When the room went dark, she heard her name. “Olga!” a sad and melancholic whisper longingly calling her name. “Oh god, not again!” Olga sighed without saying a word. It was her housemate, Roy, again. This wasn’t the first time he had tried calling her just moments after turning her lights off. For the most part, she never answered, especially not this time. Lights off means she’s asleep, or about to. Olga worked in corporate sales and got laid off during the pandemic, as a result, she could no longer afford her one-bedroom apartment of fifteen years, so subletting a room from Roy was more of an emergency accommodation than anything. Roy did odd jobs all his life before being diagnosed with schizophrenia among other mental illnesses that landed him in and out of a psychiatric ward throughout his adult life. He took advantage of a government housing program for those with disability upon his release due to compliance in taking his meds. Olga made sure to set boundaries the moment she moved in. Knock first and wait for an approval before opening her rented room, but never do that during bed time, or while in the shower among other conditions, including maintaining cleanliness in common areas. All proved to be a huge challenge for Roy. “I think you need a haircut,” he once told Olga while using the kitchen, which was the only time she would engage in conversations with him. “I can give you a haircut for only $5,” he offered with excitement. Her hesitation wasn’t primarily because of his mental issue, more so, due to sanitary reasons. Roy was very untidy around the house, so she feared that the scissors, comb, or even the barber’s cape might be dirty. She also needed to save money, so she thought why not and went for it. Roy’s hand was a little shaky as he did his first cut. “Just a little trim,” she subtly reminded him. Olga was hoping his paranoia wouldn’t come back anytime soon, at least not while doing her haircut. He once unplugged her Wi-Fi in fear that he was being monitored. When Olga approached him about it, he said nothing and looked away like a guilty dog, and this was while on meds. Olga had a bit of understanding about mental illness and psychology, and was somewhat confident renting a room from Roy. Maybe she just wanted to prove to herself that she can withstand any type of person, even the insane ones, as if it was a bragging right for her to do so. She always stayed on the safe side, even when she was occasionally, or inadvertently playing with fire. “You have very nice hair,” he said. “Thank you,” Olga respectfully answered. She’s often seen as cold, distant and highly independent that she’s almost reclusive, but always with common respect towards others. She had extended her patience towards Roy more than she ever did with anyone because just like how Roy needed the money, she also needed the room. Afraid she’d trigger his paranoia, she wasn’t sure whether to start a conversation with him during the haircut. Roy was holding scissors, making it so easy to kill her in an instant. “Do you have friends in the city?” he asked. “I sure do, we just got older and life got busier,” she responded. “What about you?” she asked. “All my friends are dead,” he said. He was only approaching his sixties, about two decades older than Olga. “I’m sorry to hear that!” Olga sympathized with some curiosity, “what happened?” “Many of them died of a heart attack,” he said. “I guess I’m the lucky one among my friends,” he said, slightly laughing, as if with so much pride. Olga wasn’t sure what to make of it, or whether or not he was serious. The haircut was finally done. The trim wasn’t exactly even that she had to trim a portion of it on her own the next day. “How do you like your new haircut?” he asked. “It looks great, thank you,” and handed him his five bucks before retreating back into her room. Later that evening, Roy knocked. Olga had told him to only knock when it’s really important, like an emergency. “Is it an emergency, Roy?” She asked without opening her door. “Can you help me find customers?” he nonchalantly asked, as if he didn’t know his limitations. He also asked if she could help him find a salon space and help him with the lease. He sounded clearly unhinged and wasn’t quite in touch with reality. “You first need to get better, train more and think about business later, okay?” Olga calmly responded without mincing her words. Roy didn’t sleep at all that night. He walked back and forth inside the apartment and outside Olga’s room, and she could see his shadows through the gap between the door and the floor until past 4 AM, just before she could fall asleep. Few hours later, she woke up and heard him on the phone, “I was awake all night. It was so hot I couldn’t sleep,” he said. It was still winter and quite chilly and not hot at all. She wasn’t sure if it was anything she said that upset him, or if he needed medical attention at all. Olga couldn’t help but ponder if his insanity stemmed from childhood, or if it’s genetics that manifested later in life until he started losing touch with reality. Olga came home that evening and the whole apartment smelled like fried food. “I cooked a lot of food. Make sure you eat this time!” he insisted. It wasn’t the first time he cooked and wasted food. Olga never found it appetizing and always had excuses not to try them, so she thanked him and proceeded to her room. Some time later, she overheard Roy in what she thought was a phone call, “she didn’t eat any of my cooking again.” Roy only spoke with his brother. His other siblings allegedly cut ties with him. He accused them of never caring about him at all, while his brother said that he physically assaulted a few of them during some of his psychotic episodes. Olga felt a little bad for being abrupt, so she came out of her room to explain and soon realized that Roy wasn’t on the phone. He was just talking to himself and walking around with his pants hanging so low that it was showing his butt crack. “What the hell is going on?!” speechless, Olga rushed back to her room. “Olga?” the longing voice continued. Olga didn’t respond hoping it would stop. It did, but only for a while before waking up to a loud hammering sound early in the morning, followed by a slamming door. Olga rushed out of her room and found several pieces of broken furniture all over the place. She called 911 to report a possible break-in after seeing lit cigarettes, some barely, spread all over the non-granite countertop kitchen as if he intended on burning the whole apartment. She suspected it was Roy who did it, but she couldn’t be so sure. Why would he want to burn down his own apartment, unless he intended on killing Olga and make it look like an accident. She stood in the kitchen surrounded by debris, still in shock, before an eerie voice emerged from behind her, “you’re no better than me!” She turned around, and it was Roy! He quickly swung a hammer at her, catching it with her hands and barely missing her head. He wouldn’t let go of the hammer. The struggle lasted a few minutes before the door broke open, “freeze!” The cops pointing their guns at him. “Drop the hammer, now!” one cop said. Olga lost her grip. Roy now had the hammer. He turned around and tried swinging it at the cops. They shot him dead on the spot, right in the middle of his forehead.

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A Good Shot

OliverLim

O. Lim

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A Good Shot

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