It was the perfect cover.

I could hear them, stomping around, like elephants at a parade. It was deafening at times, the elephants moving, screeching, scratching. You’d think they’d grow claustrophobic in that tiny space.

The smoke alarm would screech and wail multiple times a day. Don’t they ever learn? Open a window. Let in some air, it’s simple. It sounded like they were moving furniture around, scraping the ground, leaving grooves in the wood floor. They’ll get fined for that.

They were always keeping me up late. I can hear them talking. “The rudest people have the thinnest walls,” I’d curse to myself at all hours.

Learn to live with it. That’s what I told myself. It could be a lot worse. They just don’t realize how loud they are. They seem like smart people. The husband with his tucked-in shirt, belt, and tidy shoes. The wife dressed in a long linen blouse and billowy pants. Her dark, wavy hair was usually braided and draped down to her waist.

I’ve seen them pass in and out a couple of times. We’ve never spoken. I assume who they are, and what their lives are like, simply by looking at them. It seems easy enough.

Maybe it’s incense. That would explain the smoke alarm. Maybe they have heavy furniture, that would explain the jarring noises. He’s probably an engineer at a tech company. He makes a decent wage. She stays home during the day, settling in. Must be a good life. I’m sure they’re nice people. The walls are just thin. They can’t help it.

Some days the screeching sounds louder. Maybe it’s just my imagination. My sense of hearing is too sensitive, that’s what people always tell me. Some days I hear them talking. I guess that’s reasonable. Some days I hear them yelling. I can’t make out the words though. The tone feels angry this time.

I hear things being thrown around. Dropped. Slamming doors and drawers. This isn’t normal. Should I worry? I’m angry and want to pound on the wall and yell, “Shut the hell up. It’s midnight.” But I restrain myself. I don’t want to get in the middle of an argument. Rude people and thin walls. Take a deep breath. It’s ok.

I hear water running. Still running. Since yesterday. No one takes showers that long. Why does it sound like it’s still running? Is it my super human hearing? Or is something actually leaking? It must be my imagination. I’ll just ignore it. But the buzzing. It’s getting louder. Louder today than yesterday, and the day before that. Where the hell is that coming from? There’s a strange smell that wafts in every now and then. I should just ignore it. It’s my sensitive sense of smell.

I wake up with my ear must be buzzing from the inside. Shit, what’s wrong with me? They’re getting louder too. The shouting the voices. Scuffling. Stomping. Heavy things falling. Sirens. They’re blaring. Lights are flashing outside my window. I go to press my ear up against the bedroom wall that we share. It’s blazing hot. The paint smells like it’s fuming. Voices are getting louder.

I hear knocking at my door and I run out. An officer directs me to an area behind the police tape with the other neighbors. We stand there, confused. Groggy. I tell them it must be the people next door. Maybe they’re in trouble.

We can’t make sense of it. We’re not hearing anything. It’s silent. Then carts are rolled out one by one. Boxes, flasks, tubing, basins. Light fixtures, plants, electronics. Evidence.

The husband stumbles by us in handcuffs. Two men were gripping his arms. He’s still raging, inaudible, reeking. A stretcher comes rolling down the driveway, a black bag covering it. We gasp. We were helpless.

The stomping trailed away. The wailing, swallowed by the night. Nothing was what it had appeared to be. Lives were shattered. Perfect covers, ruined.

Engineer by day. Entrepreneur by night.