The Tap

It begins in the worst way possible.

For starters, it’s 1.30 in the morning, which, if you ask me, should have no place on the clock. Too late to go back to sleep, too early to start doing anything productive.

And boy, do I need to be productive right now.

Actually, the whole reason I’m here alone at 1 a.m. is ‘productivity’ — or that’s what they call it.

Ammonia combustion tests can’t happen in daylight, not with innocent people still swarming the university corridors. Too toxic — a few ppm and someone could pass out.

So, the newbie Ph.D. student gets locked inside the lab at night, running the engine on poisonous fuel mixtures and gathering data for a grant proposal which will probably never get approved.

Never mind if she’s the one who chokes to death on NH3 fumes.

Besides, the room is unnervingly quiet.

Not in a pleasant great-nothing-is-exploding-let’s-snuggle-back-to-bed kind of quiet. This is more of a I-will-hear-every-suspicious-thump-and-thud kind of quiet.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

It’s already been twenty minutes, and at this point, I just know.

Good-bye to any chance of real sleep – the ghost of that half-finished grant proposal will keep me up anyway. I rise from the makeshift cot I’ve thrown together on the lab floor and shuffle along towards the centre of the room.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

I peer at the ceiling, almost blinded by the pulsating neon light bulbs protruding from cracked plaster.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

Damn.

I grope for the phone with shaking hands, my eyes still glued upwards. Luckily enough, I have the technician on speed-dial – though he said he’d kill me if I dared to ring him before seven a.m.

‘Joel,’ I whisper as soon as I hear the tell-tale pickup click ‘Emergency.’

A pause.

‘Rats in the lab.’

‘Mblhlh – ’

‘Joel?’

‘Who’s this?’ he manages to muffle in the end, the sounds of sheets crumpling and bodies shifting almost deafening at the other end of the line.

‘It’s Hannah. From the lab. There are rats.’

Silence.

‘Joel?’

I can hear his breaths coming in and out in a steady rhythm, as they supposedly teach you in pre-natal classes to keep your pain at bay.

‘Hannah,’ he hisses through the mic after what seems like an eternity, his voice strangled in the effort to remain calm, ‘you’re calling me at one in the morning about rats?’

‘I didn’t know who else to call!’ I protest, lowering my voice to a murmur. As if someone might actually be listening, in the dead of the night, from somewhere inside the lab.

The wail of a baby cuts through the line, thin and rising, pressing against my ear.

‘Great,’ he groans ‘Just great.’

‘I’m sorry –‘ I begin, but his voice cuts me off as sharp as a knife.

‘Do you know how long we’ve spent trying to get her fall asleep?’ he snaps rushing to his feet. The soft thud of his padded slippers on the floor covers for a moment the skittering of those slimy feet above my head.

‘I do not want to hear from you ‘till after midday for anything less than a bloody explosion, am I clear?’

He cuts off the call before I can say anything else.

I sigh, putting my phone back in the pocket of my sweatshirt-slash-nightgown and lying flat on the air mattress Aaron helped me inflate earlier today.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

If there’s anything in the world I loathe, it has to be rats.

I can just picture them up there, crammed between the ceiling tiles, hordes of fat, beady-eyed revolting fur-balls, hurrying back and forth in search of food, their germ-carrying tails twisting around.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

I shudder, praying every deity I know not to let them come anywhere near me.

I try — and fail — to keep the rising waves of panic at bay, but they're crashing harder and harder against the edges of my mind, dragging something else with them.

A memory I’ve been trying all night not to revisit.

Don’t go there. Don’t go there, for God’s sake, don’t—

Too late.

I’m back at lunch, staring blankly at my tasteless salad when Aaron suddenly freezes, eyes wide at his iPad screen. I lean over his shoulder just enough to glimpse the sender’s name in his inbox.

Mon, October 14, 10.24

Emil Tavarick

From: e.tavarick@unites.com

To: aaron.west@unites.com

Subject: Re: Preliminary results

Dear Aaron,

Thank you for the update. The results are really promising, and as far as I can see, also well-presented. I’m attaching a list of possible journals for publication, start checking the authors guidelines to prepare the submission manuscript.

I have to say, I’m impressed with your performance so far. I’m eager to see what you can do here after your Ph.D.

But we’ll have time to discuss that.

In the meantime, keep up the good work!

