Foreseen But Not Heard

Occult detective fiction by Richard Mandrachio

Lorelei

What terrifies me most are the quiet, inner noises produced by my own body: the ta-da-doom of my heartbeat which echoes throughout my chest; the raspy wisp of breath intake and the deeper resonance of my exhalation; the bubbly rumblings of my lower digestive tract which accompany bloated discomfort. My personal biology, and the fragmented inner workings of my own system, can frighten me more than anything from the outside world. So when it's actually quiet, I'm not so much surrounded by the absence of sound as I am the sound of absence— an incomprehensible weight on my eardrums.

I'm sonophobic, you see. I wear earplugs even when I'm home alone. My doctor informed me that my condition is rare— a symptom of hyperacusis, meaning I have a reduced tolerance and increased sensitivity to the everyday sounds of my environment. Like others who suffer from my phobia, I find myself living in a world of over-amplified volume. As an escape, I occasionally put in my earplugs and go out on my fire escape on clear nights. I find it soothing to stare at the stars, or at least the ones visible though the urban light pollution. On foggy nights, I just revert to TiVo which provides an adequate distraction, an emollient for my aural wounds.

There is a knock at my door. “It's Raoul,” says a voice. Goddess help me. It's my next-door neighbor who resides in Apartment 7. He wants to know the results of my findings. I'm sure of it because he otherwise tries his best to avoid me. Less than a week ago he asked me to research his horoscope, so I put my amateur astrology skills to work for him. I open the door just a crack, but it's enough to take in his wiry physique and mass of dark, curly hair. I look straight into Raoul's impish green eyes and tell him what I've divined for the days ahead.

Raoul

Lorelei, in Apartment 6, peers at me through a narrow opening in her doorway. She tells me the stars don't look very promising for me. “You need to be extremely cautious in regard to the fat, the lean, the unforeseen.” As I turn to reenter my apartment, Lorelei repeats the phrase like a mantra: “The fat, the lean, the unforeseen.” Then she closes her door and I can hear the sound of a chain lock sliding into place.

I know that astrologers, both amateur and pro, have a tendency to give cryptic advice, but the wording of her warning is no clearer than the contents of any fortune cookie and has me scratching my head big time. I also realize that Lorelei has a fondness for repetition—plus a host of other eccentric habits. Consequently, she will repeatedly ask her neighbors to “turn down the bass” whenever she hears music emanating from their apartments, even when there's no bass boost being used. Is she delusional or merely obsessive? Regardless, it must be her passive/aggressive way of announcing she's not in the mood to hear anything at any volume at that specific moment. I suppose she's upset just knowing that music is playing, though I don't understand how she can actually hear it due to her earplugs. Along with Lesbian Haircut #29, they seem to be a permanent fixture of her formless ample frame.

There are some nights when I go to pull down the shades on my bedroom window and I see Lorelei out on her fire escape, staring up at the night sky, which she seems to do compulsively as though hoping to witness their fall from the firmament. Could it be that she reads them like Tarot cards? Do those stars fail her expectations when she unleashes silence-shattering screams, primal therapy her analyst advised? Which is something I don't get at all if she's volume-sensitive in the first place. The sudden off-hour onset of the aforementioned screams keep me and the other neighbors from sleep and on high alert, should she graduate to a suicide attempt, as she's done before.

Anyhow, she dispenses horoscope advice to me—and one or two other neighbors with whom I've spoken—free of charge. No doubt, this is meant to compensate for her episodes of primal scream therapy because she sells her astrological services to strangers otherwise. I know this because I sometimes see them leaving her apartment with star charts in hand. What I've heard from Jackie, the tenant in Apartment 5, is that Lorelei makes this extra money under the table to supplement her disability checks. Jackie also says Lorelei's predictions are accurate to an uncanny degree. It could be Lorelei believes that by not charging the co-inhabitants of our building, it might compensate for her therapeutically ghastly intrusions on their golden silence. Well, can't accuse her of being insensitive.

Lorelei

I get this itchy feeling about what I told Raoul. I can't take the time to do his chart like I do for my paying customers but maybe I should have, just to give him a visual reference for what I see because I'm not sure he takes me seriously, and my intuition tells me he should. So whenever I run into him—in the hallway, at our mailboxes, in the laundry room—I give him that extra nudge by repeating my warning: “The fat, the lean, the unforeseen.” And, Goddess willing, it may just sink in. He's been a good neighbor, after all.

