Let Him Run Amok, He Regretted Everything

The moment the elevator doors slid open, the pungent stench of urine assaulted my senses. I frowned, spotting a puddle of yellow liquid dripping from the leaves of the potted plant next to the hallway fire hydrant. On the adjacent wall, a wobbly crayon message read, 'Jackson Carter was here.' This was the third time this month. I pulled out my phone to take pictures as evidence. Just as I finished, the door next to mine creaked open. A round-faced little boy peeked his head out. Seeing me, he grinned, revealing a missing front tooth. He was holding a water gun, its nozzle still dripping. "Ms. Hayes, do you like my drawing?" Jackson pointed at the graffiti on the wall, beaming with pride. I didn't answer, just put my phone away and walked toward my own door. "Ms. Hayes!" Jackson suddenly rushed over and wrapped his arms around my leg. "Can you buy me ice cream? I want Häagen-Dazs!" His sticky handprints were now smeared all over my skirt. "Jackson, let go." My brow furrowed slightly. "No! I won't! You have to buy it! My dad says you have money, so you should look out for your neighbors!" Not only did he not let go, he clung tighter, rubbing his head against my leg. At that moment, the neighbor's door swung fully open. My ex-boyfriend, Vincent Carter, emerged holding a spatula. Instead of stopping his son, he just chuckled. "Oh, Sandra, you're back? See how much Jackson likes you? He sticks to you the moment he sees you." He was my ex. I'm Sandra Hayes. Eight years ago, I broke up with him because he cheated. Turns out he never learned his lesson. His ex-wife divorced him for the same reason. All he had left was his son. Ever since he found out I lived here, he'd been pestering me nonstop. "Vincent, please get your son off me." I pointed at the stain on my skirt. "Also, that puddle of pee by the hydrant and the graffiti on the wall—care to deal with those?" Vincent's smile faltered. "Kids will be kids. He couldn't hold it. And look how cute the drawings on the wall are. Our Jackson's got artistic talent. Right, champ?" Bolstered by his dad's praise, Jackson grew even bolder. He aimed his water gun at my leather shoe and gave it a squirt. Cold water instantly soaked through it. "Jackson!" I finally raised my voice. Only then did Vincent come over and pry his son away, his tone dripping with complaint. "Sandra, why are you picking on a kid? He's only seven. What does he know? Just wipe your shoe off. Neighbors should be more forgiving." I looked at the water stain on my shoe, then at Vincent's entitled expression, and suddenly laughed. "You're right. Kid stuff." I took out my keys, opened my door, and didn't say another word. As the door clicked shut, I heard Vincent lecturing his son outside. "Buddy, don't just hug anyone. Who knows where they've been? But we're still getting that ice cream. Tomorrow, we'll knock on Ms. Hayes's door. She'll buy it for you. She lives alone; she's got money to burn." A cold laugh echoed in my mind as I took off the soiled shoe. This apartment in the city's upscale downtown district was something I'd worked my butt off for three years to afford, pulling sixteen-hour days. And now, the father-son duo next door was hell-bent on destroying my peace, bit by bit. My phone vibrated—a message from the property manager. "Ms. Hayes, regarding your complaint about the child in Unit 302 using public areas as a toilet… we've spoken with them. They said they'll be more careful." 'Careful?' I pictured Vincent's face. That wasn't the face of someone who'd be careful. Opening my phone's gallery, I scrolled through the evidence I'd collected over the past month. Shredded delivery boxes, stomped-on takeout containers, a lipstick-drawn ugly face on my door, and today's graffiti and puddle of pee. In every picture, there was Jackson's smug little face, with Vincent's indulgent smile in the background. I went to my study, booted up my computer, and pulled up the feed from the doorbell camera. I'd installed that discreet camera for security, never imagining I'd use it for something like this. The footage showed Jackson stuffing things into my lock more than once. Sometimes chewed gum, sometimes tiny pebbles. Once, he'd even tried to pick the lock with a piece of wire. Though he failed, he'd left scratches inside the mechanism. I saved the clearest clips to an encrypted folder. Then, I made a call. "Mr. Cooper, I need you to install something for me tomorrow." Right after that, I called my boss and accepted a business trip assignment. Since they believe every single thing their kid does is forgivable, and that a neighbor's duty is to endure it all… Well, I'll just give them the perfect stage to act it out.