The Listeners Read online

  God, wouldn’t that be nice, Leslie said. Nora nodded, seeming to savour the thought.

  I wondered how they each pictured the source of the noise in their minds. Did they see it as an object? A place? I had spent nights lying in bed trying to imagine it. Sometimes it looked like a big subwoofer speaker in an abandoned warehouse. Other times, I pictured some forlorn bungalow on the edge of town, with all of the blinds drawn. And other times it was some kind of natural phenomenon. Like a large fissure in the earth. Or a mysterious cave in the desert.

  When I find out who’s responsible I want to hurt them, Damian said quietly. Howard asked him if he really meant that. Damian nodded—Yup.

  You think there’s someone responsible for The Hum? Howard asked.

  Of course. Not one person, but a group.

  And you want to hurt them?

  Howard, I’m a military man. I find and remove the enemy, that’s my training.

  This is not your enemy.

  It’s just my nature.

  Howard turned to me—And The Hum, you want to destroy it too?

  Isn’t that why we’re here? Seema asked.

  Of course I do, I replied, meeting Howard’s gaze. I didn’t see how he could be asking me this, after everything that Leslie, and Emily, and I had said.

  Why?

  Because it’s ruining my life.

  Is it really, though?

  Haven’t you been listening?

  Or is it the people, the way people are reacting to your hearing The Hum that’s ruining your life? he asked.

  No, trust me, it’s The Hum and it’s fucking up my life and I want to stop hearing it as soon as possible, I told him, punctuating the end of my sentence in the air, with my thumb and index finger together.

  But you can’t, that’s the thing, Claire. Once you hear it, you can never stop hearing it.

  I shook my head and told him I didn’t accept that.

  I’m afraid you’re going to have to, he said.

  Well I won’t.

  But you can learn to live with it. And not only live with it but come to see it as something that augments your life.

  Augments! Seema scoffed.

  I’m not trying to upset you, he said. I’m trying to give you the facts you need to help yourself.

  I told him that it needed to stop.

  Well … it won’t.

  It will, it has to.

  Claire—

  I need it to.

  And how do headaches and nosebleeds augment my life exactly? Seema asked.

  The Hum is incredibly powerful. And it can do extraordinary things, if you let it. But if you fight it, it will hurt you.

  Right, Seema replied, obviously unconvinced. She shot me a look of vexed complicity.

  You need to transform your relationship with it, Howard said.

  What does that even mean? I asked.

  Well that’s what we’re here to discover, he replied.

  That’s not why I’m here, Tom said.

  Seema chuckled—Yeah, sorry, me neither.

  Tom rose from his perch on the sofa beside Seema, and clapped his hands—Right, well, I think I should go. I’m obviously here under the wrong pretext.

  Emily told him to sit down, and Lesley seemed to want him to stay too, for some reason, but he wasn’t having it.

  I sure the hell didn’t come here to be lectured to, or sit in a circle trying to make ourselves feel better, Tom said. Or ‘transform’ my goddamn relationship with something.

  Just sit down, Emily said, exasperated.

  If he wants to go, just let him, Jo said, gesturing towards the front door.

  Tom looked at Howard—I came here today to get to the bottom of this.

  And that’s exactly what we’re trying to do, Howard replied. We’re trying to access the truth of this.

  And you’ve done nothing but assume you have it, Seema countered. You’re not willing to entertain that this might be something else, and it feels like there’s no space in this room for anyone—

  We are, excuse me—Jo interjected—we are making space. That is exactly what we’re doing.

  No you’re not, not a genuine space for discussion.

  This is about you gathering a bunch of folks together and advancing your cause or whatever, Tom said. Well count me out.

  I don’t have a cause, Tom, Howard said, sounding suddenly exhausted.

  You have a very specific framework that you’re operating in, Seema replied, creating a little box with her hands in front of her.

  You want to know why I’m here? Tom asked. He picked up the piece of paper and brandished it. This to me, he said, this to me, looks like a neighbourhood association meeting or something. Am I the only person who thinks so? Because that’s what we actually need here.

  Just go, Jo said.

  Tom looked down at Emily—Come on.

  No.

  I’m not staying.

