The Bug

Chapter 2 | Remembrance: A Re-Writing

Welcome to Remembrance!

I’m thrilled to have you here. This is the second chapter in my serialized novel. If you’re new ‘round these parts, you can check out the Table of Contents here. The first five chapters of this novel are free to read; to read the rest, upgrade to a paid subscription for the cost of an ebook:

Previously, Leah missed an important appointment with her neurologist, and the office seemed more concerned by her absence than even she was.

In this chapter, Leah’s anxiety grows as she tries to make sense of the cryptic comments she overheard during her phone conversation with the clinic.

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Photo by Mario Heller on Unsplash

As Sarah walked back to her car, Leah locked the door behind her, double-checked the lock, and turned the deadbolt for good measure. Her initial sense of unease had been fully replaced by the weight of anxiety constricting her lungs, leaving every breath feeling tight and insufficient. Thoughts raced through her mind, outlandish but based just enough in reality that she couldn’t outright reject them.

I didn’t tell Sarah I’d rescheduled my appointment. How could she possibly know that? Would the lady at the clinic have called her? What would she have done that for? That doesn’t make any sense, but how did she know I’d rescheduled?

The smell of tacos wafted towards her, offering the promise of comfort, grounding her, reminding her that this fear was not normal.

“…Leah Harvey… monitoring her carefully… our chance to assess… Tuesday… cancel the three o’clock… need to prioritize…”

The receptionist’s muffled words played on repeat in her mind, driving her anxious spiral deeper. Even when she tried to let it go, to admit that it was patently ridiculous that she was even considering the possibility that her neighbor was somehow in league with her doctor, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with the whole situation.

There’s got to be a reasonable explanation for how she found out. And why does it even matter that she knows? She’s a neighbor and a friend; she cares how you’re doing and wants the best for you.

Physically shaking her head, as if to dislodge the troublesome thoughts, Leah opened the bag Sarah had left with her. The taco shop down the street didn’t look like much from the outside, but everyone in the area knew that no other place compared. At the very top of the bag was a note scribbled on a napkin:

Leah,

In case you don’t answer the door, I got you some lunch and hope you’re having a restful day off. I’ll check in with you again this evening. Feel better soon.

-Sarah

Leah couldn’t help by smile as she pulled the note from the bag and smoothed it out on the table in front of her. She tried to tell herself that the note was proof that everything was fine. She wanted to believe that everything was fine.

Beneath the note were nestled four tacos, each wrapped in silver foil, more napkins, and a handful of tiny condiment cups full of salsa. Everything was carefully removed from the bag and laid out on the table in front of her. Leah went to fold the bag flat but was surprised when something bulky still lay in the bottom. She pulled out a sleek black pen with silver accents and laid it out on the table with the food, flattening the bag and folding it over on itself.

The first taco was gone in moments. Leah hadn’t realized how hungry she was. The second taco followed quickly. She was carefully removing the silver wrapper from the third taco, placing it on top of the previous two, when the pen she’d found in the bag caught her eye once again. A horrified thought entered her mind.

Can’t listening devices be disguised as pens?

A quick search revealed that yes, they could. Furthermore, the images she was finding online looked eerily like the pen lying on her table. Her heart rate picked up again and her mind went blank for a moment.

What do I do with this? Is Sarah… bugging me? What could she want from me that she can’t just ask me? Is she working with the clinic? What could the clinic want from me?

Without thinking, Leah picked up the pen, opened her front door, and placed the pen inside her mailbox. She wanted to break it or throw it away, but she didn’t want to risk losing it in case she needed it as evidence.

When she sat back down, she paused a moment before finishing the meal.

There’s no way… She couldn’t even finish the thought, but she couldn’t not. There’s no way Sarah would have poisoned this, right? Surely she doesn’t want me dead. No, no. There’s no way.

She glanced at the two silver wrappers already lying on her table, shiny and wrinkle-free.

Even if they are poisoned, I’ve already eaten half of them. Might as well enjoy the rest.

She did, and the last two tacos disappeared as quickly as the first two. Feeling worlds better—she wondered how much her hunger had played into the anxiety—Leah walked into the living room at put on a show. She was craving something familiar, something mindless. It had only been a few hours, but the constant back-and-forth of the anxiety was already taking a toll, although she was still waffling on whether the situation she had constructed in her mind was completely irrational or just crazy enough to be true. As the theme song of her show played, she closed her eyes and focused on the rising and falling of her chest.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Hold.

