The Listeners

by Jordan Tannahill

  I’m just saying—

  We shared the most intimate part of ourselves with her.

  If someone wants to go—

  If someone wants to go they should do it now, Leslie said, pointing at the door, because let me tell you the going’s about to get a lot tougher. So bail now if you’re going to bail.

  She paused dramatically and looked around the room—Anyone?

  Jo looked over at me and frowned—Claire, do you have something to say?

  I felt like I had stumbled unwittingly into the line of fire—No.

  It looks like you do.

  I—

  Kyle looked at me with concern—Are you okay?

  I was confused by their attention, until I realized my mouth was opening and closing, like a fish, and I was shaking, slightly. I suddenly felt like I might collapse. But I told them no, I was fine, really. I just wanted them to stop looking at me.

  We’re all a little shaken I think, Emily said, trying to dispel the tension.

  Howard gestured to the closed laptop—This could undermine everything we’ve been working for.

  Leslie nodded, still fuming—Everything.

  They’re going to move in, Damian said. There’s no way out of it.

  Jo said it wasn’t helpful to catastrophize.

  Howard pointed to the window—Jo, there’s a live news broadcast outside our house right now.

  Yes, I just watched it, I’m aware.

  They’re calling us a sex cult.

  She raised and dropped her arms—Yup.

  I would say this is pretty catastrophic.

  What did you expect? she asked, leaning in towards him.

  Well—

  She turned to the rest of us—What we are doing is historic. Of course there’re going to be news cameras. And misinformation, and fear-mongering, and discrediting. We knew that.

  But what are we? Emily asked. Really? We can say that we’re not this or that, but what are we?

  Leslie asked her if it mattered, and Emily said yes, she thought very much. Even just for ourselves.

  I’m not sure I feel the need to, Howard said.

  Then people will name it for us, they can’t help it.

  It scares them if they can’t, Jo said.

  Shawn seemed to consider Emily’s point for a moment—We’re a—like—

  A cell, Damian said.

  A what? Mia asked.

  You know, like a—

  That makes us sound like terrorists, Shawn said.

  Leslie said she also didn’t feel the need to define what we were.

  We’re just neighbours, Kyle offered. Like Nora said.

  Neighbours who share a gift, Mia added.

  A momentary lull fell over the group, and we listened to the din from outside. The hubbub of bodies, amassing. The squawk of walkie-talkies. Cars pulling up, doors opening, slamming. It felt like a siege. Like we should be pouring cauldrons of hot tar from the rooftop, or bracing the front door for a battering ram.

  Jo looked around the room at each of us, slowly rose to her feet, and suggested we tune.

  Damian looked perplexed—Now?

  We need to hold on to why we’re doing this.

  Howard nodded, and Emily said she thought it was a good idea.

  Surrounded by cops? Damian asked.

  We need whatever power, and strength, and unity we can draw from it.

  Damian removed his handgun and placed it on the coffee table again—Then I’m damn well putting this here.

  Howard asked him please not to, but Damian wasn’t having it.

  Howard, if we’re tuning with our eyes closed, surrounded by cops—

  Listen—Howard cut in, but Jo placed a hand on his shoulder to tell him to drop it.

  We will protect each other, Leslie said.

  Damian gestured around the room—Don’t think they aren’t listening to us, right now.

  Well let them, Jo said. We’ll listen deeper.

  She extended her arms and the group took this as their cue, moving down off their chairs into kneeling positions on the floor. They began to arrange themselves in a circle, when another voice came echoing over the loudspeaker.

  Emily?

  Emily’s hand shot to her mouth.

  Can you hear me?

  This time it wasn’t a police officer—it was Tom.

  Oh Jesus, Mia said.

  Emily, I’m uh … I’m on the road here, outside. If you can hear me, please come to the window.

  Leslie looked pointedly at Emily—Don’t.

  Emily nodded, but I could tell she was wrenched.

  Everyone in a circle, Jo said.

  I love you, sugar. And I’m scared for you.

  Howard implored Emily to ignore him—They’re baiting you. You have to be strong.

  Please come to the window.

