Page 58 of The Invisible Roommate

He wanted to let it out; he wanted to sing about it.

So he did, proudly, and when he concluded, there was a sweep of genuine applause throughout the nave.

The dedicated We the Wells fan base—the Wellies, as they called themselves on the internet—were apt to go wild for all performances, even if Gerard missed a cue or Garret sang off-key or Gavin broke a string and stopped playing. Swaths of stans on the internet would come to their defense no matter what criticisms were flung their way.

At the beginning, Gerard had loved the legions of Wellies protecting him, but over time, he realized that they were loyal to a fault. How could he ever grow or change when they wanted him to stay exactly as he was? When even his haircuts made headlines, and his shoe choices caused discourse, he had to question if their devotion was really to him and his brothers, or to the product they’d become.

“There we have it, folks,” Regina said as Gerard took his seat in the pews. “That’s everyone. Our votes will be anonymous. I’m going to pass around small slips of paper. Write your first choice down and fold it up. Angie will come back around with a bowl to collect them. We’ll tally at the end of today. For now, let’s look at Sunday’s selections.”

For the rest of rehearsal, Gerard twisted every song into a love song, and every note into a tribute. Hymns touted utter piety and eternal love as the only paths to redemption, but Gerard couldn’t abide by such strictures. If religion was about a relationship with God, and relationships, in his experience, were ever-changing, how could God expect such fixed emotion from His disciples?

So rather than delivering his voice to God, Gerard projected Emory into the church and sang to him instead, making him seriously question if he could stick to his rule about serenading.

Once they concluded for the day, the coffee and doughnuts—of which Gerard helped himself to a glazed one with sprinkles—were passed out. Regina went into the corner with the bowl of votes to count them, while the islanders huddled up and got to spilling the local gossip. Daydreaming, Gerard mostly tuned it out for the first ten minutes until he overheard something he couldn’t ignore.

“I hear Sergeant Adye found someone down at the beach late the other night. A shady lookin’ character in a long coat, a face wrap, and sunglasses,” Jericho relayed in a gravelly tone that bordered on Boris Karloff.

“Is that what was going around in the community forum?” Angie asked. “With Kellen Jr.’s sleep schedule, I rarely get to check it, so when I catch up, I feel like I’m only getting half the story.”

“Don’t sound like there is a whole story,” Joe said through a mouthful of cinnamon sugar.

Gerard piped up. “What do you mean?”

“The report says the suspect disappeared while bein’ pursued,” said Edna the librarian, with shock written all over her face.

“How does a suspect just disappear on an island like Iping?” Angie asked.

Jericho chimed in again. “I read somewhere the fella stripped down and skedaddled. Right up and vanished into thin air.”

“Stripped down?” Angie scrunched up her face in apparent disgust. “First we had a thief, now we have a nudist running loose on the island?”

“Does anyone care to hear who got the solo, or should we continue discussing streakers in a house of the Lord?” Regina asked, rejoining the group.

Gerard’s heart rate accelerated, not because he was worried about not getting the solo, but because he was worried about Emory. Before this, everyone on Iping assumed Emory had left the island. Now, he feared a second hunt could ensue, and he didn’t know how he could keep Emory safe.

“And our soloist is…” The choir members slapped their thighs to simulate a drumroll. “James!”

Everyone patted Gerard on the back in congratulations. His mind played a dirty trick on him by reminding him of the Nomey Awards. In less than a month, he was almost definitely expected back in Manhattan to parade before the industry’s elite in competition for a trophy that could unlock a whole new career realm for We the Wells.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t wall himself off from his old life, just like Iping couldn’t completely wall itself off from the rising sea. Would they both end up underwater?

Gerard caught Regina smiling at him, but in her eyes, there was a hint of something else. Concern, maybe? For him? For the disappearing stranger?

Either way, it was clear she knew something. Something big.

What Gerard wanted to know was what she planned on doing with it.

27Emory

Gerard’s guitar case called to Emory from the corner of the room.

Unpacking the guitar, he ran his hands over the body of it as if it were Gerard himself. Emory’s fingers left trails of reverence across the sleek, painted wood. Holding something so perfect almost brought tears to his eyes.

Every few minutes, flashes of Gerard kissing him blocked all forward motion on his research presentation. Kissing Gerard brought up two important things: one, that Anderson was still out there somewhere, ready to undercut Emory’s research, and two, he wanted to kiss Gerard again … badly.

These two objectives warred in his head all morning. No matter how many cups of coffee he drank or different focus playlists from Gerard’s iPod he put on, nothing helped.

When he grew frustrated, he flipped back through his notes and contemplated how he would present what he had so far. If his plan was to ambush the alumni gala, he needed to do so in an attention-grabbing way. He strummed a C chord on Pascal and wondered, What if I put it all in a pop song?