HUM

by Dan Hawley

  But this phone call was different. Samantha needed to dump verbal diarrhea into the cell.

  Sam told her mother about the beautiful drive and the stunning lake; how the trails had smelled like Christmas. She described the fresh mountain air and how it had a way of energizing you. Then, how it was all ruined by what they found in the woods.

  She didn’t go into any great detail about it.

  She didn’t describe the pooling blood or the sick feeling she had gotten when she saw the hiker’s colorless, agony-stricken face and dull eyes. Samantha did say that the hiker was a middle-aged woman and that she could have been beautiful when she was alive.

  Denise had put her phone on speaker at some point during the conversation, and Sam’s father’s voice came through now and then, his tone colored with shock and concern.

  Sam’s phone was also on speaker, allowing Jason to chime in when necessary. He did his best to sound strong; he wanted Denise and Ken to feel confident that he could take care of their daughter.

  After reassuring her parents several times that she and Jason were fine and just needed a good sleep, Samantha ended the call. She set the phone down on the coffee table and stared up at the tv’s flat, black screen.

  Jason had stood up and gone to the window. He looked out into the night, gloomy and quiet. Since the lockdown started two months prior, the streets had been nearly empty.

  What used to be a bustling harbor front was now reduced to a scene of boarded-up windows and empty sidewalks. Closed down businesses meant less people. The shortage of people meant fewer trucks. Fewer trucks meant that the area was much quieter than it had been before. The quiet streets would have suited Jason just fine, except the stillness outside only magnified the presence of the hum inside.

  He stood staring out the window but entirely focused on the dull, constant drone of the sound behind the walls. The sound vibrated its way under his skin and cut into his bones like a dull saw. Jason’s jaw mashed his teeth together as his hands balled into fists. He hated that hum. He hated this apartment for housing that hum. He hated that he felt so helpless against it. It wasn’t some broken piece of code he could fix or a carburetor that could be cleaned. It was something beyond his control.

  “Come to bed.” The words broke his trance.

  Samantha’s gentle touch upon his elbow calmed his taut muscles and beckoned him to the bedroom.

  * * *

  Samantha was so drained from the day’s events that she was unconscious soon after her head hit the pillow. Jason lay beside her, staring at the ceiling, wishing he could follow suit.

  He jealously listened to her nose whistle every time she breathed in.

  Behind that was the hum.

  It was the only ambient sound in the apartment; all other sounds lived and died, but not the hum. It was constant and unrelenting like a freight train. It was the blank, grey canvas waiting for the painter’s brush to add color and shape.

  Shapes and images.

  Jason tried to keep the pictures from his mind as he lay there, taunted by the hum. The memories passed through his thoughts, brilliant flashes of green and crimson. He saw the hiker’s pale, tortured face. Her dull eyes stared into his soul, searching for darkness, and finding it.

  CHAPTER 9

  “Goddamn it, Chester,” Jason said. “Is there really nothing you can do about that damn noise?”

  “We had the electrician come in and inspect the electrical room, and everything was normal. I asked him about the hum you mentioned, and he said you can hear a lot in the walls in these older buildings. Not much for insulation, since it doesn’t get very cold here. In other words, not much I can do, I’m afraid.” Chester’s blue surgical mask bounced up and down as he spoke. Seattle had instituted a by-law requiring people to wear masks in public, enclosed spaces. Jason didn’t like it much, but he agreed with the principle—to protect others from your germs.

  Chester sat behind his sturdy desk. Near the front was a big bottle of hand sanitizer with a pump nozzle on top, the opening caked in dried chemicals.

  Hand sanitizer was everywhere now. Jason had even seen a homeless guy outside a local grocery store, bent over with his mouth around the spout, chugging away gleefully.

  “It’s so bad,” Jason said meekly. “It’s affecting my sleep and my work.” He paused. “Hasn’t anyone else in this building complained about it?”

  Chester shifted in his seat.

  “Well, no,” Chester replied, then brightened. “Have you thought of headphones?”

  “So I’m just supposed to wear headphones all the damn time?”

  “I’m sorry, Jason. Just trying to help.”

  “It’s not your fault, Chester.”

  The big man eased back into his chair a little, relaxed by Jason’s decision to take a more calm tone.

  “It just sucks.”

  Jason was pacing in front of Chester’s desk as he spoke. “Yesterday was a rough one, and I just wanted a good night’s sleep, and it didn’t happen, headphones or not.”

  Chester sat watching his visitor pace. Jason stopped walking when he realized complaining further would solve nothing, said his thank-yous, and excused himself.

  “Well, what did Chester say?”

  Samantha was busy in the kitchen, cooking something for lunch. The tip of her ponytail gingerly touched the collar of her white robe as she worked.

  “He said there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it.”

  Jason removed a small bottle of sanitizer from his pocket and squeezed some into his hand, a wholly unconscious habit now. He kicked off a shoe, but before he could remove the other one, a knock sounded loudly at the door. Jason turned in place and opened it.

  A tall, uniformed police officer stood in the entrance, a blue surgical mask blocking his mouth.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Are you Jason?”