About my third attempt at this, I'm about to pass him in the second-floor hallway, but he must have gotten fed up by my resolve because he confronts me mid-stride and says, “What are you trying to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I'm talking about, that warning you keep repeating. You trying to unnerve me or is it that you want something? I mean, no need to resort to scare tactics if you just want a favor in return for the horoscope.”

“No, it's nothing like that,” I say, “it's just that you shouldn't take the stars too lightly.” I continue on down the hall and into my apartment, but I can feel his eyes on my back.

Raoul

Lorelei leaves me standing in the middle of the hallway wondering just what in the hell her warning is all about. So I go downstairs to retrieve my mail and then back into my apartment. I go about my evening routine but for some reason can't erase Lorelei's mantra from my mind. It's like this ear worm or something. To intensify matters, she doesn't let up for the remainder of the week. Persistence, or just consistency?

One day, when I run into Lorelei out in front of our building, I say, “Hey, nice set of headphones.” If I can't avoid running into her, maybe I can distract her when I do. I expect her to repeat her warning on cue but instead she says, “Thanks, just received them from Amazon yesterday and I love 'em.” Then she goes on to educate me on their various attributes and why their noise-canceling function is such an asset, her reason for preferring headphones over ear buds. Better than fright tactics, I think, but not by much. I try to respond but, before I know it, Lorelei goes into an extended tirade about her upcoming surgery.

“So I'm scheduled next week for the removal of an ovarian cyst,” she says. When she grabs the bulge of her mid-section to demonstrate the cyst's location, I can't help but flash on “the fat, the lean, the unforeseen.” Could the mantra have something to do with her operation? Is this a ruse to get me to help her after surgery, the outcome of which is “unforeseen”?

Lorelei

About a week after my last encounter with Raoul—who seems to be sneaking around the building to avoid me—I have my friend Tess pick me up from the clinic after my surgery. My mind is as numb as my body from the painkillers they gave me but on the ride home, Tess—actually a heavyset man who identifies with the gay bear subculture—goes on about his candle-making hobby. I hear him rambling while I stare out the window at what looks like an impressionistic string of images, as though I'm watching an experimental film by Maya Deren. But then he mentions something about “fat” and I suddenly start to focus on his words, realizing that he's describing the process he uses. I'm compelled to ask if anything “lean” is involved but he won't let me get a word in edgewise and I'm too out of it to try. Besides, I wouldn't want him to take anything I say personally since he's going out of his way to do me this favor. Even in my altered state, however, it does make me think of Raoul and his recent horoscope. Perhaps the message I channeled for him was meant for me as well.

Speaking of whom, as Tess helps me out of the car and up my front steps, I swear I see Raoul peering out from the drapes in the lobby. But it could just be my mind playing tricks because once we're inside, there's no one around, and Tess struggles just to get me up the stairs to my second-floor apartment.

Raoul

So, I'm about to check for mail but can see Lorelei coming up the front steps outside, with the help of a heavyset but handsome friend, so I change my mind and run back upstairs to avoid her. I don't feel guilty because I already told her I'd run errands for anything she'd need while convalescing. Also, I'm sick and tired from searching my memory for anything alluding to fat or lean.

A few days later, just when I've almost forgotten about Lorelei's warning, I go to an outdoor restaurant with my friend Jack, an adamant carnivore, who keeps insisting his corned beef has too much fat and should be leaner. My usual tendency is to ignore Jack's comments and continue with my veggie option, a beet salad on this particular occasion. But by the third or so complaint, my ears perk up and my brain remembers “The fat, the lean, the unforeseen.” I snap from focusing on his meal and become aware of all the possible mishaps, tragedies, and negative outcomes of our current situation. Will the bulldog our luncheon neighbors brought with them suddenly attack the baby at another table? Will the 22 Fillmore bus jump the wire and come careening into the outdoor area of the restaurant? Do we need to eat slower to avoid choking? All the worst-case scenarios vie for attention on the Ouija board of my mind.

Normally, I'm not paranoid and I don't go around thinking the worst; however, I can no longer take a leisurely walk down the street or even around the corner to the local branch of the San Francisco Public Library without being at least a bit concerned over anything even remotely alluding to “the fat, the lean, the unforeseen.” Lorelei's words are becoming bats in my own belfry.