  Well I am, she said, folding her hands in her lap.

  Tom looked at her in disbelief—Why?

  Because I want to. I feel invested.

  Invested?

  You’re welcome to go, I’m not keeping you.

  Invested in what?

  In this conversation.

  This fucking Resonance stuff? he asked, gesturing towards Howard.

  Why are you being so aggressive? Emily asked.

  Tom looked dumbfounded—I can’t even believe you right now.

  Just—she gestured towards the door. Tom turned to Seema, hoping to find an ally in her, but frustrated as she was, she had no intention of leaving. He then looked over at me, but I didn’t meet his gaze. Howard’s words had gotten under my skin, and I was far from finished with working them out. I also couldn’t imagine leaving without Kyle. Tom scanned the circle one last time, giving us a little sardonic wave, and walked out of the house, closing the door behind him with a bang. Emily looked around the circle and apologized to everyone, in the quiet that followed.

  No, I’m sorry, Howard said. Really.

  For what? Leslie asked. You didn’t do—

  No, I came on too strong, he said. This is brand new for all of you, and I’ve had decades to process this. I got too excited and just jumped right in, I’m sorry. I think that kind of spooked Tom. It’s just that I’ve been wanting to do this for so long, I can’t even tell you. And there are such exciting breakthroughs and discoveries that lie ahead of us.

  Just then, to everyone’s surprise, Tom walked back through the front door, and into the living room. Emily sighed—Let me guess, you forgot your glasses.

  Tom gestured towards the bay window—There’s a man sitting in a white car in the driveway.

  A look of confusion passed over Jo’s face—What?

  Who is he? Leslie asked Tom.

  I have no idea, but he looks agitated.

  My phone began to buzz, and my heart sank. Oh my god, I whispered. I got up and, as if in a kind of trance, I crossed the room to the window. Paul’s car was parked in the driveway, and he was standing beside the open driver’s-side door, with his phone to his ear. I tried to catch my breath. Jo asked me if it was my husband. I heard Tom mutter Christ. Jo appeared at the window beside me, and I told her that I didn’t know what to do. She put her arm around my shoulders. I felt like I was going to collapse.

  How does he know? Kyle asked, somewhere in the background.

  I turned away from the window and Jo led me back towards the sofa, trying to calm me.

  He’s walking to the house, Seema said, looking out the window.

  The phone was still buzzing in my hand. How was this happening? My mind raced back. Where did I slip up? Did I leave some kind of clue? My phone hadn’t left my side in days. I told Ashley about the meeting ages ago, the night of Kyle’s phone call, but how did she know the date, the address? Had I said those things aloud? I couldn’t remember now. Jesus Christ. How could she have possibly remembered? We hadn’t even spoken about it since that night. Was she just waiting to test me; to
see if I would go? Did she even have a game today? I felt myself spinning out, and my knees gave way, and I was down on the sofa.

  Do you want us to deal with him? Tom offered, crouching down beside me. Our eyes met, and I felt a moment of gratitude for him. I told him I didn’t know what to do.

  He’s not coming in here, Jo said, as if casting a protective force field around the house.

  Not if you don’t want him to, Howard said, looking at me.

  I’m—I began to say, but what was I? Scared? Humiliated? An idiot? The phone was still buzzing and buzzing, and I couldn’t take it, so I answered the call. Paul? Are you—? But before I could get the words out, there was a pounding on the front door, followed by several rapid doorbell rings.

  Everyone stay where you are, Howard ordered, now standing.

  Is he going to try to hurt you? Leslie asked, wedging herself down beside me, and putting her hand on my thigh.

  No, no, I told her, but that made me no less afraid of his anger and intensity. Paul was my gentle giant until he wasn’t, until he was just a giant, shouting me down.

  It’s okay, love, Emily said, we’re here for you.

  Do you want me to answer it? Tom asked Howard, but Howard held up his hand, and shook his head. Howard steeled himself, walked over to the front door, and opened it. From where I sat, I could just glimpse his back in the doorway, at the far end of the hall.

  Can I help you? Howard asked.

  Yes, you can. Paul’s voice came low and steady from the other side of the door, just beyond sight. My wife’s inside and I need to speak with her.

