Who Ordered Death to Unit 502?

I looked at my roommates and noticed that we were wearing matching expressions of terror and disbelief.

William Yates was the first to snap back to his senses. He grabbed his phone, wanting to call the police, but Leon Holton stopped him.

"What are we going to tell the police? We don't have any evidence. It's not like we can tell them that we know we're going to be murdered."

The living room was spotless, devoid of bloodstains or corpses. Furthermore, the deliveryman was still outside. The police would most likely assume that we were prank-calling them.

"We have to find out who placed the order," I said, forcing myself to calm down. "It's clear that he's looking for the person who ordered the food delivery."

William immediately unlocked his phone and showed us his food delivery app, exclaiming, "I haven't ordered any food in a week!"

Leon also grabbed his phone and showed us his delivery orders. "I usually make my own meals that are tailored to my workout routine."

I navigated to my food delivery app and showed them my last order—breakfast from three days ago.

"Could the neighbors have entered our address by mistake when they placed their order?" I asked.

Each floor had two units, and our neighbors were an elderly couple.

Leon shook his head, saying, "Right before I died, I saw the address on the receipt that was attached to the bag. It was addressed to Unit 502."

The three of us looked at each other as a strange air descended upon us. We couldn't help but wonder if someone was lying.

"I really didn't order any food," I said, handing my phone to them to prove my innocence. "You can take a look at my order history."

William and Leon also checked each other's phones, confirming that none of us had ordered food recently.

"Who is it then?" William asked, grabbing his hair nervously.

Just then, I thought of someone. I was just about to grab my phone and dial a number when I heard our landlady, Josie Briar's voice coming from beyond the door.

"Zack, Will, Leon, are you home?"

Josie would drop by our apartment to collect the rent on the fifth of every month. Coincidentally, the fifth was a working day that month, so she showed up later than usual.

The color drained from our faces as our breaths hitched.

The deliveryman spoke then, asking in a low voice, "Excuse me, did you order delivery?"

Josie was momentarily stunned before she turned around and answered, "A delivery? I didn't order any delivery."

The words had just left her lips when the deliveryman raised his machete and slashed it across Josie's neck.