The Telling Tap

I remembered it so clearly. The October air had been so biting that day. A hurricane had brought a wicked wind that scratched my face as soon as I stepped out of my building that. I forgot my umbrella and the rain soaked my hair on my way to work. The power shut off in the bathroom as I was blowing my hair dry. The rain was steadily, soothingly tapping against my office window, lulling me to sleep in the mid-afternoon. I checked my phone and saw that I’d gotten an unsettling voicemail from my neighbor, Carol. She was a busy body, but she always meant well.

“Hi, love, listen, deary,” her preamble always went something like this, “I just wanted to let you know,” her voice dropped down to a whisper, “that a few moments ago, I…I saw…someone in your apartment and—” she paused and the message cut off.

I almost disregarded it entirely. I was so behind on my essay and needed to keep writing. My monthly column was admittedly at risk and I couldn’t miss another deadline—my editor would kill me. But there was something out of sorts with Carol’s tone. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was procrastination, but I packed up my things and headed home. I knocked on Carol’s door when I got off the elevator, but she didn’t answer. She was the only other resident on this floor. Both of our units in D.C.’s Watergate overlooked the Potomac and had the coveted view of the curved sides of the famous building. Carol was one of the Ladies of the Watergate, which was a colloquialism for women above retirement age that had husbands on the Hill and knew every resident’s business. I wasn’t quite sure how Carol got her money, but she was a quiet neighbor who took in my mail when I was out of town, so I didn’t mind her.

 I didn’t wait too long for Carol to answer her door before I turned my attention to my own. I studied my front door space before I put my key in the lock, careful to remember the details. The door was still locked—I’d deadbolted it this morning on my way out, and I was certain I did because Jack called me in the elevator and reminded me to pick up his pants from the dry cleaners on my way home this afternoon and I had to go back into the apartment to get his receipt. I remember the cold metal handle as I shut the door harder than I should have. I was growing tired of running Jack’s errands this past month—he’d been traveling seemingly nonstop and I wanted to remind him that I had a job, too.

I opened the door and stepped into the color-drenched navy-blue foyer, which also looked untouched. The checkered mat was a bit crooked, but I didn’t think that was abnormal. I slowly studied the foyer, stalking my way through the hallway, and into the kitchen. Here. Something didn’t feel right here. I stood still like a statue while I attempted to pinpoint my discomfort when it hit me. The lights were off. All of the lights were off. I always leave the living room lights dimmed. It was something Jack gave me a hard time for, but he didn’t understand. Men typically don’t understand.

“A girl can’t come home to a pitch-black apartment,” I explained, “there could be like, a murderer inside.”

“You honestly think a murderer isn’t going to murder someone because the lights are on in the apartment? You think they’ll just leave and try the next one?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. At the very least, I’ll be able to better identify them.”

“Not if you’re dead.”

“Well, maybe he won’t kill me. He’ll just attack me and I'll survive. And because the lights were on, I could see his face, and guess what? He’s also murdered seven other people. Who all had their lights off. And I’ve just caught the West Side Killer.”

He rolled his eyes. "That would never happen."

I stared at him, watching his lips curl in self-satisfaction. "The truth comes out in the light."

I flipped the living room light switch and the lamps on the end table soaked the apartment in a cozy, warm glow before one of them flickered off, making a quiet tink noise. Guess I’ll replace that now before I forget. I turned on my heels to head towards the coat closet in the foyer and audibly gasped at the backlit figure standing in my doorway.

“Hello, deary,” a ragged voice said.

“God, Carol,” I sputtered. “What…you scared me,” I said, composing myself.

Carol stood in my doorway, rain boots and raincoat on. Her Coke bottle glasses magnified her eyes about three times their anatomical size. And her cockatoo, Corey, was perched on her shoulder.

“Scaredy cat, scaredy cat,” Corey taunted.

“I’m sorry,” Carol apologized. “I was just getting back from the vet and saw your door ajar. I thought you might be home and didn’t want you to be in here alone. Who knows what you’d find.”

Carol had always been…odd. But, she knew Jack was out of town on business and was probably just being her own brand of neighborly. However creepy it was.

“Yeah,” I gave a tightly closed smile before a gentle knocking sound captured my attention.

“You know, Carol, maybe it was just building maintenance that you saw,” I said before opening the doors to the laundry room, “my washing machine’s been off balance and I asked them to come secure it to the floor.”

Carol flicked her eyes from side to side. She seemed a bit frantic.

I opened the doors to the laundry room but found nothing different than this morning. Jack had left his clothes in the dryer before he left, and I was staging a silent protest by not moving them. Maintenance hadn’t been here, but the faint knocking still tickled my brain, burrowing inside like an earworm.

“Did I ever tell you about Howard?” Carol asked. Her voice was wistful, her eyes were distant, like she was in another world.

I frowned. “No.” I said curtly. I frankly wasn’t interested in hearing more. This tapping sound was the only thing I could focus on.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Oh, well, Howard was my first husband. He was so great when we met, and we had so much fun. Travelling, eating out, going on big adventures. But, he was a terrible liar. A con artist, you know?”

“I thought those were only in the movies,” was all I could think to say.

“Oh, no, deary. They’re as real as your right hand.”

I didn’t think that was an expression, but I didn’t interrupt.

Tap, tap, tap.

“In fact, they’re probably the most dangerous types of people. People that infiltrate our lives and don’t deserve us. The ones who tell us, ‘I’ll take out the trash tonight. I’ll get to it. I’ll do it eventually.’ And they never do. Do you know why?”

I stopped. Did Carol have my apartment bugged? Those were all things Jack had said to me recently.

“Why, Carol?”

“Because all they know how to do is deceive. They take and take and take and they just promise they’ll do better but the truth is, they don’t want to, so they won’t. They leech on to good people like you and me and they don’t stop sucking until we’ve gone bone dry.” Carol sighed. “Don’t you think that’s just evil?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Of course, Jack is nothing like that. I mean, he’s away on business right now, isn’t he?”

I nodded again. The knocking sound had subsided, and I stepped out of the laundry room, which had become a bit claustrophobic.

“You two make the most darling couple. So young, so much life ahead of you,” Carol continued.

“Darling, darling,” Corey echoed.

A different type of faint sound slid into my ear canals and gently rapped on the drums. The tapping was methodical, while this one was disorganized, almost chaotic. I turned my attention to the ceiling. Was it coming from upstairs?

I peered down the dark hallway.

“What happened to Howard?” I asked quietly.

Carol shrugged. “He fell.”

“Did you hear that?” I asked looking at the ceiling.

Carol grinned. Her firetruck red lipstick had stained her canine tooth. Funny. At a glance, it kind of looked like blood. “I did, dear,” she said.

“I did, I did,” Corey echoed.

I led the way upstairs, taking each step so slowly. So agonizingly slowly. To the bedroom. The sound grew louder with each step. As if someone were shoving it down my throat, forcing me to choke on it. Was it…was it laughter?  I finally gripped the handle and threw the door open and reached for the light switch. I stood there, taking in the scene before me. The sheets on the floor, the clothes strewn about, the bodies intertwined.

“Hi, Jack,” I said.