Chapter 1: The Night Jesse Disappeared

My roommate, Jesse Kim, is the biggest anime nerd I know.

Seriously, living with Jesse meant waking up every day to shelves overflowing with imported Blu-rays, little figurines frozen in mid-battle, and Goku posters pinned everywhere you looked. No joke. Jesse didn’t just watch anime—he lived and breathed it. He’d even started calling me “Eli-san” or “Eli-kun” just to mess with me, and half the time I had no idea what he meant. It was like living inside an anime convention, every single day.

On Valentine’s Day, the two of us—both single—got totally hammered together. Because what else were we gonna do?

It was one of those nights where you start off with cheap beer and end up splitting a bottle of bourbon you found stashed behind the cleaning supplies. The bourbon tasted like gasoline, but we didn’t care. No dates, no plans—Valentine’s was a total anti-holiday for us. We played old-school video games, swapped disaster stories about exes, and tried to out-cringe each other with the worst pickup lines ever invented. The apartment was littered with empty cans and chip bags by the end of it.

The next morning, Jesse vanished without a trace, like he just disappeared into thin air. Just...gone.

It was as if he’d been plucked out of reality by some cosmic force. His room looked untouched—bed a mess, laptop still glowing in sleep mode, his favorite hoodie draped over the chair. I figured he must’ve crashed at a friend’s, but as the hours dragged on and his phone kept going straight to voicemail, my stomach started to knot.

His family couldn’t reach him, and even after they called the cops, nothing turned up.

Jesse’s dad called me, his voice tight with worry. I could hear the TV blaring in the background, probably to drown out his thoughts. The police canvassed the neighborhood, checked every hospital nearby, even pulled up security footage from our building, but nothing. It was like Jesse had just stepped out for a smoke and never came back.

But a week later, late at night, I suddenly got a Facebook Messenger ping from him:

"Eli, can you check if my head is in the fridge?"

That familiar Messenger blip made my heart stop. I just stared at my phone. Waiting for it to be a prank, or maybe some weird meme, but the message just sat there, staring back at me. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen. I couldn’t type anything back.

Three days after Jesse disappeared—so, before that weird message—a missing persons report was filed by his dad.

I remember the day the cops showed up at our apartment. It was pouring rain, and the hallway smelled like wet carpet. The officers were polite but all business, and Jesse’s dad looked like he hadn’t slept in days—eyes bloodshot, hair sticking up everywhere. They asked if they could come in, and I just nodded, suddenly super self-conscious about the mess in the living room.

He stood in the doorway, clutching a wrinkled photo of Jesse as a kid, like it might somehow help. The officers moved through the apartment like they’d done this a hundred times, checking Jesse’s room, asking about his habits. I racked my brain for anything useful, but my mind kept skipping like a scratched CD.

I racked my brain for the details of the night Jesse disappeared.

Thinking back, Jesse’s always been a bit offbeat, but that night he was acting even weirder than usual. I couldn’t shake the feeling something was off.

I could hear my own voice—shaky—as I tried to explain. The officer nodded, jotting notes in a little black notebook. I caught Jesse’s dad watching me, his hands clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

"How so, exactly?"

The officer’s voice was gentle, but I could tell he was trying to piece together the timeline. I paused, took a breath, and tried to focus, replaying the evening in my mind like a movie I’d watched way too many times.

"Normally, he just made small talk. But that night, he was super friendly—actually wanted to drink with me, invited me to dinner. He even suggested we order barbecue, which he never does."

It was true—Jesse was usually reserved, but that night he’d been chatty, almost eager. It was nice, but weird.

I felt like he was forcing the smile, even while acting warm and friendly.

There was something about the way his eyes didn’t quite match his mouth. He laughed at my jokes, but it felt forced. I’d blamed it on the booze, but now it gnawed at me.

That’s when Jesse’s dad broke in, his voice trembling:

"Jesse’s mom died in a car accident about two weeks ago. He hasn’t really kept in touch with me since then. I know he must be grieving, but why would he suddenly disappear? Officer, do you think he... just couldn’t handle it anymore?"

