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None of those things are my problem. I haven't received any other complaints, so maybe you just need to invest in melatonin and earplugs. :)

(Hydrated corpses are still corpses.)

This note is written on the back of my previous one, and is wrinkled where spots of rain must have hit it yesterday.

“What did you get?” Dahlia asks.

I crumple the paper in my hand, and try to hide the scalding anger that rises in me.

“Junk mail.”

No one draws me a passive aggressive smiley face and gets away with it.

7

Islam the note down on Tim’s desk. It looks rough, considering I’d rescued it from the trash after realizing it might come in handy to have the physical proof.

“My new neighbor is killing me. You’ve got to help me.”

His eyes widen in alarm. “What is she doing? Are you okay?”

“Do I look okay?” I ask with a dramatic hand to my forehead. I’m aware of what he sees, especially the dark circles under my eyes. “She needs to be stopped.”

“What happened, Reya? Here, sit down.” He pulls out a seat at the small desk he’s sitting at. It’s small enough that he does so just by reaching over from his side.

I plop down into it.

“I haven’t been able to sleep because of her blasting music. I might have to let my daughter stay an extra night at her dad’s place, for thesecond week in a row. It’s killingme, Tim. I can’t do it. Please help me.”

I’m aware that I seem a little crazy, as I spew the words out so fast and frantically.

He just looks at me for a few seconds. His blank expression makes me nervous, until I wave a hand in front of his face.

He chuckles, blinking a few times.

“I can see how that’s stressful. Is it really that loud?”

“I wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t. Have I ever complained before?” I absolutely have, but he shakes his head as if he’s forgotten. “It really is that loud.”

He scratches his head, looking confused or conflicted, or something.

“What?” I ask.

“I guess I’m just surprised no one else has complained.”

I throw my arms up in the air.

“So am I! I was hoping you were going to tell me someone had.”

Tim shakes his head.

“Not a peep from anyone.”

“Does Mrs. Sheppard have a hearing problem?”

She’s in the apartment below the culprit, and I would think she’s affected even more than I am. That woman hates noise, she once complained that I walked down the stairs loudly and it echoed through her whole apartment.

Actually, not once. Three times. It was a whole thing.