“A Cacophony of Silence”

My eyes slowly opened to the soft pitter patter of rain against the roof and windows. The aches in my back were beginning to throb again. I also could feel a nick in my neck and a discomfort in my right shoulder, probably from my awkward slumber in the chair. The television hummed with white noise in the background; the cable had been turned off days ago, but I kept the television on for the subtle sounds that emanated from it so I didn’t have to sit in complete silence. I turned my aching neck slightly and felt for my phone on the nightstand, then retrieved it and peered at it through one squinted eye. Wow, I had slept for about 12 hours. I tried to think back over the night: no real nightmares that I can remember. I still felt groggy with low levels of energy, but I was able to get some sleep for the first time in weeks. My eyes drifted to my notifications. I had about five missing phone calls, four from bill collectors and one from Mom. Nobody else called me but Mom and bill collectors. Nobody else cared about my existence.

I pressed the button for Mom’s voicemail, recorded four hours ago, sighed, and stretched while I listened to her message: “Hey Seth. I know it’s early, but I’m just checking on you. Haven’t heard from you in two days. I know you’re having an incredibly hard time right now, but hang in there. Everything will work out. It always does...and just offering a chance for you to come home again. Also, I’m making sure you know about the bad weather we have today, so be safe. I will check on you again later. Okay, bye.”

I slowly curled out my lanky legs, slithered from the sofa, and sleepily peeped out the window at the darkened clouds and steady stream of rain.

I then attempted to open the door to my bedroom, which was initially met with a bit of resistance as the floor was filled with books, various papers, and household items in disarray strewn next to the door and other random places. I leaned against the door, opened it, then stepped over all of the items to move to my restroom, preparing for my morning ritual of bathroom break, teeth brushing, and morning bath.  I wanted to at least keep myself clean. Especially today. Prior to reaching my bathroom, I eyed my new medicine bottle, retrieved it, and popped in my morning pill. I melted the bitter white pill in my mouth a bit before attempting to swallow while I eyed the amount of meds I had left. It was still a full bottle as I just started taking them two days ago, maybe had about twenty or twenty five pills left. I contemplated the tastes in my mouth; there was a distinct, though subtle, copper taste to the bitter blend. I put the bottle back down and started my routine so I could go out and face the day. I relaxed slightly as I thought about last night again. No nightmares.

I walked the three blocks to the bus stop and waited with my left hand clutching my black umbrella, and my right hand cradling my phone, scrolling with my right thumb. I checked my bank account again to make sure I had enough money for the trips today. $14.84. That should be just enough. I leaned against the interior plastic wall of the bus stop and peered around. The road was very empty. I hardly observed any cars pass by; in fact, I haven’t seen any, and this was a major road for our little town. Nobody else was out, but I guess everyone was tucked away inside their cozy homes. No people, no animals, no anything. Just the soft, steady drizzles of rain.

My phone began to vibrate again. Bill Collector. I ignored it. Instead, I listened to a few of my other messages that had come through in the past two days.

No new people. Delete.

“Hey Seth, just calling because the rent was due last week, and I still have not heard from you. Not only do you now have the 70 dollar late fee, but If I don’t hear from you by the end of the week, then I gotta go ahead and take the warrant. I can’t have-” Delete. Don’t need extra negativity.

With that same energy, I immediately deleted the voicemail that I recognized as coming from a credit card company.

“Hey Seth,” a voicemail from Mom from the previous day began that I missed, “just checking to see if any of the job interviews were going well. If not, then we may need to see what we need to do to retrieve you from that city and have you come back and stay home. I know you want to be independent, but,” Nope. Delete.

“Seth,” another voicemail from Mom began, “I know I called you earlier, but I think it would be a really good idea for you to just pack and come home and rest a bit. Maybe, that will help with your memory, too. Just take some of that pressure off of you to find something else so soon and-” Delete. I’ll make sure to return her call today and check in, though.

Another voicemail was from my psychiatrist.