His voice cracked, and he pressed the photo to his chest. Tears slipped down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking. I felt the room shrink around us, the air sucked out.

He broke down sobbing.

It was the kind of crying you can’t fake. I looked away, feeling like I was intruding on something private. The officers shifted awkwardly, one stepping forward to offer a tissue.

I was stunned—Jesse’s mom had passed away? I’d just seen her not long ago. She was always so gentle, bringing cookies when she visited, and she was so kind to me it felt like having a mom again.

She always remembered my name and asked about my family. The last time she visited, she brought a tin of homemade snickerdoodles and insisted I take half. The apartment always felt warmer when she was around. Thinking about her being gone hit me hard.

And now she was gone?

A wave of sadness washed over me.

I suddenly felt cold, like I’d swallowed a chunk of ice. Grief sneaks up on you. I wiped at my eyes, embarrassed, but nobody seemed to notice.

One of the officers hurried over to comfort Jesse’s dad, while I pulled the other officer aside, not wanting to upset Jesse’s dad any further.

I kept my voice down. The officer gave me a sympathetic look, pen hovering over the page.

"Actually, Officer, thinking back, Jesse’s words that night make more sense now."

My mind kept circling back to that weird, heavy conversation we’d had. I could hear Jesse’s voice, a little slurred, but serious.

The officer paused, pen poised. "What did he say?"

"He told me he was glad we’d been roommates for so long, and if he’d ever done me wrong, he hoped I’d forgive him."

It sounded so final now. At the time, I’d laughed it off. Now, it felt like a goodbye letter. A lump formed in my throat.

"That sounds like a goodbye. I asked if he was moving out, but he denied it. He really did seem apologetic and insisted on paying for dinner, kept raising his glass like he was trying to say goodbye. Do you think... do you think he really couldn’t handle it anymore?"

I didn’t want to say it out loud, but the question just hung there, heavy and sharp.

"It’s too early to say. He didn’t have many friends, his coworkers didn’t know him well, and there’s no sign of any conflicts. Right now, you’re the one he talked to most, so we need you to tell us anything you remember."

I wanted to help. But what could I do?

Honestly, I barely talked to Jesse myself.

I realized how little I actually knew about him, outside of anime marathons and late-night pizza orders. We’d lived together for years, but most of our conversations were about rent, groceries, or which streaming service was worth keeping. We were basically strangers who shared a fridge.

I didn’t even know exactly where he worked—just that he was some kind of top student doing advanced research. I always pictured him in a lab coat, hunched over a microscope or typing up some complicated code. He’d tried explaining his work to me once, but I zoned out after the third technical term. Whatever it was, it sounded impressive.

"Officer, I really didn’t talk to Jesse much," I said, my stomach dropping. Were they going to suspect me?

My hands were sweating. I could feel the officer’s eyes on me, sizing me up. I didn’t want to seem defensive, but I couldn’t help it.

"Don’t worry about it. We already pulled the security cam footage from that night. We saw Jesse leave the apartment after you, so you’re not a suspect. Just tell us everything you remember. Was there anything else unusual about him that night?"

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The officer’s tone was reassuring, not accusing. I tried to steady myself and dig through my memories.

There had to be something.

I closed my eyes for a moment, picturing Jesse across from me, his face half-hidden behind a beer bottle. There had to be something I’d missed.

"Right, that night, he said something that made no sense to me."

The words bubbled up before I could stop them. I could still hear Jesse’s voice, low and a little slurred.

The officer leaned in, pen poised. There was a pause. "What did he say?"

I hesitated, feeling a little silly, but I figured it was worth mentioning.

"He said, 'Wouldn’t it be awful if someone suddenly turned into a pig? Like, even if you got everything you wanted, you’d still be a pig. Wouldn’t you always feel miserable?'"

I gave a nervous laugh. It sounded even weirder out loud. I glanced at Jesse’s dad, who was still staring at the floor.

"Given the mood that night, it was such a strange thing to say. Maybe he was just making a joke about his weight?"

