The Listeners

by Jordan Tannahill

  Well how could I know? she asked.

  How could you know that I’m not a rapist? Is that what you’re asking me?

  I don’t know what happened between you and Kyle.

  Are you serious?

  How would I?

  I asked Cass to look me in the eyes and tell me, in her heart, whether she really thought I had had sexual intercourse with one of my students.

  She shook her head—I don’t know.

  You don’t know whether I’m a child sex offender?

  She glanced around, as if worried neighbours might overhear, but frankly I couldn’t give a damn. Claire, I need to tell you that I saw you and Kyle once, waiting at a traffic light in your car. About an hour or so after school. It was down by San Mateo Road. I had just dropped off a package at the UPS office there, when I recognized your car. And then I saw that Kyle was in there with you, and I thought … well, that’s strange. And then I saw the way you two were laughing together. The way you were looking at him. And I thought … oh no. Oh no, there’s something happening here.

  I made to say something but Cass held up her hand to stop me.

  And whatever did or did not happen between you and Kyle, I don’t know, that is between you and God. But I will say this. In that moment, I knew. I thought—she’s in love with him. I could see it in your face. And I know you, Claire. I know you better than almost anyone else.

  Cass fiddled with her car keys for a moment, before looking back up with an afflicted expression. And I didn’t say anything, she said. Because I was scared. Because … I’m a weak person, maybe. I don’t know. I regret it. I regret not confronting you about it. Or talking to Valeria about it. But that’s mine to carry.

  I had nothing to say in my defence. I didn’t even feel particularly defensive. There was something strangely edifying in Cass’s clear-eyed recognition of my state, before I had recognized it myself. And yet, how could I explain to Cass that it was a love that superseded want, or need, or sexual desire, or any of the drives I had previously known to animate love. It was a love that fell beyond. A union of souls. A spiritual kinship. Was rape the only force we could imagine occupying such a powerful space between a grown woman and a boy who wasn’t her son?

  Cass reached out, took hold of my hand, and gave it a little squeeze, as if saying goodbye to a dying patient. She told me to take care of myself. I nodded and watched her walk off down the curving stone walkway towards her car.

  15

  THERE WAS A MAN LURKING IN MY BACKYARD. I NEVER SAW him, but I knew he was out there, pacing back and forth, setting off the motion sensor lights. At first I told myself it was just a coyote, but the lights kept flashing. Once a coyote was startled it ran off and didn’t come back. Something, someone, was pacing back and forth. I knew it was a man. Women didn’t lurk in backyards. I suppose I did come close to lurking in the Campaneles’ backyard once, but not like this. Not menacing and persistent. It was just after midnight and I was sitting on the couch. The blinds were drawn, and the lights were off, so he couldn’t see in. I wanted to go to the window and peek out, but I was terrified he would see me. He would see that I was a woman alone. Maybe he already knew that. Maybe he had been casing the house for some time, watching my comings and goings. I had to press my eyelids with my index fingers to stop them from twitching.

  I don’t think anyone who isn’t a woman living on her own can fully appreciate the amount of time we spend imagining and fearing this exact scenario. The number of times we feel a presence behind us as we turn off the lights. Or catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of our eye, and whip around to find an empty room. Or the hours we’ll spend lying in bed, listening to steps on the staircase, or the electric garage door opening, or the doorbell ringing so clear in the night that it startles us awake. Though of course there’s never anyone at the door. The garage is always closed. There’s no one else in the house, on the staircase, or hiding in the next room.

  But this was different. The lights were on in the yard. There was someone out there moving. Just then I saw a flicker of shadow on the curtain. Stay quiet. What did he want? Why didn’t he just break in? I thought about grabbing a knife from the kitchen but no, I could easily be overpowered and have it used against me. It occurred to me that it might be Kyle, but why wouldn’t he just ring the doorbell? For a second I wondered if it might be Paul trying to spy on me. No, that was crazy. I was holding my phone in my hand, but I didn’t know who to call. I could call the police. But I couldn’t just call the police because my motion sensor lights were flashing; surely I had to actually see someone, some credible threat.