  Emily rose from her chair—Maybe I should just—

  She was greeted by a chorus of nos from Leslie, Jo, and Damian. She hesitated, and then made for the window, but Damian grabbed her and she yelped, breaking down in tears.

  Lash yourselves to the sails, Howard said.

  Kyle, kneeling, looked back and noticed that I was still sitting on the couch. He leaned over and, in a whisper, asked if I was okay. I told him that I didn’t know if I was ready to tune again. I was worried I wasn’t in the right state. But things were happening faster than I could register. The circle was ready and waiting.

  You’re not in trouble, Em. The police just want to make sure you’re okay. We’re all worried about you.

  Claire, what’s wrong? Jo asked me, putting her arm around my shoulders.

  I know you can hear me. Please don’t—don’t do this to me.

  I’m worried I’m not strong enough, I told Jo.

  Just walk out that door and walk into my arms and I can drive you home, okay?

  Strong enough for what? Jo asked.

  And we can put all of this behind us.

  Strong enough for what, Claire? she asked me again.

  Of course you’re strong enough, Leslie said from the floor.

  What if I never come out? I asked.

  Jo looked confused—You mean of the house?

  I looked over at Emily. She was composing herself, wiping her eyes dry, and hugging Damian back, thanking him for restraining her. Howard, kneeling alongside Shawn and Mia, gestured over to me—Come on, Claire.

  I want you to take a deep breath, okay? Jo said, looking into my eyes. I nodded, and inhaled, like an obedient child. That’s it, Jo said. Good. Now, come down onto the floor with us. I think everything will feel clear and centred again once we begin tuning.

  Not knowing what other option I had, I slid down off the couch and joined the circle.

  Okay, Jo said, looking at each of us. We’re all here. We’re all present. I know we’re all in a very heightened state at the moment, but we can channel that intensity. Okay? I want everyone to focus. With every ounce of energy you have in your bodies. Let every other sound fall away. Welcome The Hum in. Let it penetrate you. Let it fill you.

  We closed our eyes and, gradually, The Hum began to emerge from us, moving through us, using our bodies as its conduit.

  Let it replace you, Jo said. Atom by atom. Until you are nothing but the frequency of the Earth.

  I could see the blue and red strobing light through my eyelids. The room was throbbing. The Hum built in intensity, until the room and our bodies grew hot, until another police officer’s voice came over the loudspeaker—You have five minutes to exit the premises through the front door in a calm and orderly fashion. And then he repeated himself, his voice crackling through the night. But we could not hear, not above our own raised voices, groaning, wailing, on the verge of becoming and coming apart, fevered and unbounded, thrashing, writhing, possessed, deeper through time, deeper through sound, deeper into flesh, sound into flesh, flesh into light, tearing at myself, tearing through time, tearing our clothes off, knocking over furniture, toppling over tables, lamps, vases�
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  Claire?

  I could hear Jo’s voice.

  Claire! Kyle shouted, trying to grab at me but I wasn’t there, I was shrieking, naked and unfurled into the sound, lashing like a flag on a mast in a hurricane, voices, the voices of the others in alarm—

  What’s happening?

  I don’t know.

  Oh my god.

  And me, my own voice—I can’t get ahhhhhhh ugh—

  Just—steady her.

  I’m broken, I heard myself—Broken. Broken.

  Broken?

  Claire, look at me.

  Broken through and it’s p-p-p-p-p-p-pouring into my a a a ahhhhhh—

  What’s—?

  Claire, stay with me. Look at me. Look at my eyes. Listen to my voice. Stay in the room.

  Have you seen this before?

  No, I don’t—

  What’s happening?

  Stay with me, Claire. Listen to my voice, hold on to my voice.

  Convulsing on the ground now. Paroxysms. Pppppp—

  Oh fuck.

  Someone do something!

  Do what?

  Oh my god.

  She’s having a seizure.

  No, she’s not.

  Maybe she broke through.

  Broke through what?

  Give me the blanket—Mia’s voice.

  Blanket?