I shrugged, feeling awkward. Jesse had always been a little self-conscious, but he usually made jokes about it. This felt different—darker, maybe.

The officer listened thoughtfully, not saying anything.

He just kept writing.

Suddenly, I remembered something else. When we were already a bit drunk, Jesse kept muttering:

"Eli, I have an experiment I need your help with..."

His words were muffled, almost like he was talking to himself. I’d laughed it off.

The officer’s pen paused and he looked up.

His eyes narrowed, suddenly sharp. I could feel the mood in the room shift, everyone waiting for the next clue.

"Experiment? Do you know what kind of experiment?"

I shook my head, feeling useless. "No idea. I don’t know what he was working on, and even if he told me, I probably wouldn’t understand. He didn’t mention any other details."

I tried to remember if he’d left any notes or diagrams lying around, but his desk was as messy as ever—papers, coffee mugs, a few manga volumes scattered everywhere. Nothing that looked like top-secret research.

The rest of the questioning focused on this experiment, but I really didn’t know anything about it. I kept shaking my head, frustration building. I wanted to help, but I was just as lost as they were.

I was out of answers.

As the officers packed up their notebooks and Jesse’s dad gathered his things, the apartment felt emptier than ever.

After the police left, Jesse’s dad decided to stay in Jesse’s bedroom, still holding onto hope that his son would come back and find him there.

He moved his suitcase in. Every night, I could hear him pacing, sometimes talking quietly to himself. I think he believed, deep down, that Jesse would just walk through the door any minute.

Losing both his wife and son in such a short time must have been devastating.

I tried to imagine what that kind of pain felt like, but I couldn’t. The apartment felt heavier with him there, like the grief had seeped into the walls.

I did my best to comfort him, but it didn’t seem to help much.

I offered him coffee, tried to make small talk about the weather, even suggested we watch a movie together. He always smiled politely, but it never really reached his eyes.

Jesse and his dad looked and acted a lot alike.

Same stubborn jawline, same way of fidgeting with their sleeves when they were nervous. Sometimes, in the dim light of the hallway, I’d catch a glimpse of Jesse’s dad and do a double-take, half-expecting it to be Jesse himself.

Sometimes, I’d almost feel like I was back in the old days living with Jesse.

There were moments—late at night, when the apartment was quiet—when I’d hear the creak of floorboards or the soft hum of the TV and forget, just for a second, that things had changed.

But his dad had an extra layer of mystery.

He kept odd hours, sometimes wandering the apartment at 3 a.m., pausing by the window as if he was waiting for something. There was a sadness in his eyes that I couldn’t quite place—a haunted look that made me uneasy.

I’m a content creator, so I don’t have to go into an office and I spend most days in the apartment.

My job lets me work in pajamas, bouncing between TikTok trends and Twitter threads. But lately, I found myself watching Jesse’s dad more than my screen, wondering what was going on behind his closed door.

But strangely, I never saw Jesse’s dad eat.

Not once. The kitchen stayed spotless, the fridge untouched except for my own leftovers. It was like he was living on air, or maybe just surviving on coffee and grief.

He didn’t order DoorDash or cook. A few times when I was eating, I invited him to join me, but he always waved me off.

He’d smile and say, “Thanks, Eli, but I’m not hungry.” Sometimes he’d just stare at the wall, lost in thought. I started to worry he wasn’t taking care of himself, but I didn’t know how to help.

He didn’t go out much either. Whenever he went back to Jesse’s bedroom, he’d close the door.

I’d hear the soft click of the lock, and then nothing. Sometimes, I’d walk by and hear faint murmurs, like he was talking to someone, but I never caught any words.

Sometimes, I’d catch him sitting there, staring off into space, and I’d get the feeling he was watching me out of the corner of his eye.

It was unsettling, the way his gaze would follow me, even when he pretended not to notice. I started keeping my bedroom door closed at night, just in case.

Still, we got along, mostly.

He was polite, always said good morning, and never complained about the noise from my late-night video calls. If anything, he seemed grateful for the company, even if we didn’t talk much.