Talk soon,

Emil A. Tavarick

Full Professor of Fluid Machinery

Department of Mechanical Engineering

Northern Institute of Technology and Engineering Sciencies (UNITES)

The moment my eyes land on the email, I know.

Aaron got the Tap.

The Tap.

That’s what we academics call it when someone higher up — and believe me, Professor Tavarick is as high as it gets. Above him, only Zeus, and whichever god watches over internal combustion engines — pats your back and hints that your research is going really well (emphasis on really). That it would be nice to see how it develops. That actually, you know what, there might just be a position opening soon, so you might want to start updating your résumé.

He got the Tap.

Granted, a virtual one.

But still.

‘I got the Tap!’ he said, tenderly cradling his tablet close to his chest as mothers do when they hold their newborns.

‘Yes, you did!’ I came over to wrap him in a hug and tried my best to match his excited tone — but something broke inside me.

We started together, Aaron and I. We worked on different sides of the same ammonia combustion project for our master thesis at about the same time, spent endless days under the same flickering lab lights, gulping down cheap sandwiches between writing sessions and tossing crumpled paper notes at each other. So, when it came to filling in the application for the open Ph.D. positions, it made sense to keep going in the same direction. He, growing a computer tan under the cold glow of his monitor, forever wrestling with simulations that refused to behave; me, feeding him experimental data to keep his predictions in check. On paper, it sounded like a brilliant idea — the kind you only realise how idiotic it is once it’s far too late to back out. Now, when I’m weeks behind schedule and Aaron models are well past the build-up stage, I can’t help but think – why did I choose the experimental path?

To be honest, I know perfectly well why. For months I had been toying with the idea of being the five-two slip of a girl rummaging around the engine test bench — coveralls and wrench perpetually in sight, a smear of motor oil on my cheek. Little did I know that parts always break and instruments fail if you so much as glance at them wrong, delaying your research by months. Little did I know I’d never go anywhere near the engine. That would be Joel. All I’ve ever been allowed to do is stare through the stained bulletproof glass separating me from it, while pressure curves and colourful temperature gradients pop up, cheerful and meaningless, on the laptop inside.

The air mattress wheezes under me, leaking breath with every move — like the engine after a bad run. I shift uncomfortably in it, pressing an improvised pillow made up of crumpled T-shirts over my head. Maybe this way I won’t hear the rats hurrying up and down the ceiling.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

Why did he have to be the one to get the Tap?

Oh, God.

It’s going to be a long night.

***********************************************************

Tue, October 15, 15.32

Emil Tavarick

From: e.tavarick@unites.com

To: hannah.russel@unites.com

Subject: Proposal and experiments update

Dear Hannah,

I hope everything is well. I just wanted to ask you, where are we with the proposal? When can I expect to see a finalized draft?

Also, how is your experiment coming along? I haven’t been much in lately – just wondering, no pressure.

Talk soon,

Emil A. Tavarick

Full Professor of Fluid Machinery

Department of Mechanical Engineering

Northern Institute of Technology and Engineering Sciences (UNITES)

Tue, October 15, 21.43

Hannah Russel

From: hannah.russel@unites.com

To: e.tavarick@unites.com

Subject: Re: Proposal and experiments update

Dear Professor Tavarick,

Thank you for your email.

Unfortunately, I am a bit behind with the grant proposal, I don’t know exactly when I’ll be able to finish it, but as soon as I have something legible, I’ll send it over.

Regarding my experiment, the Coriolis broke down a few minutes ago, so I’ll have nothing to measure until it’s fixed or replaced.

Thank you for checking in,

Hannah

P.S.: Professor, there are rats in the lab’s ceiling. Who do we call to have them exterminated? Thanks.

Hannah Russel

Ph.D. Candidate

Department of Mechanical Engineering

Northern Institute of Technology and Engineering Sciences (UNITES)

Wed, October 16, 9.08

Emil Tavarick

From: e.tavarick@unites.com

To: hannah.russel@unites.com

Subject: Re: Proposal and experiments update

Hannah,

You do know the deadline for the grant proposal submission is next week, right? Send even a work-in-progress draft as soon as you can. Ask Aaron for help on the sections not strictly related to your research.

Concerning your experimental activities, I’m sorry to hear about the Coriolis. I trust you’ve already alerted Joel and he’s on his way to repair?

