He gulped. These days, even the simplest of inventions were over-engineered. Even modern vacuums had built-in personal assistants.

  “What are your orders, my lord?” asked the vacuum.

  Lysander was rendered speechless. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, considering the ethics of interrogating a vacuum, then asked with reluctance, “What do you know of your purchaser? Who delivered you here?”

  “…”

  The vacuum seemed to process the question for a few seconds, then responded, “My lord, I can’t help you with these requests. However, if you so wish, I will make sure the floor remains flawless.”

  “… Right. I should’ve figured that interrogating a vacuum is a fool’s errand.” Lysander nodded, then watched, stupefied, as the vacuum began humming a melody while wheeling around his apartment. Grabbing his cocktail from the counter, Lysander downed it in one go.

  He had seen enough for the day.

  …

  The next morning, while waiting for his coffee to brew, he unwrapped his bandages and hopped into the shower. On most days, he let steaming hot water wash down his body, boiling away his daily worries. Today, spot-cleaning his body with lukewarm water had to suffice.

  As his dried blood washed down the drain, he considered his upcoming course of action. He didn’t have enough funds to hire a private detective, but both the quality and quantity of evidence he’d gathered thus far were meager. Mere hospital records would prove absolutely nothing.

  He heaved a deep sigh. A sudden pain pierced his wound, and he groaned.

  As he grabbed for the soap, the water flow suddenly cut off. He moaned loudly, lifting himself out of the bathtub, blood trickling onto the white tiles. He grabbed a towel, drying himself off.

  Previously, while trying to receive a refund from his water provider, he was sent on a wild goose chase. After months of filling out forms and phone operators claiming refunds were someone else’s responsibility, he was told the refund deadline had already passed. Yet only after a week of missed payments, his water was directly cut off.

  He dreaded what he was about to do, but there was no other way. He had to ask his neighbor for help.

  …

  Lysander stood before his neighbor’s door. When he checked the night before, it had seemed to be left ajar. Today, it was securely locked. He reached out to ring the doorbell, then flinched back as he was reminded of something.

  Once in a while, she’d rant to unsuspecting delivery people and police who rang her doorbell, as they disturbed her solitude. Luckily, he’d overheard her several times, well aware of her antics; thus, he only knocked, thrice.

  Although he’d much rather knock someplace else, she was the lesser of evils residing in this apartment complex. Many of his neighbors were mentally deranged, some hoarding trash, infested with pests, others with severe criminal charges. He couldn’t wait to move out of this hellhole.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  However, he had to put up with his neighbors for just a few more days. Unfortunately, when signing his apartment lease nearly three years ago, he fell victim to his own naivety. The low rent was too tempting, and he ignored the clause that bound him for the duration of three years. He relaxed slightly as he reminded himself that the lease expired at the end of this month. With his mother's taxi business bequeathed right before the end of his lease, it really seemed like he was fated to start over in another city.

  As his neighbor’s wooden door creaked open, Lysander snapped from his reverie.

  The same icy draft brushed against his face, and he shuddered. The apartment's curtains were drawn, yet none of the lights were on. He lowered his gaze, staring at the shadowed figure standing beneath him.

  There she stood, barely reaching the height of his shoulders. Deep-sunken eyes, protruding cheekbones, and a bulging belly. If it wasn’t for that long, brown camisole, he wouldn’t have recognized her.

  Lysander was put off by her glassy eyes. At the same time, reminding himself of her loss, he put on a friendly smile. The impact that drowning in misery for years on end had on one’s life was not to be underestimated.

  He asked hesitantly, “Ma’am, are you alright?”

  Her pupils locked onto his, and he took a step back instinctively.

  “What do you want?” she said, her voice raspy and cold. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  He gulped, a knot forming in his stomach. “I apologize, Ma’am, I didn’t mean to disturb.”

  “What do you want?” she repeated, placing her hand on the edge of the door, as if preparing to shut it on him. “Tell me or leave.”

  “I’d like to use your shower,” he added swiftly, ignoring his decorum. He explained, “You know, I forgot to pay the water bill, so I can’t clean my wounds properly. Can’t take infections lightly.”

  Her breath quickened, and she nodded slowly, "Yes... One's life is most important."

  Turning, she walked down the corridor. “Follow me.”

  Lysander complied, following her down the dark corridor. Although he didn’t consider her particularly trustworthy, judging from her condition, it didn’t seem like she was capable of playing tricks on him.

  Several framed pictures hung on the wall, coated in layers of cobwebs and dust. Most of them displayed herself along with her now-dead husband, her complexion and disposition considerably more vigorous and lively.

  He picked one up, blew the dust off its surface, and beheld the photograph. It depicted them sitting on a hanging bench affixed to a bending palm tree, swinging lightly in the breeze of the sea. “What a wonderful day that must’ve been,” he said in passing, attempting to cheer up the mood, “Honeymoon?”

  She turned around, and her expression contorted. “Put it back!”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  On their way to the bathroom, they passed by another room, and he glanced inside. The lights of a big, open freezer faintly illuminated the kitchen fixtures, and he rubbed his palms. No wonder this apartment was icy cold. However, he didn’t want to point it out, lest he’d become a victim of another one of her outbursts.

  At last, they arrived in the bathroom. It was fairly clean, but smelled of bleach and cigarettes.

  "What do you offer in return?" asked the frail woman.

  "Eh?" Lysander was slightly surprised. He scratched his temples. "Well..."

  "When one gives," she said sharply, "one must repay the debt."

  As he didn’t have any other options, he simply nodded, pulling out ten euros from his wallet. "Then, will this cover my ‘debt’?"

  She stared at the money blankly. "Hmm... Adequate."

  She extended her hand, offering him the keys to the bathroom. Lysander grabbed them, but the lady didn’t let go. “Ten minutes. No hot water.”

  …

  After handing her the payment, he locked the door and switched on the lights. After all, he didn't want her barging in and demanding to use the electricity more sparingly; with ten euros, he should be able to do as he pleases.

  He surveyed the bathroom. The layout was identical to his own bathroom, and apart from some nicotine stains on the ceiling, it was maintained neatly. Red scented candles were placed on both sides of the bathtub. Lysander withdrew a lighter from the pockets of his trousers, then lit the candles.

  After undressing, he climbed into the bathtub and opened the valve, gently scrubbing his body with lukewarm water. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the pleasant lavender aroma permeating the bathroom, appreciating the silence.