  “I am.”

  “Do you mind if I come in for a moment?”

  “Not at all.”

  Jason opened the door further and stood to the side to allow the officer through. The officer took a few steps into the apartment and removed his hat. “Ma’am.” He nodded towards Samantha.

  She turned the dials on the stove off and removed the cooked food from the hot burners.

  “Hello,” she replied. “How can we help you, officer?”

  “Detective,” the man said from under his mask. “Detective John Topp.”

  Detective Topp scanned the room as he spoke.

  “It involves the incident yesterday at Mount Rainier.”

  “Did you find out what happened?” Jason asked.

  Detective Topp looked at Samantha.

  “Well, when you called 911, the boys in Ashford quickly set up a checkpoint on the road in front of their station. That’s the one you folks passed through.”

  Sam and Jason both nodded, hanging on the detective’s words.

  “Well, another one was set up where the one-twenty-three comes out at highway twelve on the other side of the mountain. These are the only roads in and out of the park.”

  Jason wished Detective Whatever would get to the point.

  “Turns out one of the fellows that passed through the checkpoint was the husband of the deceased. We have a warrant out for his arrest.”

  “A warrant?” Jason asked. “You mean you haven’t arrested him yet? Why not!?” Detective Topp gave him a look that indicated he didn’t like it when people raised their voices at him. Jason quickly calmed himself.

  “Sorry, I just don’t understand.”

  “Well, you see, it’s hard to arrest a man you can’t find. It took a little time to identify the woman, and once we did, I went over to her house to speak with the husband. He wasn’t there obviously, and once I saw his name on the list of stopped motorists at the checkpoint, I called in for a warrant.”

  “He knew you’d be looking for him,” Jason said.

  “He likely rushed home knowing he had a bit of a head start, grabbed whatever he could,
and took off,” Detective Topp said with a nod. “Have you seen this man?”

  The detective reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a picture. Jason and Sam leaned in to get a better look. The face on the photo didn’t look much like a murderer: a plain-looking guy with light, curly hair and a well-trimmed beard. Jason admonished himself for admiring a murderer’s facial hair. “No,” Jason said.

  Samantha shook her head.

  “Didn’t see him running away? You said in your statement to police that you found the body only a minute or two after the scream.”

  “To be honest, I didn’t know what to think when I got there,” Jason said, trying to piece it together in his mind. “I couldn’t believe it. I’d never seen anything like that, and the first thing I thought was that a bear or mountain lion did it. I looked around real good, but I didn’t see anything. The bastard must have run off quickly.”

  Detective Topp seemed satisfied with the answer.

  “Well,” he said, “We consider this man to be armed and dangerous, and even if you didn’t see him, he might have seen you. Best to stay inside and keep an eye out when you do leave the apartment. Keep this picture, and here’s my card. Call me if you see him or anything suspicious.”

  Detective Topp handed Jason the items and put on his hat. Samantha took a step towards the cop. “Should we be worried?” she asked, frowning with concern.

  “I would say the chances that he saw you are low. I’d say the chance he would come looking for you is also low. He’s probably on his way to Canada, looking for a way to get in. Just a precaution until we get him. Keep an eye out.”

  With that, the detective tipped his hat and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

  Jason looked at Samantha. Not knowing what else to do, Samantha went over to the stove, turned it on, and finished cooking lunch.

  “Are you going to call your dad today?” Samantha asked. She set a plate of food down in front of Jason and one at her setting.

  “What? And tell him we witnessed a brutal murder, and the guy is still out there and maybe coming for us next?”

  “Ok, dramatic,” Sam said.

  She grabbed a bottle of white from the fridge before settling into her place.

  “Wine with lunch?” Jason said.

  She popped open the woody cork and filled her glass halfway.

  “Considering the situation, why not?” She shrugged.

  “True enough; hit me.”

  Jason’s portion finished the bottle, and Sam put it down with a clunk.

  “Cheers!” she said as she lifted her glass towards Jason.

  “Cheers,” he echoed, grabbing his glass and touching it to hers with a ding.

  “I’ll have to call. Tonight I guess; not looking forward to that.”

  “Why not?” Samantha asked.

  “I’d rather just not talk about it anymore. Every time I retell the damn story, it’s like reliving it again. I’m trying to kill the bloody images from my brain, not picture them even more.”

  Samantha nodded in agreement and took a sip of wine.

  * * *

  “There’s another one of those protests today,” Sam said.

  After lunch, she had made her way to the couch and turned on the news. Samantha and Jason weren’t nightly news watchers back home; they would perhaps watch occasionally to see what was happening in the world. Recently, it seemed the only thing happening in the world was the pandemic, but the couple still tuned in to see the latest at least once a day.

  Jason was busy cleaning up the kitchen and doing the dishes.

  “What’s that?” he called over the noise of the faucet.

  “Another anti-mask protest at City Hall today,” Sam repeated. “God forbid you wear a mask to try to stop the spread of this thing.”

  Jason rinsed the last piece of dinnerware and set it down in the drying rack. He shut off the chrome tap and picked up a dishcloth to dry his hands.

