Page 27 of The Invisible Roommate

We’re goin’ to catch this monster.

The word monster burrowed inside Emory’s chest and took deep, dark root.

Tucked into that crawl space, he wished he could disappear, but for the first time in the many times he’d done so in his life, he didn’t need to wish, because he could.

He could disappear.

All he needed was time.

Driven, he pushed his way out from hiding, then bolted and barricaded the door. A siren blared on the horizon. He shut the windows and the curtains and prepared more serum in an uncareful dose before swiftly setting up his own two-way transfusion.

A little while later, as his blood flowed out into a hanging bag and the extra artificial blood flowed into his veins, he felt oddly, eerily calm.

Fine, he thought. If they want a monster, I’ll give them a monster.

StepThree

Form a Hypothesis

If a pop star and a scientist are forced to be roommates, then they will fall in love.

15Gerard

PRESENT DAY

Upon waking, Gerard assumed he had dreamed Emory Griffin, the scientist who turned himself invisible. The story was too unbelievable to be true. But when he opened his crust-spackled eyes after having fallen asleep upright in the comfortable rocking chair, across from him, the cushions of the craggy love seat were dimpled with the weight of an undetected body. The armrest compressed under an unseen skull.

The story was unbelievable, but clearly not impossible.

Impossible. A word Emory seemed to despise.

Fear should’ve spiked into Gerard’s sternum, but peace surprised him instead. Watching the gentle rise and fall of Emory’s satiny green robe was as soothing as watching the waves roll in on an untouched beach.

After so many press junkets and late-night shows, Gerard could’ve gone forever without being asked another question about himself, but Emory Griffin told his story as if he’d never once been asked a personal question. He spoke directly and frantically, like all this information had been piling up for some time and it created a landslide of words out his open mouth. A mouth Gerard couldn’t even see.

The previous night returned to him in full then. The hours had ticked by, and darkness tiptoed into the room as Emory monologued, neither of them reaching for the nearby lamp to brighten the room. What would’ve been the point? After spending far too long trying to imagine what Emory’s face looked like, Gerard closed his eyes, for he had no expressions to dissect, which was an utter relief. It had been like curling up with a favorite podcast, letting the story wash over him.

At some point, they must’ve both dozed off. Emory had rolled over on the love seat and curled up into a ball, his back to Gerard, which made what Gerard could see of him look like a turtle tucked inside a shell.

Muscles yearning for movement, Gerard pushed himself to standing, which caused the chair to bolt back and the floor to squeak. Emory shot out of his slumber in a whirl of fabric. “Who’s there?” Judging from the hang of the robe sleeves, Emory took some sort of karate-style, self-defense stance.

“It’s only me,” Gerard said. Though was that reassuring? Despite the previous night, they still barely knew each other. He had cornered Emory into sharing his story, and even then, Emory seemed very conscientious about where he began, so much so that Gerard sensed in his voice an original hurt somewhere further back that spurred this obsession with invisibility. He knew he had no right to pry, even if he was curious. “We must’ve fallen asleep.”

“It’s morning?” Emory asked, flopping back into a seated position. A light flicked on. How disorienting to not see the hand turn the switch on the lamp, but hear the click, shy away from the glare. “I can’t believe I slept. I’ve been nocturnal since you arrived.”

“You must’ve needed the rest.” Wasn’t that exactly why Gerard was on Iping Island? Their joint weariness wove through the room as Gerard went to the kitchen and struggled with the ancient coffee pot. “Do you drink coffee?”

“Black,” Emory said, putting his glasses back on.

Neither of them spoke as the water burbled and the coffee brewed. The silence felt almost companionable, as if their wrestling match the night before hadn’t happened and they’d done this a dozen times together. Except, when Gerard eventually brought the steaming mug to Emory, they fumbled the pass. Hot coffee splashed a bit onto the floor.

“Hold still,” Emory commanded in a sharp voice. Gerard froze and Emory retrieved the cup. His tone softened when he added, “Thank you.” Those two words sounded deeply unpracticed and a hair too aggressive for his liking.

For several minutes, their sips, some birds outside, and the bay beyond the beach were the only sounds as they woke up.

“Have I paid the toll?” Emory asked. His voice made Gerard jump. It was going to take a while for him to get used to spontaneous sound. “Or did I bore you so much that I put you to sleep?”

“I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.”