The Eleventh Complaint

911, what is your emergency?

My upstairs neighbors... someone is sawing through bone.

Address, ma'am? We are dispatching units right now.

Never mind.

Excuse me?

The sawing stopped. Now I hear a mop. A soaking wet mop, cleaning up blood.

Ma'am! Please lock your doors, officers are on the way!

Click.

The line went dead.

Five minutes later, the cops kicked the upstairs door open.

The married couple was sitting calmly at their dining table, gorging on a late night roast. A reciprocating saw rested on the balcony. They had just used it to cut through a frozen rack of venison.

Jax wiped greasy barbecue sauce from the corner of his mouth and smirked at the officers. "Let me guess. The crazy bitch downstairs? Is this her eleventh time calling?"

The cops packed up and left in sheer frustration. None of them noticed the ceiling of the apartment directly below them. Dozens of black acoustic stethoscopes were taped to the plaster like a cluster of dead insect eyes, absorbing every single vibration from above.

Harper pulled off her studio headphones. She picked up a pen and crossed out a single line in her notebook.

Test complete. The hunt begins.

...

The moment the cruisers pulled away, the footsteps upstairs turned vicious.

Jax deliberately put on his heavy steel toed work boots. He paced back and forth directly over my bedroom. Every single thud felt like a nail being driven straight into my temples.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each muffled boom was a calculated message of pure mockery.

Then came the shouting. The floorboards in this rotting walkup were paper thin. His voice was so crisp he might as well have been screaming right into my ear.

"Fucking psycho! Next time you call the cops, I am going to bury you!"

I huddled behind my front door. Peering through the peephole, I watched Jax's face contorting in blind rage.

He was kicking my door frame. Dust and chipped paint rained down from the ceiling.

I shivered violently. Tears pooled in my eyes. I looked exactly like a terrified, helpless victim.

Jax finally got tired of screaming. He spat a thick wad of phlegm onto my welcome mat and stomped back upstairs.

From the stairwell, Roxy's timid voice echoed. "Babe, just drop it. If she is actually schizophrenic..."

Smack.

A vicious slap cut her off instantly.

"Shut your mouth! I don't need you telling me what to do. Get inside!"

A heavy door slammed shut. The stairwell fell back into dead silence.

I slowly straightened my spine. I wiped the tears away. The pathetic terror on my face evaporated into thin air.

The neurotic trembling stopped entirely. What replaced it was a cold, mechanical stillness.

I turned around, walked into my bedroom, and pushed open the hidden door behind my wardrobe.

Welcome to my fully enclosed, professional grade soundproof studio. The walls were lined with thick acoustic foam. It was so deathly quiet in here that I could hear my own blood pumping through my veins.

On the monitor, a digital waveform was still spiking, mapping out the exact frequency of Jax's kicks against my door.

I slipped on my high end studio monitors. My finger gently nudged the slider on the mixing board.

The audio from upstairs was amplified tenfold and pumped directly into my skull.

I heard Jax's heavy, animalistic panting. I heard Roxy's muffled sobbing. I heard the harsh screech of a wooden chair dragging across linoleum.

"Stop crying! One more squeak and I will stitch your mouth shut!"

Jax's roar clipped the audio, turning the waveform violently red.

My face remained entirely blank. I stared at the screen, then picked up a massive watermelon I had kept on my desk.

My right hand gripped a heavy steel claw hammer. I raised it high. I brought it down with everything I had.

Squlech.

The melon exploded. Thick red juice splattered all over my face and chest.

The sound was heavy, wet, and sickeningly dense. It sounded exactly like a blunt object caving in a human skull.

I clicked stop and saved the file.

File name: Jax_Skull_V1.0

Looking at the flawless waveform on my screen, a slow smile crept onto my lips.

Audio never lies. Only the people listening to it do.

Your anger is only hitting forty decibels, Jax. It is far too weak.

Tonight, I am going to introduce you to absolute terror.

Two in the morning. Dead quiet.

I pulled out a custom built resonance speaker pole and pressed it firmly against the exact center of my bedroom ceiling.

That specific spot was directly beneath Jax and Roxy's mattress.

This piece of gear operated on bone conduction technology. It forced sound waves straight through the floorboards, only vibrating the specific surface it made contact with.

In layman's terms, only the people lying on that specific mattress could hear the broadcast.

I opened a folder on my desktop labeled Bedfellow. I double clicked an audio file.

It was the sound of a man breathing heavily. I had run it through an EQ filter to make it sound intensely intimate. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel the hot breath hitting the back of your neck.

Playback started.

Upstairs, Jax rolled over.

Through my headphones, I caught his groggy muttering. The noise had pulled him out of sleep.

The broadcasted breathing continued. It was steady, deep, and completely out of sync with Jax's own chest.

It sounded exactly like a third man was lying right between him and his wife.

Jax sat bolt upright. His breathing hitched.

"Who is there?"

He bellowed into the dark, followed immediately by the sharp click of a bedside lamp.