I haven’t heard anything about rats, the last lab’s health and safety inspection was a short while ago and everything seemed fine. Have you looked for any air/fuel leaks? They may cause unsettling sounds.

Talk soon,

Emil

Wed, October 16, 9.13

Sent from my phone

Hannah Russel

From: hannah.russel@unites.com

To: e.tavarick@unites.com

Subject: RATS”!

Professor,

I’m telling you, there ARE rats in the lab’s celeoing. I hear their steps, I’m seeing their droppings everywhere and it’s frankly disgisting.

Can you call someone abuot this?

Wed, October 16, 11.25

Emil Tavarick

From: e.tavarick@unites.com

To: hannah.russel@unites.com

Subject: Re: RATS”!

Hannah,

Is everything all right?

— Emil

*********************************************************

I found the perfect hideaway from those filthy rats.

After two sleepless nights with my hands pressed against my ears and eyes glued to the flat line of the fuel mass flow – ‘Broken. Three days to place the order, a week or two to set it up,’ Joel had muttered drily after one cursory glance at the Coriolis mass flowmeter yesterday – I finally figured it out.

I can squat in the janitor’s closet.

It’s right in front of the engine lab; in case anything happens, I’ll hear it straight away.

I can’t face my apartment right now. Not with Aaron walking around with a perpetual post-Tap grin plastered on his smug face.

Because – haven’t I mentioned it? – he’s my bloody roommate.

No way I’m going to be around him anytime soon, and no way I’m spending another second in that grimy, overlit, rat-infested lab.

So, janitor’s closet it is.

It’s not that bad, I say to myself, brushing away a few mop strands from my forehead and snuggling between the hoover and the wet buckets filled with cleaning supplies.

As long as they can’t reach me here, I’ll be fine.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

***********************************************************

Wed, October 16, 17:42

Joel Hunter

From: j.hunter@unites.com

To: e.tavarick@unites.com

Cc: aaron.west@unites.com, healthservices@unites.com

Subject: Re: Urgent — engine lab

Professor,

Went to check the lab as requested. Couldn’t find any rats or droppings, but the place is a mess — papers everywhere, incoherent scribblings over most of them. No sign of Hannah.

I’m Cc-ing Aaron – though she’s not at their place as far as he knows – and Health Services.

Please advise further.

— Joel

*********************************************************

No wonder there are rats in the university.

Nobody’s opened this closet in what feels like ages.

Minutes blend into hours, maybe days. There’s no way to tell; I don’t have a watch on me and my phone died a while ago.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

That’s the only noise marking time.

No matter how hard I press my hands on my ears, no matter how fast I try to talk in my head — I can still hear them above me.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

************************************************

My legs have been tingling for a while, cramped and sore for being folded against my chest for too long.

I’m almost relieved when the hinges squeak, and a blade of artificial light slices through the musty air, too bright for eyes that have grown used to darkness.

‘There she is!’

‘Hannah, what happened?’

‘Are you all right?’

Voices smash against me like a wave breaking over rock — too loud, and yet not loud enough to drown the jittery steps of those damn rats.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

A hand goes up to my forehead. Another clamps my wrist in an iron-clad grip.

‘Pulse is thready. She feels hot.’

I stumble over a dustpan as someone helps to my feet.

‘I’m Doctor Wyatt, with Health Services,’ a smooth whisper wraps around me like a warm blanket. I squint my eyes, trying to zero in on the blurry contours shifting in front of me.

Red hair flickers through the narrow slits of my eyelids.

A whiff of perfume.

‘Would you like to get something to help you calm down for a bit?’

Calm down.

Maybe I won’t hear them anymore, then.

The glint of a needle in the air, then the sting on my arm, less painful than I’d expected.

Someone brings a chair over, and I gratefully collapse on it.

My vision swims — shapes, colours, slipping into one another.

Joel, standing a few steps back, arms crossed, whispering something to Red Hair.

The voices blur together, but under them I still hear it — faint, insistent, like it’s inside my skull now.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.

My eyelids drop close.

Then open.

I catch a glimpse of the overweight janitor sealing off the lab door, a yellow sign flashing under the flickering light.

RATS. DO NOT ENTER.

A slimy, pinkish-grey cord whizzes across the floor, past Joel’s feet, and vanishes into a crack in the wall.

‘Did anyone else see that?’

I try to tell them, but the words don’t come.

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.