  I tried calling Kyle but it went straight to voicemail again. Then I called Jo. She picked up on the third ring.

  Claire?

  It sounded as if I had woken her up. I apologized for calling so late.

  What’s wrong, love? she asked.

  I explained the situation, while trying to hide the panic in my voice. She told me that I needed to find a way to look out the window to assess the situation.

  I can’t. Not from the living room.

  What about an upstairs bedroom?

  What if he sees me?

  Claire, he won’t see you peeking from a second-floor window.

  I told her that if I got up off the couch, he might notice my shadow moving behind the curtains. You said the lights are off, yes?

  Yes.

  Then there’re no shadows. Just go upstairs. You can do this.

  Just then, the backyard motion sensor lights turned off, and everything fell into darkness. I stood up and crossed the living room to the hallway, with Jo still pressed to my ear. I could hear her breathing. Just knowing that she was there, listening, helped. I whispered an apology to her again, and she told me not to be silly.

  You always know I’m here. At any hour.

  I was halfway down the hall to the staircase when, out the window behind me, the backyard lights flashed on again. I told Jo and she said to stay calm and keep going. I reached the staircase, and began ascending into the black of the second floor. Through muscle memory, I reached Ashley’s bedroom and pushed open the door. At the far side of her room, the venetian blinds of the window were open, casting slanting bars of light across her bed. I crossed the room, and with my shoulder against the wall, I turned and peered down, out of the corner of the window, into the backyard. The backyard was lit starkly by the motion sensor lights above the patio door. I watched for five, ten seconds—and saw nothing. No movement. There was no one there.

  Nothing at all? Jo asked.

  Nothing.

  And the lights are still on?

  Yup.

  Somehow, this unnerved me more. If I could see a body pacing, if I could see an animal, or a teenager, or a man with a gun, then at least I could have attributed my fear. There was nothing more unsettling than absence. Jo suggested that perhaps the lights had malfunctioned, but in my heart I knew that wasn’t the case. I knew that there was something out there, and that the lights sensed something that I could not. Jo told me to keep looking, and I did, for another ten whole seconds, but then the lights flicked off. In the ensuing darkness, the membrane between outside and inside collapsed. Whatever was stalking my house could suddenly be anywhere, could be downstairs, could be in the closet of the bedroom. Jo told me to focus on my breath, but I couldn’t get a hold of it.

  Claire, do you want me to drive over?

  No. I don’t want to put you in danger.

  She told me she was pulling on her shoes—We’ll drive over there right now.

  Please don’t get off the phone, Jo.

  Okay, I won’t, love. I’m just going to have to put it down to pull on my shoes though, okay? And then I can plug you into the Bluetooth once we’re in the car.

  Okay. Just don’t hang up.

  I won’t. I promise.

  In that moment, I felt an almost overwhelming love for her. I wanted to tell her, but just then I heard her calling for Howard, and explaining the situat
ion to him, and bless his soul, without even a question asked, I heard him getting ready to leave the house with her. And then Jo’s voice came back on the line, gentle and measured, checking in to see how I was holding up, and to let me know that they were both on their way out the door, and should be arriving at my place within the next five minutes. I just slid down and sat on the ground in the dark of Ashley’s bedroom, like a piece of wallpaper ripped from the wall, waiting for them to arrive.

  Jo talked to me on the drive over, and as they walked up my front path, and rang my doorbell. I opened the door, I hugged them both as if they had just rescued me after two weeks in a flooded cave. They turned on the lights of the hallway, and the kitchen, and the living room, as we moved through the house together, waking it back up. Howard drew the curtains in the living room and we all looked out into the backyard. Howard moved towards the sliding patio door, opened it, and stepped out. Triggered by his presence, the motion sensor lights above the door flicked on.

  Nothing, he said, looking around.

