Brother, Friend, Roommate
Fiction
Taylor Friday

     Troy Whigham, 20, missing, presumed dead.

     His face was one of many printed across the covers of every local newspaper. A black and white photo of a boy posing and grinning handsomely for the camera. His life summarized in a few paragraphs. He was someone’s son, someone’s brother. He was a university student who had seemed so full of life and who had everything going for him: a full-ride scholarship to the university of his choice, a great circle of friends, great grades, many awards, and a promising career in journalism. But that was only what was known about him from the newspapers.

     I knew him as the boy who kept his side of the room messy. Empty potato chip bags could usually be found peeking out from beneath his bed or a pile of clothing he’d discarded onto the floor. Navy blue bed sheets were pulled back and spilled out on top of the mess. A collection of books sat on his nightstand untouched and already collecting its first layer of dust.

     I knew him as someone who’d turn the radio up at night not caring what our neighbors thought and would howl to the tune off-key. Now his side of the room was silent. Each side of the room was divided by a singular window that looked over the school grounds. A large oak tree sat at the side, its spanning branches skewing the way in which the light filtered into our room. I sat bathed in this light taking in the darkness and the silence left behind by one who should be here. It was as if the light avoided Troy’s side of the room too afraid to disturb what he left behind just in case. It was like a room waiting for the return of its occupant. But it had been weeks.

     Sometimes I thought back on the last time that I had seen him, wondering how it got to this. I

replayed the way our last conversation had gone. I could still see him sitting with the window open, one leg propped against the window sill and the other firmly placed on the floor, keeping his balance. He had held a cigarette in his hand. I had wrinkled my nose at the smell and he had offered a smirk in return. He said, “Bit of a tough day today,” before tapping the ash of his cigarette out the window. “But I’m on to something big,” he continued with a grin. “Huge. I’m telling you. Once this story is out, it’s going to rock this campus and the little town built around it. I’m going to be famous.” It was a strange bit of foresight but not in the way either of us expected.

     I sat in the silence of our room until I could no longer stand it. I grabbed my bag and left our dorm shivering as the cold air hit me. The weather had taken a change. A cold wind blew kicking up fall leaves. Thick clouds drifted in silently overhead with the promise of rain, not snow. It was still too warm for snow. I buried myself in my coat and crossed the campus to a small café known as The Nest. The warm scent of coffee enveloped me as I took my usual spot in the café’s only corner window. I took out my notepad and pen and began jotting down names to the tune of coffee beans being ground.

     Troy had known a lot of people when he had been a student. A perk, he said, afforded to him by knowing everyone’s business and as well as being a journalist. Students were disappearing and someone was responsible. The ‘Who?’ would need to be answered soon. If Troy were still around and he was investigating the disappearances and potential murders of other students, he’d definitely start with a list of suspects. Someone the victim knew well. But Troy didn’t have a lot of enemies. Loved him or hated him, most people respected that he had a goal and he was well on his way to accomplishing it.

     There was Andrew Stark, a fellow journalism student whom Troy often complained was trying to poach stories off of him for credit. Brooke Reid, an ex-girlfriend whom he had dumped because he found her uninteresting. And then there was Lynette James. I didn’t know her well. Only from afar from the one time that Troy had pointed her out to me with a cocky grin.

     “What are you working on?”

     I jumped at the sudden question. Looking up, a girl was peering curiously over my shoulder with a bright smile splitting her face. She set my order down gently and waited patiently for my answer.

     “Oh, it’s nothing,” I stuttered attempting to close the page, but she reached out and held the page open. Her dark eyes moved back and forth as she read off the short list. “Me?” She raised a brow.

     “You,” I said lamely.

     “I’m on your list.” She tapped a nail against the name ‘Lynette James.’

     Warmth bloomed upon my cheeks. I looked away quickly, allowing the distraction of the caramel-sugar drink to quell my embarrassment.

     “Really? What is this?”

     I opened my mouth to tell her that it was none of her business, but instead what came out was, “It’s a list of people who knew and didn’t get along well with my roommate.”

     Lynette paused. She assessed me for a moment before nodding slowly. “I’m sorry for what’s happened. I’ve seen his photos all over campus.” I returned her nod numbly. I had helped post them up along with his family. There was a wall in the student union building where his photo joined the others who had gone missing.

     “You knew him,” I said. “Did you...”

     Her expression darkened and she spoke tersely, “I didn’t know him well. He came in here a few times. A real hassle to us all.”

     “He was here? Alone?” 

     She shook her head. “No, he was meeting with someone. A professor. They were working together on something. A project, I think.”

     My heart leapt in my chest. Troy’s words echoed in my head, ‘I’m working on something big.’