  And who are you, sorry?

  Paul Devon, my wife’s name is Claire. May I?

  I watched as Howard blocked him from entering—No, you may not.

  I’d like to see her please.

  Well I’m afraid she’s indisposed at the moment.

  I glanced at Kyle, and he looked back at me from across the room with an almost unsettling calm. He didn’t seem afraid or upset, just resigned, as if he had half expected this would happen. Had I as well? Maybe we had both known, deep down, that we would be caught, that it was inevitable, but we chose to come anyway. What other choice did we have?

  I’m not leaving without my wife, I heard Paul say.

  Yes, you are, Howard replied.

  Excuse me?

  I’m asking you politely to leave my—

  And who the hell are you? Paul interrupted.

  I’m the home owner.

  What’s your name, home owner? Howard didn’t answer. I said what’s—?

  Dr. Howard Bard.

  Are you keeping me from my wife?

  Your wife doesn’t want to see you.

  Oh yeah? Is that your professional medical opinion?

  I suggest you leave right now before I—

  Before you what? Before you what? Get out of my fucking—

  Paul threw his weight into Howard, causing Howard to stumble back, and for a split second I saw Paul coming through the doorway, but Howard grabbed hold of his arms and forced him back outside, which I have to say was extremely impressive given Paul’s size. I could hear them scuffling on the front step, and I closed my eyes. I knew I could have put an end to all of it, but I felt completely overwhelmed. In the past I would have met Paul’s fury with my own, but I was already spent. I felt totally frayed. Exhausted. I couldn’t even muster the strength to be afraid, or angry. I heard Paul threatening—I’m going to sue you so fucking bad.

  You go right ahead, and I’ll—

  Claire!? Paul called out, his voice breaking. I know you can hear me!

  Go on, I told myself, get up, shout back, he’s trying to haul you off like some mule on a rope. The others surrounded Kyle and me, and I felt moved by their protectiveness. They barely knew me. I could have been a maniac for all they knew. Surely only maniacs prompted scenes like this. I heard Howard threatening to call the police.

  Is Kyle Francis in there? Paul asked Howard, out of breath.

  Who?

  Don’t play stupid, you know who I’m talking about.

  Then things fell quiet outside. What was going on? Had Paul stormed off? I was just about to stand up, when suddenly there was a loud bang on the bay window. Everyone startled and turned to see Paul with his palms against the glass, peering into the room.

  I can see you, Paul shouted, his voice muffled, I can fucking see you!

  Kyle jumped to his feet, yelling back—Come at me, you think I’m afraid of you old man?

  Howard suddenly appeared in the window and grabbed Paul’s shoulder, but Paul swung him around and slammed him up against the glass. Emily clasped her mouth, and Nora murmured a prayer in Spanish. Paul then disappeared from view and, anticipating his next move, Tom dashed to the front door to shut it—but he was too late, Paul burst into the house, through the front hall, and into the living room, everyone recoiling and gasping, and jumping to their feet. Paul’s brow was split, and bleeding. Kyle, for the first time, looked genuinely afraid and, instinctively, I stepped in front of him, sheltering him with my body.

  Let’s go, Paul said to me, panting.

  No.

  Jo told him to get out of her house.

  Claire—Paul began.

  Don’t, I said, with the force of a punch. Howard re-entered, limping slightly. It seemed he had maybe rolled his ankle. Jo ran over to tend to him.

  It’s okay, everyone, I announced. He’s going now.

  Is he? Paul said, taking a step towards me.

  Yes.

  If I walk out that door, and you’re not with me, that’s it, he said.

  That’s it? What did he mean, that was it? I was taken aback but was ready to call his bluff. I threw my arms up and shook my head.

  So that’s it? You’re choosing this over me? he asked, gesturing around as if at a fetid swamp.

  Are you making me?

  Me? You have made all of this.

  You’re forcing me to make that decision.

  Make it.

  I could feel the heat of Kyle’s body behind me, like a frightened rabbit that, through some strange conspiracy of fate, had fallen to me to look after.

  Yes, I said.

  Yes what?

  I swallowed—I’m choosing this.

  Paul gestured to Howard—This piece of shit?

  Just go.