I slammed the pause button.

Complete silence blanketed the room above, broken only by Roxy's groggy complaints. "What the hell is wrong with you? It is two in the morning."

"You didn't hear that? Someone was just breathing right next to me!"

"There is nobody here. You had a nightmare. Go to sleep."

Jax clicked off the lamp and laid back down.

I waited five full minutes until his breathing leveled out again.

This time, I layered in a new track. The distinct rustle of fabric.

Swish. Swish.

The unmistakable sound of a man pulling on his clothes, or slipping out of bed.

Jax shot up like a coiled spring. He didn't even bother with the light this time. He vaulted off the mattress and started tearing the room apart.

Closet doors were ripped open. Hangers clattered. He swept underneath the bed and violently yanked the curtains back.

"Come out! Get the fuck out here!"

He roared around the bedroom like a trapped, rabid animal.

Roxy was terrified. She started bawling. "Jax, you are losing your mind! It is just us in here! What guy?"

"I heard him perfectly! Right next to my fucking pillow!"

He tore the place apart until dawn and found absolutely nothing.

Early the next morning, Jax stomped out of the building with heavy, dark bags under his eyes.

I stood perfectly still behind my curtains, watching his truck speed out of the parking lot. The moment he was gone, I flipped the switch on my signal jammer.

It was a transmitter specifically calibrated for the cheap surveillance mic Jax had recently installed in their living room.

I knew he had cameras. The wiring on that budget junk was notoriously unshielded. Hit it with enough magnetic interference, and I could inject my own audio feed directly into his cloud storage.

I stood in my kitchen downstairs, brewing a fresh pot of coffee. I tapped my fingernails against the countertop.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three rhythmic knocks. The universal signal for a secret lover.

Immediately after, I broadcasted a synthesized sequence of sounds. A man unlocking the door. Heavy boots stepping inside. The door clicking shut.

These frequencies traveled through the ventilation shafts, feeding perfectly into Jax's living room mic.

It took less than twenty minutes for his truck to come squealing back into the lot.

Heavy boots thundered up the stairwell. Jax kicked his own front door open with a deafening crash.

"Where is he! Bring him out right now!"

Roxy had been watching daytime television. The explosive entrance made her scream in pure terror.

"What is your problem! I am just watching a show!"

"I heard him knock! I heard a guy walk into my house!"

Jax charged into the bedroom, ripping the sheets off the mattress. He even lunged onto the balcony, looking over the edge to see if someone had jumped.

The apartment was empty. The canned laughter from the reality show echoed through the living room, sounding incredibly mocking.

"Where are you hiding him, Roxy? Tell me!"

Jax grabbed Roxy by the hair and dragged her into the center of the living room.

"You cheating whore! You think you can play me?"

Once the seed of doubt is planted, every single sound becomes undeniable proof.

I sat in my studio downstairs, elegantly sipping my coffee.

Through the headphones, Roxy's agonizing screams mixed with the dull, meaty thuds of fists hitting flesh.

It was a beautiful sound. Far more intoxicating than any symphony.

Roxy eventually broke free and ran downstairs, sobbing hysterically.

She pounded on my door with everything she had. Her voice was drenched in absolute despair.

"Open up! Please open the door! Help me!"

I took my time hiding my equipment. I plastered a look of sheer panic onto my face and cracked the door open.

Roxy shoved her way inside. Her face was bruised purple and blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

When she saw the bloodstained kitchen knife in my hand, she shrieked and nearly collapsed onto the floor.

"Don't worry. I was just slicing a watermelon."

I calmly pointed to the crushed fruit on my table. Red juice dripped steadily onto the floorboards.

Still hyperventilating, Roxy clutched her chest, her eyes wide with terror.

I set the knife down, grabbed my first aid kit, and began tending to her split lip.

"Did he do this to you?" I asked, playing completely dumb.

Roxy's tears spilled over. "He lost his mind. He is convinced there is a man hiding in the apartment. He is going to kill me."

I let out a long, heavy sigh and pulled a digital voice recorder from my pocket.

"Actually... I have been hearing things too."

Roxy's head snapped up. She stared intensely at me. "Hearing what?"

I pressed play.

Jax's gravelly, sinister voice hissed from the tiny speaker. "I am getting rid of that useless hag this week. Did you confirm the accidental death policy?"

All the color drained from Roxy's face. Her lips trembled so violently she couldn't form a single word.

The audio was entirely fabricated. I had spliced together clips of Jax swearing, layered over artificial static to make it sound like a covert phone call.

But in her traumatized state, Roxy possessed zero critical thinking skills. She bought every word.

"There is more," I whispered, leaning in close. "Every single night, I hear him sharpening a blade. Scraping metal against stone. Over and over again. Right on your balcony."

Roxy's pupils dilated in absolute horror. Her entire body began to shake.

Right on cue, Jax's thunderous roar echoed through the stairwell.

"Get out here! I know you are down there!"

Roxy grabbed my arm, her nails digging deep into my skin.

