Page 32 of The Roommate Lie

I’m too busy fleeing for my life. Escape is the only option, but I turn the wrong way and run straight into a tall, dark shape that appears out of nowhere. A body without arms.

A body.

Without.

Arms.

Emitting a rodent shriek of my own, I try to defend myself against this new enemy. Flailing and stumbling and fighting for my life until I realize it’s not attacking me back.

That I’m fighting a dressmaker’s mannequin wearing a bathrobe—an inanimate object. Not the ghost of Old Man Harris.

This is clearly the devil’s attic. I can see that now. And if that isn’t the plot of one of my brother’s beloved King novels, it should be.

I spin back towards Muriel. Who knows why? Anything to get away from that mannequin. As soon as I turn around, a puff of white explodes in front of me—baby powder—and it drifts down like acid rain. Floating through the wide-open cage of my catcher’s mask and burning my eyes.

I fling off my mask, my baseball mitt too, but it’s no use. Muriel detonates another round of baby powder to vanquish her ghost squirrel, and I’m done for. My lungs ache and my eyes water, and I can’t see a single thing. I can’t even open my eyes.

I have to get out of this attic.

My escape mission is a blur. I can’t breathe, and I run into everything around me as I try to get out of that fourth-floor death trap.Everything.My body ricochets off antique furniture and piles of boxes like I’m a one-woman demolition crew, the whole world crashing down around me.

Suitcases.

Baby carriages.

Boxes full of spiders and lost souls.

I crash into all of it. There are other sounds too—Muriel, Charlie, and their demon squirrel—but they sound so far away. As if I’m lost. Alone in the most haunted attic in America.

Something gauzy and cold drifts by my face, and I stifle a scream. The breath of a million haunted baby dolls surrounds me, and I’m pretty sure my heart explodes in my chest.

Stumbling backward, I try to get away. Then I go one step too far.

I can tell the moment it happens. The exact second the floor disappears out from under me. My left foot finds the open trapdoor of the attic, and I lose my balance instantly.

It’s free-fall time.And it’s going to hurt.

Before I can gasp or scream, a strong arm slides around my waist. Pulling me to safety.

Charlie Roscoe.

He keeps his arms around me as he backs away from the trapdoor, holding on tight as he hugs me close, our bodies pressed together from shoulder to shin. And I hold on too.

“No shortcuts,” he grumbles playfully as he steadies my body against his. Both of us breathing hard. “You’ve got to use the ladder like everybody else.”

I laugh nervously, gratefully, gripping him tight as the dust settles around us. And the baby powder—so much baby powder. We just met yesterday, but it never occurs to me to let go of Charlie, not once.

And he doesn’t let go of me either.

Chapter Seventeen

CHARLIE

Nobody should look that cute covered in baby powder and cobwebs—nobody.

I spend the rest of the afternoon trying to stay away from Alice. But it only takes a few hours and one after-work text from Lydia for me to give in.

Lydia:Tyler has to work late. Should we teach Alice how to walk the walk?

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