Page 3 of My Demon Neighbor
Two
Pythor
That evening when Ireturned from the community center, I glanced over at my neighbor's place, finding the car gone. I wondered who Vanessa was. Was she my neighbor's friend? Sister? Girlfriend?
What kind of girlfriend visited once a week? It was probably one of the other two.
I almost went inside my place before thinking about Jerry's suggestion to have a conversation with my neighbor, and walked across the street. Jerry was mated to one of my Demon friends, and I'd asked for his opinion on how to deal with my neighbor since I'd needed a human perspective.
Checking to see no one was around, I magicked up a notepad and pen, and scrawled a short note asking him if he could please keep his music down before sliding it under the door.
I would try this, but if my neighbor insisted on doing as he pleased, I might have to move. I hadn't wanted to do it again, but there was no way I could continue living here with that human driving me crazy. I would be of no use if my mind was slow and lagging from lack of sleep, and I didn't want to disappoint Artemus, the man who'd summoned me and given me this responsibility.
Once inside, I puttered about the house, then watched some TV as I magicked up a meal from my favorite restaurant on the other side of the city. Eating as I watched one of the many 'reality TV' shows the humans seemed to enjoy, I pushed my neighbor out of my thoughts for the next few hours.
It was only when I slid into bed that I thought of him again because there was no music playing. He'd listened. Oh, thank the Afterworld. I couldfinallysleep.
As if that was all the permission I'd needed, I conked right out with my face buried in my pillow.
I shot upright in bed, instantly alert as I searched for the source of that sound. It'd sounded like a scream of pain, like someone was dying and screaming for help with their loud breath.
Another shriek reached my ear, and I realized it was coming from my neighbor's place. Was there an intruder? Had someone hurt him?
I heard a sharp intake of breath, silence, then the sound of a shower. Surely, he wouldn't be taking a shower if there was someone in his house.
Calming back down, I returned to bed, my ears still focused on my neighbor. It took me far too long to realize he must've had a nightmare of some kind. He'd sounded truly terrified and in pain. Just what had he been dreaming about? And was it my fault?
He hadn't had a nightmare before—at least not to my knowledge—in all the time I'd lived here. Was his music a coping mechanism for him? Something that comforted him and kept the nightmares at bay? And had I taken that away? Guilt curdled in the pit of my stomach, and I sighed.
My sleep wasn't more important than his well-being; it couldn't be. I could just put up a temporary silencing ward and use some other magic to alert me of the presence of dark souls. It would be fine.
Tomorrow, I'd let my neighbor know that he could listen to his music, that I didn't mind. Should I mention the nightmares? Would that be wrong? I needed a human perspective.
Picking up my phone, I scrolled through my contacts and found the name I was looking for and hit call.
"Hello?" Eshim answered just when I started thinking the call would end, then added, "What the hell are you calling so late for?"
"I need to talk to your mate," I said without preamble, and he grunted.
"He's sleeping. Is this a life-or-death situation?"
"Well, no," I said, and before I could continue, he huffed.
"Then call tomorrow."
"But—"
"Tomorrow, Pythor."
I sighed as the call ended, then threw my phone onto the nightstand, where it bounced and dived right off. I froze it midair with a flick of my finger and returned it to the table before it could break, then pulled the blankets over myself. Clearly, I wouldn't be finding a solution in the middle of the night.
The neighbor's house was silent, but upon focusing, I realized that I could hear something. It was a familiar sound, of bristles stroking against a canvas, and I remembered the ones Vanessa had been carrying. My neighbor was an artist, then. Was he as quirky as Ryk? He was the only other artist I knew, and he also tended to enjoy painting at night, though I had a feeling my neighbor was doing it because of the nightmare that had woken him.
Feeling shitty about trading his sleep for mine, I closed my eyes, determined to put things back to rights tomorrow. Humans needed rest for more than just better cerebral function, so it was more important for him to get good sleep. I could make do with naps, and alternative methods if it came to that.
As I waited to fall asleep again to the soft soundtrack of the scritch-scratch of brush against canvas, I wondered what his nightmare had been about. He'd sounded far too terrified for it to be something innocuous and human like falling off a building or being chased. Had he experienced some trauma he was trying to escape from? And why did I want to know so badly?
Growling into the pillow, I forced myself to stop thinking. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'd make everything right.