  Just—

  Leslie grabbed a blanket from the couch and tossed it to Mia, who wrapped me up in it like a baby, and tried to calm me, shushing and whispering into my ears as I shook, sweating, lolling, lllllahhhhh—

  Keep her tongue out of her throat.

  It’s okay, Mia said. I’ve got you.

  Kyle told them I was afraid I might fall in and never come out.

  Fall in?

  I’ve got you, Claire, it’s okay, it’s—

  Butbutbutbut I broke free from Mia’s grasp, the blanket, tearing, tearing what was left of my clothes, The Hum tearing through me, flag on a mast, vicious—

  Claire—

  Somebody—

  What’s she doing?

  She’s overheating.

  Get her some water.

  Why’s she making that noise?

  Dear god.

  Ygghhhh dear god ugh gaaaauuuuuuuuggghhh—

  Water!

  Shawn ran to the kitchen.

  Someone said—Claire, please.

  Just grab the jug from the fridge!

  Naked. Winds of time, of sound, on the mast. Shawn re-entered at a jog with a jug of water, plastic, see-through, condensation; he handed it to Jo, who poured it over me, just doused me with the ice water.

  Holy shit.

  Sputtering, gasping. Jo clapped her hands loudly in my face.

  Come back to us, Claire!

  Ahhhhhhlll of me—in—

  Yes.

  Come on.

  Trying to form words. Making shapes with my lips, tongue—

  That’s it.

  I think she can hear you.

  Aahhhhcckk—couldn’t do it.

  What is it, love?—Emily’s voice.

  Back up, give her space.

  Claire?

  K—I said.

  It’s me. It’s Kyle, said Kyle’s voice.

  K—K—Coming—to—

  Come back to me, Claire. Come back. Come back to me.

  His hands on my face but I was wailing, embarrassing, why, hands on my face, I, I, I, gotta go gotta get out out of here my skin this room this house this life this sound this sound is too much, all too much, I ran, ran to the front door—Claire! Grab her! Oh fuck fuck fuck—I ran to the front door, unlocked it, and I was out, outside on the front step, the front walk, dazzled by the glare of cameras, police lights, iPhones, gasps, naked, and drenched and shivering from the fridge water, my breasts, my mind, I stumbled a few steps, news cameras, reporters, everyone drawing closer, where’s Ashley? I couldn’t see through the lights, the crowd, I was shaking, I was the sound. I had become. I opened my mouth. I opened my mouth to speak and I said—There has been a revelation!

  And at that moment, Howard and Jo grabbed me from behind, and hauled me backwards, back inside, through the door, and slammed and locked it behind them.

  Howard’s face in mine—What are you doing?

  Claire, are you there?

  I was everywhere.

  What happened, Claire? Talk to us.

  I tried to say more but the words crowded my mouth. Howard took hold of my face by my chin, firm, and gave me a little shake, stop that Jo said, I batted away his hand, and stumbled back, don’t touch her, stumbled back and steadied myself. I looked at Jo. And I saw her.

  I saw Jo. And I was back.

  I was back in the room. I tried to catch my breath. Going to vomit. No. I saw the others. I saw them watching me, afraid. I blinked and I turned to Jo. I turned to Jo and I said—I was you.

  I turned to the others and I said—I was all of you. I was the floor. The house. Inside of the refrigerator. The mustard. The eggs. The tree back there, and the worms below, pushing my face through the dirt of, of life of being in the fucking life of it all, my god oh my god, I can’t even begin, I didn’t begin or end, I had no ending, I was everything—infinite, distant stars, buildings, skyscrapers and the birds—I clapped—smashing into them.

  I turned to Kyle, his face full of fear—You. I was you. Making love to your wife, I was your wife twenty years from now, and your shit in the toilet, your child, your grandchild, jumping into the pool, the water in the pool. There was—I can’t even, I don’t even know what era I’m talking, am I talking? I guess I am, now. I’m here, back in my—Wait. Did I? Where’s Ashley? What time is it? The thing is—there is no thing, everything is the thing, is indistinguishable, just atoms moving, changing places, all of it the same, same thing, and um—the thing, the thing I was going to say, oh I wasn’t afraid of death! What is it? It wasn’t—death isn’t, it doesn’t happen, everything just changes places, it’s all the same, don’t worry about it. Family. Doesn’t matter. The people you love. Doesn’t really matter either because it’s all just, you, me, strangers, the bus, it’s all just atoms changing places, over time, coming together and apart. Horrible, in some ways, right?

