Hummingbird

by Hummingbird (retail) (epub)

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  It took a few days for something to happen. Every night, Meredith would leave for work just after Christine went to bed and I would check and double-check the doors and windows, then sit on the couch and shut my eyes, straining to detach my mind from my body. When that failed, I tried a more passive approach, breathing slowly and deeply, surrendering to whatever mysterious forces might guide me. Finally, I paced the house, knocking myself about the head in an attempt to physically jar myself out of the present. By the time Meredith came home around dawn, I’d be lucky to have gotten any sleep. Propped at the kitchen table in front of a bright-eyed Christine, I’d jump at the slightest noise: a car door slamming outside, Christine’s spoon clanging against her tray.

  “God!” I’d snap, before making a conscious effort to modulate my voice. “Sweetie, could you please not do that?”

  A malicious gleam would come into Christine’s eye and she would bang her tray harder. If Meredith happened to be there, I would shut my eyes and breathe, but if we were alone, I’d shout at Christine, or snatch the spoon from her hand and throw it across the room—a scene that would end with her shrieking in my arms as I tried to console her. By the end of the week, Meredith had begun to look worried, as if she were doing something irresponsible by leaving us alone together, but she kept going to work, always with the same parting question: “Are you sure you’re okay? Felix—are you sure?”

  When she’d gone, I’d peer out the window through a gap in the curtains at a suspicious black car I’d been noticing across the street. In the event that they’d bugged the house, I’d mutter to the empty room, letting them know that I was onto them. One night, after checking all the doors and windows for the fifth time, I secured a long blade from the knife block in the kitchen. I carried the knife to the window and showed it to black car. Then I went into Christine’s room and tucked the weapon under my air mattress before going to sleep. On Meredith’s next day off, she told me that she was going to take Christine to visit a coworker.

  “You’d better not,” I said, anxiously watching her put on Christine’s shoes.

  “Why not?”

  “I think she’s sick. She was coughing all night.”

  “Really? She seems fine now. Do you feel okay, sweetheart?”

  Christine nodded.

  “Maybe I should come with you,” I suggested. The offer was so out of character that Meredith stared at me for a long moment.

  “No. I think you should stay here and get some rest.”

  She slid a pair of sunglasses onto Christine’s little nose and carried her out the door. If I’d had my own vehicle, I would have jumped in it and tailed them. Instead, I went into the backyard and collapsed on a patio chair. A warm breeze agitated the wind chimes. The hummingbird feeder swayed beside me on its hook. I shut my eyes and watched a truck slam into the passenger side of Meredith’s car, in the exact spot where Christine’s seat was fastened. I saw the wreckage smoke, then burst into flames, Christine shrieking in the smashed window. I opened my eyes. A hummingbird had dropped from a tree in the neighbour’s yard, flitting over to the feeder with quick, jerky movements. I didn’t move, mesmerized by the mossy green of its back, the flare of pink at its throat. Then a hard spasm went through me and I was in a bathtub ringed with grime, surrounded by teal blue tiles, a leaky showerhead dripping at my feet. I looked down the length of my body, from my flabby, grizzled torso to my gnarled toenails. My eyes travelled back up to my arms and lingered on the thick blue channels at my wrists, my penis floating limply between my legs. I had no clear sense of my own identity. My memories seemed to have been emptied from my head, like the contents of a bag shaken over a bed by an indifferent thief. All that remained was this useless old machine and an overwhelming sense of loss. Water dribbled from the showerhead. The house made the occasional ticking noise as it settled on its foundation. Without any forethought, I began to slide down into the filthy water, letting my ears go under first, then my mouth, my nose, and finally my eyes. I lay on my back at the bottom of the tub, counting in my head. At sixty seconds, my body wanted to surface. At two minutes, my lungs started to hurt. I clenched my fists and watched the shimmering ceiling through the water. A third minute passed and pressure filled my head. My belly spasmed, trying to rebreathe the air locked inside it. I’d stopped counting, forcing myself to stay under in spite of the pain. Then I inhaled.