  “Lots of people are upset right now. A lot of people are out of work and starting to get desperate. They think the virus is a hoax.”

  Jason hung the towel over the oven door and walked over to the couch. He sat down beside Samantha and put his hand gently on her back. He started tracing large and small circles with his fingers through the fabric, knowing the simple action would comfort her.

  “That’s so dumb,” she said. “I don’t understand what the government would gain by making this up.”

  “I dunno, babe,” Jason said, still scratching Sam’s back. “Some people think everything is an elaborate plan to control them or take away their rights and freedoms.”

  As they spoke, their eyes never left the screen. Samantha had muted the volume earlier, but they didn’t need to hear it. The message had been the same for months; people are dying. All the pertinent numbers scrolled continuously along the bottom of the screen anyway.

  That is what everyone was watching. How many people infected; how many dead. The numbers climbed by steady jumps at what used to be a shocking rate but had now become mundane.

  “The new normal,” they called it.

  Jason didn’t like that term much.

  “These idiots don’t realize we are already pretty well controlled. Hell, we all have a number assigned to us. The government knows where you live, what you do. Google knows what you look at, and even what gets you off. Anti-vaxxers talking about the government injecting you with whatever. If the government wants something in you, they’ll just put it in your damn drinking water! I don’t get it. People don’t believe that there could be a simple explanation for things: A damn flu virus mutated and is killing a bunch of people, and our dumbass civilization is having a hard time stopping it. Why is that so hard to believe?”

  Jason’s voice grew raised and hot. His already short temper had been whittled down to a nub over the past few months. Samantha put her hand on his thigh and squeezed softly.

  “It’s ok, Jay; those dummies can go and breathe on each other all day, get sick, then realize that maybe a mask isn’t such a bad thing after all.”

  Jason took a breath.

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let Darwin take care of it.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Jason’s eyes slowly opened. The bedroom was bright. A good way to start off the week, he thought. His eyelids were heavy and burned his eyes when he blinked.

  Did I sleep at all? he wondered, trying to figure how many hours he may have slept. Not enough, was usually the answer lately. The weekend felt unreal and distant as he focused on his job and the tasks that he needed to complete. Jason pulled the comforter off himself and sat up on the edge of the bed. He habitually reached for his phone as he stretched out his body.

  Nothing there.

  He looked over, and once again, the tabletop was clear, except for the lamp that stood lonely in the corner. He sighed and opened the drawer. Inside it was everything that he had left on the bedside table when he turned out the light last night. Jason stared blankly at the contents of the drawer for a moment, knowing that this was the fourth or fifth time this had happened since they moved in.

  The new normal, he thought.

  “I’m fucking losing it,” he said as he removed his belongings from the drawer and closed it.

  “What’s that?” Sam said as she entered the room.

  She went to her dresser and pulled out some clothes. Jason looked over at her and said, “Nothing, just talking to myself.”

  No need to bring it up again, no need to add more worry.

  Jason watched Samantha strip off her robe and hang it on the back of the bedroom door. He watched her half-naked body as she walked back over to the dresser where her clothes lay on top. She pulled on her black tights and flipped a loose, grey sweater over her head.

  “But you aren’t even sleeping,” she said sarcastically. “Very funny,” Jason shot back, painfully reminded twice now that his sleep problems seemed to be getting worse.

  Samantha had been letting Jason know with increasing f
requency that he had been talking in his sleep until about a month ago. Then she had stopped, and this was the first time she had mentioned it in a while. Not because he hadn’t been doing it.

  The new normal, he thought again.

  “I’m headed out to the store to grab a few things; do you need anything?” Sam asked.

  She walked over to Jason and ran her fingers through his hair as he sat shirtless on the bed. He looked up at her.

  “I don’t think so, thanks though.”

  Samantha bent down and planted a kiss on Jason’s cheek.

  “Ok,” she said, “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  * * *

  It took twice as long as it used to do anything now, Samantha thought. She set her bags down in the hallway and locked the door behind her. Lines everywhere, as stores only let a few people in at a time. You had to sanitize and put on a mask. Then sanitize some more. Her hands had become dry and cracked from the rubbing alcohol. You had to consider things never considered before, like; should you get another package of TP even though you just got one? Or should I get some canned fruit, you know, in case Armageddon happens, and we’ll need vitamin C to stave off the scurvy?

  She removed her jacket and shoes and brought the bags to the kitchen, where she set them back down on the floor. She grabbed the container of antiseptic wipes from under the sink and began the ritual of wiping down the groceries; cream for the coffee, the egg carton, and a small bag of oats. There were also some cosmetic items, including a new mascara and lip balm. She spent a small fortune on shampoo since her hair was so long and thick.

  Samantha threw the used wipe into the garbage with the plastic grocery bags. She felt guilty about that, but stores wouldn’t allow people to bring their own bags from home right now. Such a waste, she thought. She placed the groceries in the cupboards, grabbed her cosmetics and shampoo, and headed for the bathroom. She paused briefly outside the closed door to the office.

  Silence.

  There was no clicking of the keyboard, no phone call or video chat, just silence.