     “Who?” I asked. She frowned at the harshness in my voice. “Who was he with?”

     “It looked like Professor Lewis.”

     I had class with Professor Hector Lewis every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. He was a middle-aged man with dark swept hair and blue eyes. He drew students to him and they gravitated around him like he was the sun. But as I sat as he gave lecture, his words fading into the background, I tried to imagine Troy like that—like the students who always surrounded him and seemed to hang on to his every word. No, Troy wasn’t like that. Troy was better than that. In private, Troy would laugh at students like that.

     But not everyone was like Troy. There were other students. Missing now. Presumed dead. All disappeared within a span of two years. Students that I had noticed had been considered close to Professor Lewis during their time at the university. The last student was a tall, handsome boy who, like Professor Lewis, had been quite popular. Rarely was he ever alone. He always had someone by his side. Even I knew him in passing, having spoken to him once in a blowoff philosophical class. His name had been Anthony Smith, 20, missing, presumed dead.

     Like Troy, Anthony’s name had been plastered all over campus in black and white. Unlike the others, however, his body had been found. He had been discarded at a creek bloodied and dismantled as if bludgeoned.

     “Tom?” 

     I blinked and several eyes were watching me. My stomach coiled as my eyes drifted upwards to meet those of Professor Lewis. The smile he gave me was polite but tight. He said, “Would you mind meeting with me after class?” If we were any younger, there would be cooing in the class at me getting caught not paying attention. Instead, there was a moment of silence before the class resumed uninterrupted.

     I hung back as the other students filed out of the classroom. Professor Lewis meandered to his desk, taking his time, as he always did, to gather his things. He looked up sharply as I approached him. The frown on his face turned into a bright and easy smile.

     “I understand how it is. Students have a lot going on. Sometimes the mind wanders and we lose track of time.”

     I didn’t return his smile. With a half-hearted sigh, he said, “I’m going to give you an extension on your assignments. You’ve been missing a lot of them. You have until this weekend to complete them.”

     He searched my face for a response, for anything. I stared back at him. For a moment, I’m struck with the urge to grab him by the shoulders, to shake him back and forth, to accuse him of having something to do with the string of disappearances of college students, one of whom was my roommate and only friend. Instead, what comes tumbling clumsily out of my mouth is a mumbled, “Thank you.”

     He gave me a curt nod before sending me on my way. As I left, I heard him say, “You’re a good student, Tom. I know that this is a hard time for you. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

     If Troy had been there, he would have scoffed in his face and then, in private, would have called him something impolite. But I wasn’t like Troy. Instead, I moved on to my next destination feeling unsettled.

 

     “He actually said that?” Lynette said, setting a latte before me. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she mimicked his voice with a disgusted face. “Ugh,” she sighed taking a seat at the table. “And to think he was one of the last people to have seen Troy.”

     I nodded, not meeting her eyes as I sipped my latte. Caramel washed over my tongue, easing the tension in my body.

     “It’s clear that he’s connected somehow. We just need proof,” she continued.

     “Proof?”

     “Undeniable proof. Catch him in the act. Make him confess.”

     I mulled over her words. The how and the when churned like a wheel in my mind. As if hearing my thoughts, she pulled out something large and dark and slid it across the table. A hoodie. A hoodie that Troy had worn frequently. She said, “Leave this for him to find. He should be able to recognize it. Gauge his reaction. He’ll show you his guilt.”

 

     At the end of Lewis’ next class, I waited for the class to begin spilling out into the halls before making my move. I left the hoodie behind before joining the others in the hall and lingering at the door. Professor Lewis was slow inside. He gathered his things carefully before looking up and spotting the hoodie. He stared at the clothing, a shadow crossing his expression. Crossing the room quickly, he grabbed the hoodie. I left the room quickly before he could reach the door. As I exited the building, I couldn’t help but to feel victorious.

 

     Lynette sat heavily on the other side of the table after I had told her of his reaction.

     “It’s not enough. We need concrete proof.”

     “Such as what?” I asked her.

     “Don’t you have anything else?”

 

     It was strange rummaging through the things of someone who was missing. I searched through his clothing, his notes, whatever belongings had been left behind. One by one, I pulled out items that could be used. I followed Lynette’s instructions carefully. It went like this:

     I made sure to leave class alongside the other students blending in among them. Once I was out in the hallway, I’d linger at the door to watch as he found the items I left for him: a notebook, a shoe, a key that led to the tiny office in the journalism office that Troy sometimes used. I would leave them in different places where he would easily see them and then I would wait and watch his reaction. How he trembled as he reached out for each item. His appearance in each class grew more haggard as time passed. His skin was pallid and his eyes lined with deep, bruise-like bags. Stubble rested upon his jaw and his hair was no longer neatly swept back. His attendance in class grew later and later, with him staggering into class just before the fifteen-minute time limit. When he gave lecture, he often lost track of his thoughts. After starting and restarting his lecture, he’d eventually give up and cancel the remainder of class early.

