Chapter 1

The air felt still for several seconds.

Shirley Lambert shrieked, "What's wrong with you, old lady? Why are you cursing at me out of nowhere? I was just trying to look out for you since you're old and living alone, and this is how you repay my kindness?"

I, Nancy Fisher, quietly watched her performance.

It was plain as day what she was up to.

She just thought an old woman living alone would be easy to take advantage of.

I couldn't be bothered to say anything. I pointed straight at the door.

"Get out."

Seeing I wasn't backing down, Shirley looked ready to keep causing a scene until she spotted the knife I'd grabbed from the kitchen. She immediately panicked.

"W-What are you doing with that knife?

"Are you crazy? Think about it. You're old and all alone. Someday you're going to need young people like us to help you.

"A good neighbor is a present help. If you let my son use this place as his playroom, wouldn't he be just like your grandson?

"With the addition of a grandson, you'll have more support later in life. You old fool, how can you not understand this?"

I raised the knife and swung it once through the air. "If you don't leave right now, believe me, I'll chop you to pieces."

Shirley stepped backward again and again until she finally retreated outside.

I slammed the door shut.

Her shrill, annoying voice was finally cut off.

I'd lived in this apartment for two years, and the neighbors next door changed as often as the seasons.

I'd seen every kind of lunatic imaginable, including the creepy exhibitionist guy, the schizophrenic teenage girl, and the fitness trainer who brought home different muscular men every night.

In the beginning, I figured a divorced woman raising a child alone probably had it rough, so I tried to be patient and kept things peaceful.

I never expected her to take advantage of people like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Everything she said was appalling, and she had absolutely no concept of basic decency. Honestly, I'd never met anyone like her before.

The mother and son had only moved in a week ago.

Ever since then, the hallway had reeked of sour, rotten funk.

Shirley always looked polished and put together, but the second their apartment door opened, the smell hit like a truck.

I honestly wondered if they'd dragged an entire landfill into their home.

Her eight-year-old son, Mike Lambert, was even worse. He was a classic wild child.

He ran around all day waving his toy sword and yelling about killing people.

There was once he suddenly jabbed me in the waist with it while I was out in the park. The pain made me gasp.

Shirley actually looked proud.

"Mike, that's amazing! One shot right to Mrs. Fisher's waist! You have such a good aim!"

Judging by her expression, if she hadn't been carrying his schoolbag, she probably would've started applauding on the spot.

She turned to look at me without the slightest sign of remorse in her eyes. All I saw was a smug smile.

"Mrs. Fisher, my son's talented, isn't he? Even his fencing instructor says he's gifted."

I snatched the toy sword right out of Mike's hand.

I broke it clean in half and threw the pieces at Shirley's face.

"Hey, brat! Tell me, aren't I talented?"