  Jo and I stepped out of the patio door into the lucid night. The air smelled of the flowering creosote bushes along the back fence. Jo took a moment to search the yard for footprints, but the only ones she found were my own, around the flower beds, from earlier that morning.

  I’m so sorry, I told them. To wake you up and make you come all the way over here. I feel completely ridiculous.

  Don’t, Jo said, squeezing my shoulder. You’re under a lot of stress.

  I told them I was still not sleeping properly.

  Still? Howard asked, concerned. He said he hadn’t realized. He said most nights The Hum lulled him to sleep, like white noise.

  I wanted to confide in them about tuning with Kyle the night before; about how far we had managed to go, and about how exhilarating and terrifying it was; about the almost joyful disassociation that followed in the morning; the feeling of being permeated by the Resonance until what was left of me was no longer clear; about how this feeling intensified over the day until I felt like there was nothing left of me at all, and how panic set in, until I felt completely swallowed by it. But I was afraid they would be hurt. Or angry. Or not understand. Though maybe they did. Maybe they knew exactly the feeling I meant.

  In the end, I said nothing. Howard stuffed his hands into his pockets. Jo wrapped her arm around me and pulled me into her. I felt a little bit like their daughter. Or their pet. A beloved burden. I stood with them in the yard, listening to the sound that had brought us into one another’s lives. I then looked up at the sky spattered with stars, and thought of Kyle lying in his tent, six blocks away, nestled beside his reading lamp with a book resting on his chest. I thought of Ashley and Paul in their studio apartment overlooking the parking lot, probably getting ready for bed, if not already asleep. And I thought of my bed upstairs, its cold vastness, and the restless night that awaited.

  16

  DAMIAN SLAMMED HIS HANDGUN DOWN ON THE COFFEE table. Leslie gasped, and Shawn raised his hands—Whoa, okay.

  Put it away, Howard said, standing up.

  We’re going to be targeted, Damian said.

  Damian, Jo said, putting her hand on his arm. It was midday, the living room blinds were drawn, and everyone was on edge. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, this was the water pulling out before the wave.

  We are going to be targeted, Damian repeated, stepping away from Jo’s touch, and we can either sit here and do nothing, or we can—

  I’m not interested, Howard interrupted.

  Well you should be. People have begun connecting the dots, Howard. On 4chan, on Reddit. There’re others out there who can hear the Resonance and they are being tracked down and they are being eliminated.

  Nora looked alarmed—Eliminated?

  All kinds of people can hear it.

  I know, Howard said.

  Melbourne, Bristol, Munich, Calgary, all around the world.

  Of course they can.

  And you read these subreddits and every one of them—fired from their jobs, hounded by police, mysterious deaths—

  Oh come on.

  You don’t know ’cause you’re not paying attention. Damian was beginning to raise his voice.

  Emily looked confused—But why, I don’t—?

  Because they don’t want us to know.

  Who’s ‘they’? Shawn asked. You mean the government?

  What’s ‘Fortune’? Nora asked. Kyle leaned in and quietly clarified that 4chan was a messaging board website, which didn’t seem to do much to clear up her confusion. Emily motioned to Nora that she didn’t understand either.

  It’s way above the government, Damian continued, sitting back down on the edge of his chair. I’m talking about the small cabal of power brokers who run everything.

  Oh god, Shawn moaned, this is some Protocols of Zion shit.

  They’ve known about the Resonance for centuries, Damian continued, ignoring Shawn.

  Damian, look at my nose, Shawn said, pointing.

  And they’ve used its power to secure their place at the top of the pyramid.

  Do you see my nose?

  This is bigger than the government, or the military.

  Don’t go there, Shawn warned him.

  Damian finally turned to Shawn—It’s not just the Jews.

  Oh not just, okay great.

  Shawn’s heckling would’ve normally cracked me up, but I felt too enervated to laugh.

  And they’re listening to us right now, Damian continued, they’ve been listening to us this whole time, and trust me, they are going to move in on us.

  Move in, Emily said, indignant.

  Because we know their secret. They’ve been hiding this shit from us for centuries, but we are on the verge of unlocking it.