 

     “We’ve almost got him,” Lynette said.

     “He hasn’t confessed yet.”

     “No, but it’s only a matter of time.”

 

     The last idea had also been Lynette’s idea. The crafting of such an item that I had seen on Troy’s person only once. Long bodied and aluminum with a dent in its side. A baseball bat.

     This time, I left it propped up outside his office as he had cancelled class for the day. He was inside his office. I could tell by the light that peaked out beneath the crack of the door. This time, I didn’t stick around to watch his reaction.

 

     I returned to my dorm, slowing as I reached the door. It reminded me of the last time that I had seen Troy. It had been raining heavily that night. The sound of the rain drumming against the window of our dorm had been the only sound keeping me company in his absence. I had been waiting for him to return. It had been our night to settle down and watch a movie together, but after hours of waiting alone I had given up to study. I had been two hours into my study session when the door to our dorm wrenched open and he walked in. He had been drenched head-to-toe in rain water. His eyes had been wide and glossy as if he was present physically not mentally. Back then, I had figured by his swaying and disorientation that he was merely drunk as he tended to be the first thing Friday night. But I had quickly realized that this wasn’t right. Something had been wrong.

     “What’s going on?” I had asked coming to his side.

     For a moment, he had sat totally still as if he had not heard me speak. I had opened my mouth to repeat my question, but he beat me to it. He rambled off words a mile a minute, too fast for me to process. And when he had finished, there was only a heaviness in the room mixed in with the rain. My heart had leapt to my throat. My mind had been left reeling. Needing a moment, I had left his side to create some distance.

     “Don’t move,” I had told him inching my way towards the door. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to get something to help you calm down.” He had stared at me from his spot on his bed.

     I had stepped outside of the dorm, letting the coolness of the night brought on by the rain soothe me. My mind had been reeling, my thoughts racing a mile a minute. I had tried and failed to collect my thoughts. The time that had passed had escaped me by the time I returned. I had slowed then, too, as I reached our dorm room. The door had been left open just a sliver, enough for me to glimpse the darkness inside. My stomach coiled at the sight. I had already known with each step I took forward what would be waiting for me inside. I had already known that all that would be left of Troy would be the watermark he left on his bed and that the room would be empty.

     It had been the last time that I had seen my roommate. The last time that I had spoken with him. He had turned up again later in black and white on the cover of every local newspaper.

     Entering into the silence of our dorm room, I crossed the room and sat upon Troy’s bed the way that he had been sitting that last night. I slid my hand against the sheets feeling the cold fabric ripple beneath my touch. I knew what I needed to do. I dialed the number quickly on my phone and waited for the call to go through.

 

     Hector Lewis was all anyone would talk about on campus. His name was whispered about as if speaking his name aloud was taboo. Word had somehow gotten out that the police had arrived at his home. They had dragged him from his townhome in handcuffs shoving him roughly into the back of one of their police vehicles. If the rumors were to be believed, he had been found with enough evidence to trace him back to the disappearance of Troy. His hoodie, a notebook, a shoe, a key, and at last the baseball bat. The last I heard they were working on connecting him to the disappearances of several other students.

     It took nearly two months for the shock to die down. Classes resumed. The professor who took Lewis’ spot was a middle-aged woman with a salt-n-pepper bob and a habit of stopping every other point to aggressively ask if we understood the concept or not. Once the class was over, I returned to The Nest where I knew Lynette was working.

     “Welcome!” she called out to me as I entered. “What can I get for you?”

     I leaned in and said lowly, “I did it. I did exactly as you instructed me.”

     Her brows furrowed as she gave me an uneasy smile. “Excuse me?”

     “It’s because of your help that a monster has been put away. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

     She took a step away from the counter casting a wary glance to see if anyone had noticed our exchange. “Do I know you?”

     My heart sank. “No,” I lied. “No, I suppose not.”

     I returned to the dorm with my nerves feeling as if they were on fire. Throwing myself back onto Troy’s bed, I blinked back the tears stinging in my eyes. I turned on my side hearing the springs of the bed groan beneath me in protest, I faced my side of the room seeing that it was untouched by the light of the window. Sitting hidden beneath the bed, tucked just out of sight for those who didn’t know where to look, my eyes caught on the silver end of a long body. There was a dent in the side of the body facing me as if it had bashed against something hard. My eyes rested upon the crimson spatters dried around the dent.