Soultaker by Bryan Smith

figured she knew Todd as well as you could know a person without actually being friends with them. And there was one thing of which she was absolutely certain—Todd was not the handyman type. The idea that he was over there hammering away at something struck her as unlikely.
    The sound came again.
    THUNK.
    And again, louder.
    THUNK!
    Another dim sound from next door deepened her frown.
    It was laughter. And it had a certain quality that made her uneasy. Then the sound came again, rising in pitch as the hammering continued.
    Her stomach clenched.
    It was female laughter.
    For some reason she thought of Bridget. But that was ridiculous. And paranoid. The laughing girl could be anybody. But it troubled her nonetheless. Todd hadn’t had a girlfriend the entire time she’d known him. She rarely saw him in the company of females at all. But maybe his luck had changed. She hoped so. He’d always seemed so lonely. Hell, at least maybe somebody’s life had taken a turn for the better.
    She thought of the sad state of her own life and darkness encroached. Fuck. She didn’t want to think about other people being happy. Not now. The sounds from Todd’s apartment taunted her, reminded her of a buoyancy of spirit she’d felt so often, even as recently as yesterday. She went to her bathroom and found a package of earplugs. Then she returned to the sofa and lay down for another nap.
    This time her sleep was free of dreams, erotic or otherwise, and she slept for hours. When she awoke again, the day had progressed well into the afternoon. She pulled the foam earplugs from her ears and the first thing she heard was loud, thumping music from Todd’s apartment. This, too, was very unlike Todd. He was a considerate neighbor. On the rare occasions when the sound from his stereo bled into her apartment, the volume was too low to be a real nuisance. But this time the music was going full blast. She slammed a fist against her living room wall in protest. She sighed. The music was too loud. She’d have to go knock on his door if this continued much longer.
    Her sense of unease returned. She put her ear to the wall and listened to the music. Weird. This wasn’t Todd’s sort of thing at all. He liked alt-pop stuff. Modest Mouse and Death Cab ForCutie. This stuff was club music, some kind of bland techno crap. Well, maybe he was going out of his way to please his female guest.
    She smiled.
    I hope you get laid, buddy.
    God knows you deserve it for putting up with that crappy music.
    Jordan put Todd’s mystery girlfriend out of her mind and got to her feet. She stretched and decided she would fill at least some of the remaining daylight hours by giving the apartment a thorough cleaning. She put on a Tori Amos CD to block the noxious club music. But it wasn’t very effective. The mellow Tori songs just couldn’t compete with the ultrapercussive bonehead beats coming from Todd’s apartment.
    “Goddammit!”
    She paused in the midst of polishing the coffee table and stared at the wall separating her apartment from Todd’s. The dance music was so loud it could have been coming from her own stereo. Tori’s ethereal voice was lost in the musical maelstrom. She tossed aside the cleaning rag, set down the can of Pledge, and got to her feet.
    Enough of this.
    She strode quickly to her front door, intent on marching over to Todd’s place to put an end to this crap. But she heard something from outside and paused at the door. She listened and recognized the sound as a clatter of footsteps coming up the staircase. Someone in heels. Jordan’s and Todd’s apartments were the only ones accessible via the second-story landing on this side of the building, so one of them was about to have a guest. Jordan looked through the peephole of her door and watched Angela Brooks move into view. Jordan’s eyes widened. Why was one of Bridget’s bitch friends coming to see her now?
    Jordan felt sick.
    When would Bridget quit playing her stupid little