"Hide me."

I pointed toward the reinforced wall of my studio. "Go in there. It is heavily soundproofed. He won't find you."

Clinging to the offer like a lifeline, Roxy scrambled inside.

Jax booted my door so hard the hinges groaned.

I opened it, adopting the posture of a timid, terrified neighbor.

"She... she isn't here..."

Jax shoved me aside and barged into my living room. He scanned the area like a predator.

The studio door was perfectly concealed. It just looked like a blank wall.

Finding nothing, he turned around and jammed a thick finger right in my face. "If I find out you are hiding her, I will put you in the ground right next to her!"

He stormed out, cursing under his breath.

I locked the door and let Roxy out of the panic room.

"He is going to kill me. He is really going to kill me for the insurance money."

She collapsed onto my sofa, her eyes burning with pure, unadulterated hatred.

"In this building, the only people who don't make a sound are dead."

I murmured the words softly while handing her a glass of water.

Roxy took the glass. Her hands were shaking so badly water sloshed onto the rug.

Looking at her terrified, vengeful eyes, a wave of icy satisfaction washed over me.

I still remembered the perjury she committed years ago. I remembered every single lie she told.

You stood there and said it was a tragic accident. You said my fianc slipped and fell on his own.

Now, it is your turn to feel what it is like to have nowhere left to run.

Before Roxy slipped out of my apartment, she wedged a miniature recording bug deep between my sofa cushions.

She really thought I didn't notice.

Pulling an amateur stunt like that in my house was beyond laughable.

I didn't remove the bug. Instead, I leaned down and whispered a sentence that only the microphone would catch.

"Phase two is a go. Jax needs to die tonight."

Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed Jax's number.

"Hey, is this Jax?"

"Who the fuck is this?" His voice was exhausted and wired with rage.

"It is Harper from downstairs. Your wife is still here."

Dead silence on the line for two seconds, followed by a volcanic scream. "I fucking knew it!"

"Just listen to me," I hissed, pouring fake panic into my tone. "She was just talking to someone. She said she is going to kill you. I don't want any trouble, man. Just come get her."

Two minutes later, Jax was pounding on my door.

I handed him the recording bug Roxy had hidden in my couch.

Naturally, the audio file inside had already been completely swapped out.

"She dropped this. I think you really need to hear it."

Jax snatched the device with furious, bloodshot eyes and hit play.

Roxy's hushed voice played back, masked by heavy electrical static I had mixed in to sound like a covert rendezvous.

"We do it tonight. I bought the powder. I will slip it into his beer. He won't even see it coming."

A deep male voice responded. "Don't worry, babe. Once he is out of the picture, we grab the cash and vanish."

Jax's face turned a violent shade of crimson. The veins in his neck looked ready to burst.

He squeezed the little plastic recorder so hard his knuckles turned stark white.

"Okay. Okay, let's play."

He ground the words out through clenched teeth. He turned on his heel, radiating a murderous, suffocating aura.

Upstairs, Roxy was waiting. She probably thought I had successfully pacified her husband. She was probably dreaming of her grand escape.

She had no idea the grim reaper was already unlocking her front door.

After sending Jax away, I rushed back into the studio to set the final stage.

I dusted the floorboards with a fine layer of flour. I suspended dozens of hyper sensitive condenser microphones from the ceiling. I switched on a set of blinding strobe lights.

Finally, I attached the heavy duty low frequency transducer to the ceiling.

Frequency set to eighteen hertz.

That is the exact frequency of infrasound. The human ear cannot hear it, but the sound waves physically vibrate the eyeballs. It triggers severe optical illusions, blurred vision, and a deep, primal sense of impending doom.

I was going to dial their paranoia up to the absolute maximum.

Within minutes, the crashing started upstairs.

Furniture shattering. Vicious interrogations.

Then came Roxy's bloodcurdling screams, accompanied by the heavy, sickening thuds of a body hitting the floor.

I grabbed my burner phone and dialed 911.

"I need to report a massive narcotics stash. My upstairs neighbors are cooking meth and holding large quantities of drugs."

I didn't say murder. I said drugs.

Because I knew for a fact Jax had a massive stash hidden up there.

It was his biggest vulnerability. His absolute Achilles heel.

The SWAT team arrived with terrifying speed. Shouting, battering rams, heavy boots tearing through the apartment.

Jax denied everything, of course. But he had no idea the cops were making a beeline straight for his secret floorboard compartment. Roxy had given me the exact location hours ago.

Even though Jax had managed to flush the bulk of the product down the toilet when the sirens blared, the heavy chemical residue and glass pipes were impossible to hide.

They dragged Jax out in handcuffs, taking him down to the precinct for a mandatory tox screen.

Roxy had survived the night. She probably thought she had won the war.

But I knew better. This was merely the eye of the hurricane.

A hardened street thug like Jax would definitely find a loophole, or at least post bail before dawn.

And the second he walked back into this building, it would be a fight to the death.