Lorelei

I've recovered enough from my procedure to be able to go shopping on my own, but before I leave my place I take out my earplugs. As I'm about to insert them I hear a gut-wrenching screech and then two bangs in a row. Yet another traffic accident on Geary Boulevard, or at least I assume it's on Geary because it's the closest route on which drivers can pick up most speed in this neighborhood. It won't prevent me from this food run, but I can't help feeling a major sense of dread. Has something like this come up in anyone's stars lately? I scour my brain but can't come up with anything relevant, yet I console myself in having enough of a conscience to be concerned. After all, it's quite possible that one of my clients could suffer some nasty fate that I'd forecast for them, however general that prediction was worded. Then again, they can't blame me for having actually triggered any action they might suffer by because I'm just a neutral party. If anything, they should thank me for the warning in the first place. If they make all the cosmic connections, that is. I put in my earplugs, get my bags and cart together and head off to Trader Joe's.

By the time I finish my food shopping I'm exhausted, so I'm glad I brought my wheeled cart. As I walk back, I see Raoul coming from the other direction and I have this compelling desire to ask if anything relevant to his recent horoscope has transpired, but he doesn't even stop to provide me with that chance. Maybe I can confront him later when he gets home and, Goddess willing, he'll confirm that nothing terrible has occurred. Then I can finally shake off this dread that doesn't seem to let go.

Raoul

On Saturday, I run into Lorelei on her way out of Trader Joe's. We exchange hellos but I don't stop or give her the opportunity to engage me in conversation; I'm just not in the mood for it. We continue in opposite directions but I hazard a look back and notice even though she seems to have fully convalesced, she's recently gained weight. At almost the same instant I see Lorelei looking at her wrist and recall her once saying that she relies on her Fitbit daily, for time, steps and…its fat vs lean graph! It's not that I ever felt that close with her but still can't help but wonder if her prediction could ultimately include herself without her even being aware of it. So I freeze as I watch her cross the street with her shopping cart. When nothing out of the ordinary happens, I start to breathe again.

A few days later, I'm reading the news online and notice something I normally don't pay attention to— an article about the world economy. The reason it pops out at me is because it makes me realize the global market is divided into fat and lean countries and it's normally viewed in this way by economists. Did I finally find the answer to Lorelei's riddle? Because what else can anyone come up with as unstable and “unforeseen” as the international economy? Consequently, I begin to pay a lot more attention to the economy by reading websites and listening to webcasts about the subject like never before. I'm sure that some entropic spiral of the world situation will bring trade to a grinding halt and everyone will starve to death. Or at least lose a lot of money on investments.

Lorelei

I don't hear Raoul leave his apartment for days, though I can't be certain because I often wear my earplugs indoors. Call it intuition but it's as though I can feel him when he's home. Today, however, I don't get that impression and swear I heard the lock on his door click earlier. I want to believe the horoscopes I do for my neighbors could only improve our relationships, but there are times when I get negative vibes from them after my services have been so freely given. Could it be they just get freaked out because of my accuracy? Or, maybe they get pissed because they feel it was a waste of time altogether. People really need to understand how these horoscopes are derived, and that I'm only the messenger. As for clarification of anything too cryptic for them to comprehend, this is always open to interpretation and can be as flexible as the state of universal flux. The question of fate versus chance? Depends on your cosmic standpoint, I suppose.

At any rate, I plan to leave in my earplugs for the rest of the day because I need to open for some fresh air, which allows traffic noises to filter into my apartment. And I've been on edge enough.

Raoul

It appears an entire episode of my life is at the point that my attention has narrowed to the smallest things. It's enough to challenge even the most stable personality. For instance, from my front window I spot an ambling couple who greatly vary in body weight. How can I not think of “the fat, the lean, the unforeseen?” Then, walking down the block I smell sizzling bacon fat as it wafts from the kitchen of Sweet Maple, a locally popular brunch place, which puts me on high alert as I stroll by the line of customers waiting to get in.

Farther up the street, an ambulance siren from Mount Zion fades off in the distance yet I continue to hold my ears. Am I becoming sonophobic like Lorelei? Maybe her so-called prediction is having some kind of unexpected side-effect and I'll be cringing at loud sounds for the rest of my life. Could this be “the unforeseen?” I'm about to cross Geary Boulevard at Divisadero but so many visual stimulants assault my senses at once—and surprisingly transform into sound. Everything I see is supplemented by its auditory source, down to the crack in the wall of the funeral parlor at the corner, which makes me cringe from the noise made when that crack first appeared.

I start to cross and feel an almost imperceptible kiss of wind. The kind that can separate, even for the only the briefest instant, a fragile human body from a wide mass of metal, accelerating rapidly.

END

Richard Mandrachio's paranormal thriller The Nexus and its sequel The Abraxas Stone were both published under a pseudonym by JMS Books LLC. His short fiction has appeared in webzines such as Aurora Wolf, Alien Skin, Lame Goat Press, and Novel Noctule. Richard lives and works in San Francisco, California.