  Kyle reached out and touched my shoulder—Claire.

  What is a body? What is this? I asked, putting my hands on the coffee table.

  It’s a table, Kyle replied.

  But what is it? I asked, desperate. I was this. Thing. What is sound? Just space in between. I was sound. What is that? A voice? I heard your voice. I heard your voice in time. In space. There was a moment. I wanted to. I thought I was gone. Forever. I thought I was, replaced by sound, rearranged, forever. But okay. I was okay with it. I was not afraid. I heard your voice, and I was not afraid. For the first time.

  I looked Kyle in the eyes—I heard your voice. And I knew who I was.

  The Hum suddenly spiked, deafening, and the front door blasted open, and in poured officers in tactical gear, three, four, and the crash of the back patio doors being smashed open. Damian dived, grabbed his gun on the coffee table, and raised it. As he did, an officer opened fire, hitting both him and Kyle. They fell to the ground. Like punching bags cut from their chains. All of this in a matter of three seconds, but in slow motion. Shattered glass everywhere, how? Damian, wounded, fired back, hitting the police officer. Two other officers opened fire, striking Damian three times in the chest. All of this in another four seconds. Kyle was not moving. I was on the floor, holding him. Somewhere someone was screaming. I was clinging to Kyle. Warm and wet in my hands. Clinging to him like he was my boy. But he was not clinging back.

  18

  ONE MID-WINTER DAWN, HE APPEARED ON THE EDGE OF the clearing. His white-tipped ears twitched and flicked as he glanced about. Faint wisps of breath curled from his snout in the cold. He lowered his head and stalked gingerly across the frost-limned grass to sniff the remains of a collapsed orange tent. Strewn about nearby were a portable propane stove, and two spe
nt propane canisters. A sodden blanket. Two ripped pillows disgorging foam. And what remained of a smashed portable CD player.

  19

  I GOOGLED:

  Can you die from grief?

  Can you die from wishing it?

  Can you die from a nightmare?

  Does crying burn calories?

  What happens if you die alone in a house?

  How long does it take for a body to smell?

  What was the longest time it took to discover the body of a person living alone?

  Is time linear?

  20

  I WASN’T INVITED TO KYLE’S FUNERAL. NOT THAT I EXPECTED to be. I wasn’t invited to Damian’s either. Charges were brought forward but eventually dropped. Brenda threatened a civil suit, but to this day, nothing has come of it. I spent three weeks in a mental health unit. Paul visited every day. Ashley went away to university. Then I was discharged, back into my solitude. Months slipped by. I stopped tuning. I forgot how to. I wasn’t even sure if it was possible for one person to do so alone. The Hum persisted. It lost any sense of wonder or joy or meaning for me. It was no longer a mystery to be approached. It simply became a noise again. Something to torment my waking hours, hours upon hours which, for some reason, I had been granted, and a boy I once loved had been denied. I had a vision of this great ache extending from my chest in all directions like an invisible parachute, extending even beyond the walls of my house, like a football field, or an airport tarmac, just an ever-expanding expanse of sadness.

  One winter afternoon I lay on the living room couch, drifting in and out of sleep, with the news playing on the television for a bit of company. I had sworn off the news for a long while. For months, actually. As long as it took for me not to be the news. But that afternoon, as I lay there, I caught fragments of the same local broadcast recycled throughout the day, the leading story of which was about The Hum.

  —when, last Thursday, an independent investigation commissioned by the city determined a compressor station along the Phoenix Access pipeline as the source of the mysterious hum disturbing a handful of nearby residents over the past year—

  —this morning, after several days of silence, though not the kind residents had been hoping for, Southwestern Gas announced they would be reducing the flow along the pipeline with the hopes of—