“That smells amazing. Any chance you could make me one?”
I smiled and said, “Sure. Just bring the container back clean.”
He did.
But when I opened it, I gasped in horror. Inside was a note:
“Get away from him. You’re not safe.”
Confused and a little shaken, I looked around the break room. Everything seemed normal. I didn’t recognize the handwriting, but it clearly wasn’t his. The note was tucked underneath the lid, almost like someone had slipped it in without him noticing.
I debated saying something, but curiosity got the better of me. The next day, I casually asked him if anyone else had handled the container.
He paused, then frowned.
“Now that you mention it… my roommate grabbed it from the kitchen counter this morning while I was getting ready. Said he’d drop it at my office since he was heading that way anyway.”
My stomach turned. Who was this roommate?
Later that day, I got another note—this time, slipped into my locker:
“He’s not who he says he is. Check the basement of 42 Elmridge Street.”
I had never felt fear quite like that before. But something inside me needed answers. I had to know what this was about…