“Hey Seth, this is Dr. Gilford. I was just checking on how you felt with-” he paused, “with the new meds.” He stopped for a moment, then continued on. His voice sounded a bit shaky, “ I also wanted to let you know about, um, some support groups since you advised that your insurance was ending...they could really be help-”

No new people. Delete.

By then, the bus creaked up and halted at the bus stop with a loud heave, then a piercing hiss as the driver opened the door.

“Hey, how are ya?” he muttered, looking over his shoulder at me. “Good,” I responded back just as half-heartedly. Not really a small talk person, but we seemingly have to do a bit of such in society to not come off as rude. “And you?” I continued the pleasantries as I dropped my coins inside the coin machine. 

“Not bad, not bad,” he murmured as his gaze already turned back to the road. His gaze was there, but there seemed to be some stiffness in his movements.

I finished bundling up my umbrella and walked to my seat with long strides while holding onto the poles so I didn’t fall when he started moving the bus again. I plopped down in the very back though I had my pick of any seat. There was nobody else on the bus.

As I looked out the window, I decided to go ahead and call Mom back. She picked up on the second ring. “Seth?”

“Hey, just returning your call,” I stretched out my legs.

“Well, how are you feeling?!”

“I’m okay,” I started and thought about last night, “The meds are helping. I was able to sleep last night. No nightmares.” 

“Oh okay, that’s good!” She sounded more cheerful. I looked up and met eyes with the bus driver, who was studying me through his rearview mirror. I narrowed my eyes, then looked back out the window. “What are you doing now?”

I flicked back to the email that I received two nights ago. “About to go for an interview.” The email came shortly after my visit to Dr. Gilford, after picking up the new pills.

“Oh okay, where is it?”

“On the other side of town.” 27 Prairie Place. I wasn’t familiar with that area. I had Mapquested the directions, and it didn’t come up on Mapquest, either.

“Oh. How are you getting there? You wrecked your car.”

I sighed. “I caught the bus, then I’m going by subway the rest of the way.”

“Hmmm,” Mom pondered. “And what kind of job?”

“A computer help desk gig,” I paused, “They reached out to me, so that’s a good sign. Said they found my resume online at one of the virtual job events.” The clouds were looking extra dark and thick today. And, we were coming up to traffic lights alone. Seemed a bit odd for a Monday afternoon. No holidays. Where was everybody?

“Sounds good,” she started more quietly, “but, just in case it doesn’t work out, do you have a Plan B ready?”

My nose scrunched up. “Yes ma’am, of course.” I did not. But, my attention diverted when I finally saw one white car off to the side of the road. The driver, a short Black guy with a fitted cap, red shirt, and blue jeans, was leaning on the hood, looking up at the bus.

The guy looked directly at me as the bus passed by. With his hands folded in front of him and such an intense, direct stare, it almost seemed like he had been waiting for the bus to pass by. The rain had slowed down considerably, but there was still a steady stream of fat droplets that fell onto him and soaked his cap and clothes, to which he didn’t have any sort of physical reaction to as he stared. Then, he smiled strangely, showing his teeth, in a way that was supposed to appear friendly, but was very unnatural. I looked away.

“Well,” Mom started again, “I’m glad to hear a bit of good news. Hopefully, everything goes well with the interview, but if it doesn’t...”

“It will, Mom. Alright, I will call you later tonight, bye.” I tried to hurry up and conclude the call.

“Okay then, bye,” she finished, and we hung up. I was happy to have her, but I also wanted to keep my independence. I wasn’t moving back. Not after everything that has happened.

The bus shortly arrived at the subway station, and I scampered off. I muttered a goodbye greeting as I passed the driver, to which the bus driver responded nonchalantly to, but the apathetic response was in contradiction to the way I felt like his eyes burned into my back. I glanced back around before entering the station, but he was drinking a bottle of water and seemingly in his own world.

Trauma can change your perspective of reality, I remembered Dr. Gilford’s words.