  The instant I began to choke, my body forced me up out of the water and back onto the patio. The hummingbird was hovering just inches from my face. I shouted and lunged away from it. My chair toppled. My elbow slammed against the flagstones. The hummingbird retreated and swooped back over the fence. Breathing hard, clutching my arm, I staggered inside and saw Meredith’s purse and shoes sitting by the front door. She came out of Christine’s room with a finger to her lips.

  “You came back,” I said.

  “Shh,” she whispered. “I just got her down … What happened to your arm?”

  I looked down, seeing a deep gash on my elbow. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

  “You need to take care of that.”

  “Did you see that bird out there?”

  “What?”

  “On the patio. There was a—”

  “Hold on, I’ll get you a bandage.” Meredith disappeared into the bathroom. I looked out the window at the plastic chair, on its side on the patio. The hummingbird hadn’t come back. The utter hopelessness I’d felt in what had looked like Dad’s old bathtub must have involved Christine, but I still hadn’t the faintest idea what was going to happen to her. Needing to see her, I sneaked into the dim nursery and approached the crib on the balls of my feet. I reached down to stroke Christine’s hair and her eyes flicked open.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I whispered. Before I could say anything else, she started to scream. I tried to pick her up and she batted me away in terror.

  A second later, Meredith was at the door. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” I said, shouting over Christine. “She woke up like this.”

  “What were you doing in here?”

  “Nothing!”

  Christine was sitting up now, shrieking uncontrollably, as if she’d been doused with scalding water. “Baby—” I reached down and she scrambled back against the bars. But when Meredith came over, she allowed herself to be picked up and settled almost instantly.

  Meredith looked at me.

  “I didn’t do anything,” I said.

  She turned away, swaying and humming to Christine.

  “Mer …”

  The volume of humming increased.

  “I didn’t do anything!”

  “I never said you did,” she whispered. “Now can you please—”

  “You’re thinking it. I can see it in your face.”

  Christine started to cry again. “Go to the other room,” Meredith said, firmly.

  “I—”

  “Can’t you see you’re scaring her?”

  Christine was cowering and keening softly. I wanted to wrench her out of Meredith’s arms and shake her, to make her see how much I loved her, how everything I’d done from the moment she’d been born had been for her. I banged my way out of the nursery and marched downstairs to the spare room, where I kept my computer. I felt like throwing the laptop against the wall. Instead, I took a breath, sat down, and, for the first time in years, began to hunt for Jasmine—soothed by the ritual of combing through the endless lists of webcams. Nothing had changed since I’d been away. The coloured rooms hadn’t returned. Jasmine remained unfindable. I abandoned my search and googled hummingbird behaviour, still feeling the violent thrumming of wings in my head. From what I read, the birds were notoriously territorial and antisocial, only coming together for the purposes of mating. Although they were known to approach humans, I could find no instances of them actually harming anyone.

  I glanced up from the screen. Meredith was in the doorway, watching me.

  “Talk to me,” she said.
<
br />   I fidgeted in my chair. “I’m just tired.”

  “That was beyond tired.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “It took a while, but she’s settled.”

  The article I’d been reading showed two hummingbirds engaged in aerial combat. I closed the laptop and set it aside. “I’m sorry.”

  “You need to talk to Dr. Patel.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Felix—”

  “I can handle this,” I insisted. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

  “It’s a very big deal. This anger of yours … You’re not having any bad thoughts, are you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “And the delusions?”

  “None.”

  “You’ve been taking your medication.”

  “Of course.”

  “I really think—”

  “One more chance,” I said. “That’s all I’m asking. If I lose my temper again, I’ll go to Dr. Patel. I swear to God.”

  Meredith ran her hands through her hair, clearly overwhelmed. “You’ll have to move out of her room,” she said. “It’s not helpful.”

  “You mean you don’t trust me.”

  “Don’t start that again.”

  “I would never hurt Christine,” I said, growing emotional.

