Yep, there it is, hanging above the stereo, showing the right time. “So you’re aware it’s just past seven a.m.”
“Yes. What are—”
“Just shut the fuck up for a second and focus on answering my questions,” I say to him. “Why are you playing this shit this early?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, his lips curled into a sneer. “I work nights. When I get home, I like to unwind. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Oh boy. So he’s not a lunatic, like I’ve been suspecting. He just thinks the world revolves around his needs. “I heard people have already asked you to keep it down.”
His sneer turns uglier. “What I do on my own property is my own business.”
“Not if your business interferes with my business.”
There’s a set of noise-cancelling headphones sitting on top of one of the speakers. They look high quality, but they’re clearly not getting any use.
A rush goes through me. That familiar feeling of being up to no good and knowing I’m going to get away with it.
I scan the dirty living room for something I can use. A roll of duct tape on the coffee table catches my eye.
“Go fuck yourself,” he snarls. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I grab the tape.
His eyes flash with worry. He starts trying to get up from the chair. “What are you doing?”
I shove him back down. “Let’s go over this again. You like to listen to your music as loudly as you want as early in the day as you want. Yeah?”
He gives a hesitant nod. “That’s right.”
“Understood. I respect that.” I reach for the volume dial on the stereo and turn it back up. Someone’s screaming like they’re being murdered.
The tape releases from the roll with a crackle. Elijah attempts to rise again, but he’s bloated and slow. I punch him in the throat, and while he sputters, I wind the tape around him a few times.
The music drowns out his shouts. I work fast, securing his torso to the chair before I do the same to his legs and arms. All the while, he’s kicking at me. It’s easy to avoid his hits, but they're still annoying as fuck. If he stopped fighting, maybe I’d use less tape.
When I’m finished, I take a long look at my handiwork.
Not bad.
I crack my knuckles, a smirk on my face.I’ve still got it.
“I’ll check back in on you after I get home from work,” I shout over the music. “Hopefully, your ears aren’t bleeding by then.”
“What?! What the fuck! Heya, what do you—“
I slap a piece of tape over his mouth. “That’s better.”
He blinks at me with wide, terrified eyes, and God if it ain’t sweet. My body buzzes. I’ve missed this.
I turn to the stereo, plug in the headphones, and jack the volume all the way up. It’s so loud, they vibrate in my hand. Grinning darkly at Elijah, I put the headphones over his head. His eyes bulge. He makes a muffled screaming sound against the tape and squirms against the restraints.
I squat down in front of him and mouth, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
He shakes his head, tears leaking out of his panicked eyes.
I give him a thumbs-up. “You got this. I won’t be too long.” Just long enough for him to sustain some moderate hearing damage.
Ignoring his protests, I walk out of the house and let the door slam shut behind me.