I took out a piece of paper from the back pocket of my brown slacks and whispered the directions to myself again. They later sent me a link on how to get to their establishment. I needed the subway going to Richland Park. I had made sure to jot down the directions manually because phones often failed to have signal on the subway.

After paying my fee, I ventured down the stairs and felt my chest tighten. There were a couple of people standing around, but my body was telling me something was off. I looked around for the source of the tension. There was one tall, slender white guy in a business suit peering down at a newspaper. A middle-aged, regal-looking  Black woman in a beautiful, flowy fuchsia dress and silver sandals sat on the bench while reading a book. And, close to the edge, near one of the poles, was a younger, muscular Asian guy, probably early 20s, with a blue bookbag on his back. He was bobbing his head and mouthing along to whatever was playing in his earbuds while his hands were in pockets.

I peered around to see if any other people were coming through or in any other pockets of the subway station, but I didn’t see anything that seemed suspicious. Still, my ears were buzzing now.

I kept my back against the wall and stayed near the stairwell. I didn’t have to consider my plan for how I would need to escape if need be for long because the loud whistle from the incoming subway train was heard from a distance, then became louder as it neared the platform, screeching loudly as it zipped and halted into full view.

A handful of people exited the train. Normal looking people. The three other people then entered. I looked around again prior to choosing a subway car that nobody else was on. Nothing seemed unusual on the platform. The prior passengers were either walking back up the stairs, checking the signals on their phones, or busy talking to their companions. The other three seemed to be going about their business as well. The man in the business suit and the woman in the flowy dress sat in the same subway car together, and the younger guy entered onto another subway car on the right side of them, while I entered the empty car on their left side.

I looked around the dimly-lit train. I peered at the other car on the other side of me, and I didn’t see anyone else. My phone then hummed with a notification. Oh, good, I still had a signal. It was a text: Hey Mr. Brown, it’s Daniel from The Byte Center. Just confirming that you’re still available for the 1:30 pm interview?

I clicked on the space at the bottom of the text message and started strumming out the words with my thumbs on the phone’s keyboard. Hey, and yes, I am en route as we speak. I look forward to meeting you.

Thank you. See you soon.

A pleasant feeling rose within me for the first time in what felt like a long time.

I began to scroll on my social media page. There were ads, some online friends were talking about their jobs. Relationships. Sharing memes. Wild hypothetical situations. The usual.

Terescian. My thumb stopped. That was the name of my new mood stabilizer. It was a video advertisement for Terescian with a handsome, brown-skinned, tall man with wavy brown hair laughing and talking with two of his friends. In a voiceover, he talked about how his depression had made him feel more groggy and heavy, but with Terescian, he felt much lighter and more hopeful. Later, a scene cut to him walking in a beautiful, lush green space with more friends of his, and he looked so peaceful. So free.

There were a few comments. I love this medicine.

It has helped so much.

Just started taking it, and I feel so much better.

Could be genuine people, or they could be social media bots, I wasn’t sure.

But, one comment was definitely not a bot. Don’t take this pill. It’s not right, one user said. Brandon Johnson was the name of the user, and he had commented five days ago. I clicked on his profile and visited his page.

I viewed his profile picture a bit more. He was dark brown-skinned man, late 30s maybe, with piercing dark brown eyes, deep dimples, and neck-length hair braided to his scalp.

I then scrolled down to the content of his page and stopped. There were several messages from others.

I am so sorry.

My condolences to Brandon and his family.

What?!! I just saw him a few days ago?!!

Fly high, Brandon.

May you rest in peace, Big Bran.

The subway flowed silently through the dark tunnels as we made our way to our destination. I looked around me again. The car was still empty. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

I went back to looking at Brandon’s page. There was an announcement about his death about three days ago. I tried to go back to the Terescian ad, but it was gone. I scrolled up and down my feed. The feed must have refreshed.

I then went back to The Byte Center social media page. Despite not having heard of them before, they had 2.5 thousand followers and 4700 likes. As I scrolled through the page, it seemed pretty average. There were pictures of computers, tips for protecting one’s self online, tips on how to fix common technical problems, and a picture of outside the establishment. It was a small, brick building with a large black sign with colorful writing on top.