  Meredith sighed, looking as exhausted as I felt. “This is non-negotiable, Felix. She has to start sleeping on her own.”

  That night, I slept on the couch in the TV room, playing with the smartphone Meredith had brought home so we could keep in touch while she was at work. Beyond text messaging, I hadn’t thought I’d have much use for the device, but once I’d gotten used to the smaller screen, it was rarely out of my hand. I revisited all the old sites I’d haunted as a bachelor, watching women on webcams, not quite certain if what I was doing was wrong. By the fourth night, I’d mastered the app store and had downloaded an adult chat application, using the name Father Time Traveller (this time fairly sure I was doing something wrong). Within two minutes, a girl called Sad Jazz gave me a digital nudge.

  wanna chat?

  Her profile said she was twenty-eight years old with an athletic build, green eyes, and red hair. I quietly checked on Christine, before going back to the couch and typing, Sure. Where are you from?

  The house was dark, my smartphone glowing. Her response came a split second later: hollywood.

  My heart quickened at the word, the lowercase H. Really?

  yup. how about you?

  I considered for a moment. Hollywood.

  no way.

  It’s true.

  small world.

  I could feel her grinning on the other end, knowing as well as I did that neither one of us was in Hollywood.

  So, I wrote back, what are you up to tonight?

  waiting.

  What for?

  the drugs to kick in.

  Recreational?

  prescription.

  Psychiatric?

  yahtzee.

  What’s your diagnosis?

  Bipolar … yourself?

  Schizoid tendencies.

  Impressive … are you married?

  Common-law, I confessed. You?

  yes, indeed.

  Where’s your significant other?

  out with friends … yours?

  Night shift.

  ah.

  So … I fondled myself idly through my sweatpants. Do you want to know what I look like?

  not really.

  I frowned at my screen.

  nothing personal. it’s just that we’re never going to meet.

  But we live so close, I reminded her.

  hahaha. riiiight.

  Neither of us said anything for a minute.

  time traveller, she finally wrote.

  Yes?

  this is the schizoid part.

  Maybe.

  where do you go?

  Lately? To the future.

  and what does the future hold?

  Nothing good.

  too bad …

  I’m starting to wonder if I can change things. Make them better. how?

  I’m working on that.

  After a long pause, she wrote: maybe I can help.

  With what?

  improving your future.

  What did you have in mind?

  i have a few ideas …

  I grinned, increasingly sure that Jazz and Jasmine were one and the same person. Can I ask you something?

  shoot.

  Do I know you?

  now that’s a question.

  And what’s the answer?

  A weighty silence.

  i think we might have met before …

  Really?

  stranger things have happened.

  I hadn’t used the camera on my smartphone for much yet, other than taking a few snapshots of Christine. Now I turned on the overhead light and took a shot of my body from the waist down—sweatpants and socks, stretched out across the couch. I touched an icon of a camera and the photo appeared in the chat stream.

  Look familiar? I typed.

  maybe, she wrote back. show me more.

  Cruel sunlight poured in through the window above the sink. Hunched in my chair, I watched Christine shovel sugar-free cereal into her mouth while Meredith flicked through a fashion magazine on the other side of the table. I felt uncomfortable manipulating the objects in front of me—my spoon, my cup. My phone made a harsh chirping noise in my pocket and I jumped, then pulled it out. The chat application I’d been using had installed push notifications on my phone without my being aware of it. A new message from Jazz filled half the screen: good morning.

  Meredith raised her eyebrows.

  “Wrong number,” I muttered, turning off the ringer and tucking the phone back into my pocket.

  “Text?”

  I nodded.

  “You should let them know.”

  “They’ll figure it out.”

  My phone buzzed against my thigh as another notification arrived. I lifted my cup, dismayed to find it empty. The coffee machine seemed very far away. My phone buzzed again. I wondered if Meredith could hear it across the table.

  “How was your night?” I asked.

  “Long,” she said, eyes on her magazine.

