Who Actually Ordered the Takeout in Apartment 502?

Summary

Ten o’clock at night. On the dot.

A delivery guy in a baseball cap knocked on the door of apartment 502.

“Food delivery!”

We were all roommates in a three-bedroom apartment.

Ethan, the one we called Specs, opened the door. He had his headphones on, deep in some online game, and waved a dismissive hand.

“Not mine.”

Without another word, the delivery guy pulled out a knife and slashed his throat.

Then, still holding the takeout bag, he pushed open the door to the next room. “Excuse me, did you order food?”