  Damian—Howard made to intercede, but Damian pointed at him.

  And they got you fired, Howard, from Virginia Tech, don’t think they didn’t, Damian said, before trying to face me. You too, Claire.

  With as much patience as I could muster, I replied that I somehow doubted F. G. Saunders Secondary was on the radar of the Stonemasons or whatever.

  It’s the Illuminati, Claire, Shawn joked. Eyes Wide Shut.

  And now your house is being cased, Damian said to me.

  I never should have brought it up. I had only done so to explain why I looked so wan and tired that morning. The others seemed startled to see me as I arrived. Mia said I looked haunted. I hadn’t meant to set Damian off.

  We don’t know that, Jo said, holding up her hand to Damian.

  And Mia’s computer’s been hacked.

  What? Jo asked.

  Howard turned to Mia—I didn’t hear about that.

  Mia nodded—I called Damian the other night because I know he used to do cyber-related stuff, and um—

  Why, what happened? Howard pressed.

  Well. The cursor, on my screen, began to move on its own.

  That can happen, Howard said.

  What do you mean that can happen? Damian retorted. That means someone’s hacked into her desktop and is watching her.

  Howard exhaled, exasperated—Or the thumb pad could just be broken.

  But it’s not, Damian fired back.

  That’s the thing, Mia said. It’s brand new.

  A cursor moving on its own—Howard began.

  Howard, this was literally my field of expertise, Damian cut in. I went over to Mia’s house, and I saw for myself. You don’t believe me? Aaron Alexis. Aaron Alexis, civilian military contractor. September 16, 2013, he entered the Washington, D.C., Navy Yard—ring a bell?—killed twelve people before taking his own life. Does anyone remember this?

  I … I do, yes, Emily said, nodding and frowning.

  He posted on Facebook right before he did it, talking about how he’d been hearing The Hum for over a year, and that he was on the verge of uncovering its mystery, but They wouldn’t let him be. He got pulled over for a busted tail light, thrown in prison ’cause it was his third strike, lost his j
ob, his wife, no custody of the kids. Doctors telling him he’s crazy. Putting him on all of this medication.

  Okay, Howard said, holding up his hands to get Damian to stop.

  All because he heard it. All because he was trying to unlock its secret. And this is one story of a thousand.

  Mia leaned forward, hands out, as if trying to get a grasp on some intangible thing in front of her. So you’re saying—

  October 3, 2013—Damian continued, Miriam Carey, a young mother and dental hygienist. Reported hearing The Hum to local authorities and started getting hounded. Phones tapped. Strange calls. Cars parked outside her house. Eventually she snapped and drove all the way from her home in Connecticut to Washington, D.C., and tried to drive through a White House security checkpoint and she was chased by the Secret Service—you can watch this all on YouTube—chased by the Secret Service to damn near Capitol Hill where they riddled her car with bullets, killing her. With her young daughter in the car.

  Damian, you’re just describing people with mental health problems, Jo said.

  No, see, that’s exactly, that’s precisely what we’ve been told, he shouted back at her. He was getting worked up now. Jo shot me a sideways glance.

  What happened to her daughter? Nora asked, pained.

  She lived, miraculously.

  Hold on, Mia said, trying once again to grasp this. You’re saying a group of people, a long time ago, way before us, discovered the Resonance—

  And have been controlling the World Bank ever since, Shawn said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair, and folding his arms together over his chest.

  You can laugh—

  And the IMF.

  —but they will come for us.

  But the Resonance is just a sound, Damian, Mia said. How does that give them—?

  That’s the secret we’re approaching, he said, emphatically.

  It’s definitely more than just a sound, Leslie said.

  Damian gestured to her, acknowledging the support. You have felt its power, he said. I know you have—

  Yes, but I’m not ruling the world with it, Mia said.

  —and others have too, for a long, long time, and there’s a reason, a very good reason the rest of the world doesn’t know about this, and that’s because it’s been kept from us.