  Paul glanced once more around the room, at each and every person there, as if committing their faces to memory. He then turned and looked at me as if he couldn’t quite work out who I was. As if I was some sort of changeling. I’m right here, Paul. I’m standing right in front of you. But he couldn’t see me. I saw his confusion. His lack of recognition. And I watched as he considered the entirety of our love, weighed it in the balance, and decided to go. I watched as he turned, and walked out, and I listened as the door closed behind him, not even a slam, but a quiet click of resignation. I listened to the scuff and clack of his shoes on the front walk, for that’s how quiet the room was. I listened to him open and close his car door, start the engine, pull out of the driveway, and disappear down the street.

  9

  PAUL DIDN’T MOVE OUT RIGHT AWAY. THE THREE OF US lived as strangers in the same house for another four excruciating months. I lost the hearing with the school board. I kept going to the meetings on Sequoia Crescent. They became all I had. They were the only times I had any actual conversations, as Paul and Ashley had all but shut me out, I suppose as a kind of punishment, or maybe as a way of protecting themselves. Looking back, I realize our dynamic had become a Catch-22—they wouldn’t talk to me as long as I kept going to the meetings, but I had no one if I didn’t go to the meetings, no contact, no affection, no communication. Paul and I had tried never to go to bed angry with one another in all of our years of marriage, and so for us to now be living in a perpetual war zone of passive aggression felt like uncharted territory. We communicated through empty milk cartons left on the countertop, or by the intensity with which a drawer was shut. Even the sound of Pau
l urinating in the bathroom down the hall could feel like a rebuke aimed at me.

  Initially I went to the meetings once a week, on Monday evenings, and then twice a week, on Mondays and Thursdays, and then eventually we began meeting on Saturday afternoons as well. The meetings grew into a potluck scenario where we would each bring a dish, which gave me a reason to cook as Paul and Ashley had started fending for themselves at dinner. People put a lot of effort into their contributions. Nora pulled off some serious sorcery with her chiles rellenos, which were basically peppers stuffed with meat, vegetables, and spices, and then fried in egg batter. She also made this dessert called rellenitos, a kind of Guatemalan doughnut which consisted of cooked plantains with refried beans, sugar, and cinnamon. It was so delicious I literally swore under my breath the first time I bit into one. I have to say, to look at him I might have assumed Damian would have been a bag of chips and salsa kind of man, but he brought trays of glazed ribs and barbecued chicken. Leslie and Jo held down the vegan camp with eggplant lasagne and lentil chili. Emily wasn’t a cook, but she bought nice pies and banana loaves, and I tended to bring salads and side dishes, which weren’t flashy, but there were never any leftovers.

  Paul exiled me back to The Gym. I was still managing only about three hours of sleep a night and was probably becoming increasingly erratic, though at the time I felt I was slowly getting stronger and clearer in my thinking. I stopped seeing Dr. Gompf and refused any other kind of medical or psychiatric intervention, mostly at the urging of Howard and the group, who helped me see that my medicalization was for the benefit of those around me, to help contain and mute me, rather than my own. They helped me see that dulling or numbing my perceptive capacity was a kind of violence; a self-inflicted wound. Rather, I started to ask—how could I transform my relationship to my own sensitivity of perception? How could I transform my relationship with the sounds I was hearing? To The Hum? If this was a natural phenomenon, how could I learn to live with nature, as opposed to in opposition to it?

  It’s important for me to assert my agency in all of this. I was not brainwashed. I was not coerced. Of course, the more that I insist that I was not brainwashed, the more it is used as evidence against me now that I was. But I do not see myself as a victim or a dupe, and I never once felt like one at the time. I chose to engage and believe and participate in these meetings and the conversations that occurred therein. There was a genuine climate of care, compassion, and intellectual inquiry at work in Howard and Jo’s home. I felt trusted and heard. I think all of that has been lost in the reporting of the events that followed. This, in no way, is meant to dismiss the serious allegations that have since emerged about Howard, and which are before the courts at the time of my writing this. But speaking from my lived experience alone, the house on Sequoia Crescent felt like a refuge for a group of well-meaning, hard-working, and exhausted people who were just doing their best to get to the bottom of their own suffering.