This was my second time going to the page, as I checked it out after I initially received the email. There was one picture of an employee. He was solidly built with muscle definition that peeked through his white shirt, with blonde hair and green eyes, smiling at the camera, and the caption stated that his name was Daniel, the owner, and announced that the café was hiring. There were no comments on the post. Despite the followers and likes, I actually did not see any comments on any of the posts. I came back to the post, as he was the only actual person I saw posted on the page. He seemed to be smiling through the camera, not just at the camera. And the smile did not quite reach his eyes. It was a toothy grin, much like the lone driver’s that I saw while on the bus. It also seemed like he could actually see me. It was odd, and again, my body tensed up.

I clicked off the page and was about to resume scrolling again. One person I knew, Angela Watson, had posted a new profile picture. She, too, was in a white top, and peered at the camera with that same smile that Daniel had. Seemingly looking directly at me.

My eyes widened, but I scrolled past. It was another new profile picture. Timothy Wright. In a white shirt with the same toothy smile. Same expression.

My throat tightened as I slowly scrolled through about ten new profile pictures of online friends that I knew of. All in white shirts and blouses. All looking at the camera, through the camera at me, with that same smile that bared their teeth plastered across their faces that did not quite meet their eyes.

I exited off the app and heaved with deep gulps. Was it a hallucination? Did I have hallucinations now? I looked around frantically to see if anything in my environment was abnormal, but everything still looked fine. I then shakily went back to my social media page, holding my breath for what I might find.

More memes. More posts about jobs, relationships, shows, hypothetical situations. I went to Angela Watson’s page, and her profile was one of her sitting on a beach in oversized sunglasses while blowing kisses at the camera. Timothy’s profile picture was of the back of him as he raised his hands in the sky, perched on top of a beautiful mountain. Serenity subtly filled me as I viewed their pages.

I jerked sideways. The train was stopping. I looked up and realized that we had reached another platform. The Richland Park platform that I needed. Once the train came to a full halt, I slipped my phone back in my side pocket, pulled myself up, and waited for the doors to open. I took a glance at the other car before I exited; that’s when I noticed the others all standing with the faces pressed to the glass, staring at me. The businessman, the regal woman, and the young guy with his earbuds were all crowded around the glass on the other side, attention directed at me, with wide toothy smiles.

As soon as the door opened, I bolted outside in a maximum sprint. I didn’t look back, and I did not stop. I ran up the steps two and three at a time until I came from out of the subway station. When I was back on the sidewalk pavement, in the view of some cars riding the roads and a few other pedestrians, I paused, looked behind me, and stooped over while I caught my breath.

The other riders hadn’t exited yet. Still panting, I changed to a brisk walking pace as I hurried along. The Byte Center was supposed to be about two blocks away, but my attention was now focused on these disturbing visuals I was now having. I retrieved my phone and called Dr. Richland’s office. On the third ring, a chipper, high-pitched voice answered, “Dr Richland’s office, Tammy speaking. How may I help you?”

Initially, my voice emitted as a squeak. I cleared my throat and steadied my voice for a deeper, more confident tone. “Hi, may I speak to Mr. Richland, please? It’s Seth.”

“I’m sorry, Seth, Dr. Richland is away now. He just took some more time off to be with his family.”

His family? My eyebrows furrowed. He only had a teenage daughter, and she had been killed by a drunk driver two months ago.

I must have been quiet for a while. “Anything else I can help you with, Seth? Do you want me to take a message?”

I shook my head. “No ma’am, but thank you for the heads up. You take care,” I advised before hanging up.

Every hair on my body was standing erect at this point, and I stopped and looked around. The small amount of cars and the few pedestrians that I had seen walking were gone.

I called Mom again, and again, she answered on the second ring. But, when she picked up, all I heard at first was heavy breathing. “Mom,” I started.

“Yes, Seth.” she responded quietly and measuredly.

