She didn’t answer, looking directly in his eyes.

“You’re making me crazy. What about this don’t you understand? You have to hide these scars. Always! What you have on your neck is ugly. Disgusting!

“And stop staring at me like that. Stop it, I said!”

But she kept staring. “Can’t you hear me?”

His face grew red.

“That’s enough!” he screamed, grabbing her arm. He dragged her up the stairs to her room.

“You’re going to learn to do what I say. Do you understand?”

She still didn’t react.

Then he slapped her, right across the face.

Hard.

But she just looked at him with her dark eyes.

He hit her again. And again.

“What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you crying?”

Another slap, even harder.

“Cry, for Christ’s sake!”

Jana didn’t cry.

But he did.

Karl was jerked from his thoughts when the door closed again and Margaretha’s footsteps disappeared down the hall.

He was alone in the kitchen and stood there for a few moments, rinsing the sink clean. He wiped his mouth a few times, took a gulp of wine and wiped his mouth again.

Taking his jacket from the chair, he returned to the dinner with a controlled smile.

* * *

Shit, what a racket. Fucking neighbors from hell.

Robin Stenberg let the movie he was watching play while he got up to get some Coke from the fridge. There were only a few ounces left in the bottle, and what remained was completely flat.

His downstairs neighbors were being loud again. Every weekend was the same. Screaming, crying, a howling dog. Sometimes it went on for an hour, sometimes all night long.

With the taped-up remote control in his hand, he increased the volume on the TV, raised the bottle to his lips and gulped the last bit down.

Just then, he stopped. He heard something else. He froze, soda still in his mouth, and listened. Swallowing slowly, he muted the TV, put the bottle on the ground and listened again.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said, getting up.

Listening carefully, he went into the hallway and froze when he saw that the mail slot was open. He closed it with his foot and stared at the door. An unpleasant feeling made him reach his hand out and try the handle. He was astonished to find it was unlocked.

“What the fuck?”

He knew he’d locked it. He had checked that it was locked—a few times, even.

He opened the door, first slowly, then quickly swinging it wide open. The stairwell was dark. He heard his neighbors’ voices much more clearly out here. Angry, cruel words echoed against the cold, bare walls.