  “What about you?” I ruffled Christine’s hair. “How did you sleep, baby girl?”

  She glowered at me. “I want deuce.”

  “I’ll get it in a second, honey.”

  As my phone vibrated yet again, a grinning, mask-like face suddenly appeared in the kitchen window. “Jesus!” I shouted, as the face ducked out of sight.

  “What is it?” Meredith said.

  “Someone’s out there.” I hurried to the window.

  Meredith came up behind me. “I don’t see anyone.”

  It was true. The yard was empty. It didn’t seem possible that they could have escaped so quickly. A wave of dizziness hit me and I gripped the counter to keep from falling over.

  “Are you all right?” Meredith asked.

  “What?” I said, having trouble focusing on her. “Yeah. I’m just tired.” I looked out the window again. “I was sure …”

  “Have you taken your meds?”

  “Hm? No, not yet.” My phone buzzed and I put my hand over my pocket, this time sure Meredith had heard. “I’ll go take them now,” I said. “Before I forget.”

  On my way through the TV room, I checked the picture window for the idling black car, finding it just where I’d expected. “Fuck off,” I hissed to whoever might be listening. Back in the kitchen, I could hear Meredith talking to Christine about daycare.

  “Eight more sleeps, honey …”

  I locked myself in the bathroom and pulled out my phone, reading the four messages Jazz had sent.

  8:53 - hey tiger.

  8:55 - are you there?

  8:57 - babe?

  8:58 - helloooo.

  Bad time, I quickly typed back.

  She responded instan
tly. why? what’s up?

  I frowned at the phone. Alone in the dark, I’d been convinced that I’d found Jasmine again. But Jasmine would never have been so needy, so desperate to get in touch. The woman (assuming she was a woman) was an utter stranger. I didn’t owe her a thing. I closed the chat window and dragged the program to the garbage can at the top of my screen. The phone made a little vacuum noise as it sucked the application away. I returned the phone to my pocket, then took out my pills for the day and flushed them down the toilet before going back out to the kitchen. The table was empty, the dishes cleared away.

  “Mer?”

  I went through the entire main level, then checked the basement and jogged back upstairs. Their shoes were gone. The driveway was empty. I hauled out my phone and stopped, noting that the date on my home screen had changed. If it was accurate, I’d just lost three days. My phone vibrated. I touched the home button and found the application I’d just deleted, reinstalled, with a new message waiting. I opened the chat window, confronted by the last few messages of an ongoing exchange:

  are they gone?

  Just now.

  does she suspect?

  I don’t know, maybe.

  do we care?

  Just a second.

  That was the last thing I’d written. The message Jazz had sent a moment ago read: still there, babe?

  I shut the app and dragged it up to the garbage. An instant after it disappeared, it occurred to me that I should have read the rest of the conversation. I had no idea how long we’d been talking, what we’d said, how much I’d revealed. Something banged against the living room window and I flinched, then looked out and found a hummingbird hovering close to the glass. I snapped the curtains shut and sent Meredith a text: Where are you?

  I paced to the kitchen, where I saw not one but several hummingbirds darting around the backyard feeder. I shut the kitchen blinds and sent Meredith a second, more urgent text. Write me as soon as you get this. Over the next hour, I sent text after text, while small shadows flitted across the drawn curtains. When I finally worked up the nerve to look outside again, the air was filled with whirring hummingbirds. Hardly able to dial, I called Meredith’s number and left what I hoped sounded like a relatively normal message. “Hey, it’s me. Did you get my texts? There’s a … situation here. Call me.” I hung up and immediately phoned again. Before long, I’d filled up her machine, and was forced to switch back to texts—keeping things vague, not mentioning the birds. There were thousands of them now, roiling in the windows like theoretical particles. I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head, having all but convinced myself that I was never going to see Meredith or Christine again, until I heard the distinctive sound of an engine in the driveway. I looked out and saw Meredith walking around the car to collect Christine. The hummingbirds had vanished.