I sighed. “I don’t feel well. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go to this interview.”

A pause before her response, “Why not?”

“Things just feel slightly off. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should just....”

“Come home?” Mom answered, but every muscle in my body froze. Because it sounded like three different voices simultaneously had answered. Her voice, a deeper masculine voice, and an...inhuman voice.

The phone then went dead. No, something was very wrong.

I turned around, no longer caring about the interview. I was heading back to my apartment. I was going to figure everything out. Why I was now having both visual and audio hallucinations. Why everything was feeling so...off.

But, my knees buckled as I attempted to turn around and rush back, and I had to lean against the traffic light pole at the street intersection while forcing myself to breathe. Every building within my eyesight was The Byte Center like I saw on their page. Every building was a small, brick building with the black sign with the colorful letters. And, in front of me, was Daniel.

He was tall with flawless skin and an almost inhuman glow. “You could go home,” he started, “return to your life as is. No job,” he walked slowly toward me with his hands behind his pockets while peering at the ground. “No money. No friends.....” he stopped, “...No mom.”

No mom. As soon as he said those last two words, my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. Dad.

The phone quivered from my shaky fingers as I put the phone to my ear. The memories were already slowly starting to swirl back into my head before he spoke. “Seth, where have you been?” He growled. “It’s not enough that you didn’t even come down for your Mom’s funeral. We’ve been trying our best to reach out to you. The least you can do-”

My hand with the cell phone fell limply at my side with Dad still talking, but I couldn’t make out any more words. Mom was dead. I was beginning to remember it all. Flashes of memories began to whirl around me.

“Hmm, lemme help you,” Daniel murmured while flicking his hand. The flashbacks began to materialize all around me in the physical realm. Visions of Mom in the hospital bed, looking gaunt and disheveled. Me becoming more and more irritated and getting angry with family. Friends, Arguing with Angela Watson, my now ex-girlfriend. Refusing multiple calls and visits from Timothy, my now ex-best friend.

Ex. I then looked back at my social media page and looked for their names with no results. I went to the inbox,and saw how I was blocked.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Angela had messaged before blocking me. “You are just too much, and I can’t deal with this.”

“How are you doing this? What do you want?”

Daniel shrugged. “I just wanna help you. By helping you,” he pointed to me while circling me slowly, then pointed back at himself, “I help myself. Keep taking the pills, and they alter everything. The longer you take them, the more things will change for you and some...kinks will be ironed out,” he snapped his fingers, and all of the images circling around dissipated, “ for the better. With more pills, you can continue to have your Mom. You can have your friends back. Everything can be restored.”

I was still so confused. “Why the pills?”

“The pills have some of my blood,” he answered matter of factly. “They connect me to you. You get what you want, and I-” he smiled. It was the most genuine smile he gave me yet, “I get to feed.”

I dug in my pocket for where the little baggie that I had of the pill. I kept looking at it and turning it over in my hand, remembering the bitter, copper taste.

“Feed off what?”

He gestured around him. “All of this,” he answered more briskly, as if not wanting to go into details.

I sighed and heaved with ragged breaths. Thinking of Mom. Of all of the people in my life who were no longer in my life. Of how reckless I had become. How angry I was...how utterly alone I felt.

“Your first bottle is on the house,” Daniel cut through my thoughts. And, I already knew what he meant. Dr. Richland. To get more, I have to find others.

I then thought about Brandon. “And, if I decide that I don’t want to take anymore?” I whispered. “What happens then?”

Just then, a short-statured man in basketball shorts and a gray sleeveless jersey walked by with his Golden retriever on the other side of the street. When I turned to look at them, they both met my gaze simultaneously. Both of them stopped, frozen in place, and then they flashed me a wide-mouth grin that didn’t reach their eyes.

Daniel was already walking off. “Why in the world would you wanna do that?” he called out from over his shoulder.

I opened my palm and stared at the white pill that I had brought with me for several moments. Then, I popped it into my mouth.

Why indeed.