skills.
Which now brings us to the man himself. Timothy was old-fashioned in his mannerisms. He'd open doors for me and sweep off invisible hats when we met. I have to admit it made me feel special, and that's why we were sometimes more than just roommates.
With all his gallant manners and cute eccentricities there was one thing about him I couldn't stand, and that was his partner, Vincent. Vincent was tall, pale, and unfriendly. He wore a black overcoat with a duster, and had a faded black fedora. It made him dashingly handsome, but I couldn't get past his cold manner and eyes. I hoped he wasn't the face of their Public Relations department.
The first time I met Vincent Timothy had us shake hands, or tried to have us shake hands. I held out mine, but Vincent just sneered and turned away. Timothy brought him over to the apartment only a few more times before he noticed Vincent and I didn't hit it off, and then the visits stopped.
There was one final weird thing about Timothy that happened shortly after we agreed to share the apartment. He took me aside and handed me a small metal box. "If you ever find out something's happened to me then you take this box and follow the instructions, okay?"
"Like what?" I'd asked him.
He shook his head. "You'll know when it happens, but don't hesitate to follow the instructions inside. Got it?" He was so strange that I took the whole thing as a joke and stuffed the box under my bed. How wrong I was, and how I wished I would have better enjoyed the time we had together.
Those halcyon days of strange hours with my strange roommate came to an abrupt end three years after we met. It was a Friday afternoon and I was just finishing up my work at the office. It was one of those cubicle-filled places where the hum of the hive was really the watercooler in need of repair. I clicked and clacked through the last few sentences of a document I was typing for a boss who had an adversion to anything related to keyboards.
I clacked the last word, leaned back and groaned as I stretched. "And that completes another riveting day of office work," I mused.
A head peeked over one wall of my prison. It was a fellow prisoner by the name of Jeremy who I suspected had a crush on me. Maybe it was the occasional flower on my desk or the longing smile on his face. I would have encouraged it if I felt the same way, but I couldn't get past how ever-present he was around me. If we would have started dating I imagined he would have been one of those ever-texting boyfriends asking me where I was and who I was with. Not a healthy relationship.
"Have any plans for the weekend?" he asked me.
"None that I know of, and I'm just fine with that," I replied, seeking to discourage any plans he might have had for me.
His smile slipped a little. Apparently I'd warded off trouble in the nick of time. "I see. I was sort of hoping that we could go out to see a movie."
I sighed and straightened in my chair. "Not this weekend. Nothing's playing that I want to see and I might have to nuke my apartment to clean it." I was a little behind on my dusting, dish cleaning, vacuuming, mopping, and anything else that involved cleaning and the ending of 'ing.' "It may take me until next year to get everything done."
Jeremy snorted. "Well, good luck," he replied, and slipped out of sight.