Breathe in.

Hold.

Breathe out.

Hold.

Breathing slowly didn’t totally solve the problem, but it was a start. On screen, the familiar characters jumped into a well-known joke, and she felt her muscles begin to relax into the comfort and even security of these “old friends”. Still, she nearly jumped out of her seat when her phone pinged, alerting her to a new email. She glanced down at the notification:

Natalie Bailey - MIND
Avoiding Migraine Headaches Between Treatments
I wanted to send over some resources for you in case
you experience any withdrawal symptoms due to….

Withdrawal?

That might explain the tenseness in her mind and her muscles. She hadn’t had this level of anxiety in close to a year… come to think of it, right around the time she started her treatments with the McNeill Institute.

Maybe this anxiety is all just a result of missing the treatment. I certainly didn’t read the fine print carefully when I signed up for the trial, and even if I had, it’s been a long time since then.

She slid open the notification and scanned Natalie’s email:

Leah,
I wanted to send over some resources for you in case you experience any withdrawal symptoms due to the missed treatment and medication. This is the best handout I could find. I hope it’s helpful. I intended to chat with Dr. Pierucci to discuss specific protocol regarding a delayed treatment or missed medications; however, he will be out of the office and unavailable for rest of the afternoon. Please call the on-call line if you have an emergency over the weekend, and I will plan to check in with you on Monday if not. We will see you on Tuesday.

Sincerely,
Natalie Bailey
Customer Relations
McNeill Institute for Neurological Development

Leah sighed. She briefly glanced at the handout, but none of the information was new to her. Natalie’s tone in the email was nothing but professional. Was it possible she’d imagined the frantic note in her voice on the phone earlier? Could all of this paranoia about espionage and conspiracy and poison be simply the result of an overactive imagination going through medication withdrawal?

The possibility was almost comforting, and she did her best to lean into it, but the nagging voice in her mind refused to let its suspicions drop. Even if she was willing to admit, now, that the tacos were certainly not poisoned (she felt fine and was still quite alive), the rest of it was still technically on the table. The chatter of the TV continued as Leah set her phone down and slipped into a restless sleep.

When she woke, the television was asking if she was still watching. The afternoon was getting on and the light in her apartment was shifting, getting at once warmer and softer.

She stood up and walked a lap around the apartment, just to get her blood moving again and shake off the grogginess from her nap. It felt like an age had passed since her relaxed morning, and the stiffness in her neck was returning. Blessedly, her headache hadn’t reared its head again, a realization that almost startled her.

Suddenly, the possibility of being bugged seemed much more likely than the possibility of withdrawal. Surely she’d have a crippling migraine by now if she really were going through withdrawal. Sarah’s note still lay on the table where she’d left it, one sentence jumping out at her in a way it hadn’t before.

I’ll check in with you again this evening.

It had seemed totally innocent earlier; she hadn’t thought anything of it. Shortly after she’d first read the note, she’d gotten distracted by the pen-shaped listening device. But now, after the offending writing utensil had been relegated to a safe(r) place, the implications of that line cascaded over her in a moment.

Why does she keep coming back? Is someone paying her to monitor me?

Every time she’d seen Sarah since she’d missed her neurology appointment, Sarah had made it a point to let her know when she’d be coming over next. She’d never visited this frequently, or this pointedly, and they’d been neighbors for a year.

Doesn’t she know I need to recover from my whiplash? I can’t be hosting neighbors for casual coffee chats several times a day! I need to rest!

At that last sentence, her brain paused, forced to wrestle with the reality that she had done nothing but rest for a full day. In truth, Sarah’s one visit that day had barely interrupted her flow; it was the anxiety that was driving her mad and giving the sense that time was crawling by and speeding past her at the same time.

It was the anxiety that she couldn’t seem to shake. When she thought—really thought —about the ideas racing through her mind at a million miles a minute, they seemed ridiculous, bordering on insane. The explanation offered by the clinic made sense: she hadn’t had a chance to wean off the medication she’d been taking, and the in-clinic treatment she was receiving was intended to be administered at particular intervals.

But her gut told her something else. Her gut told her that something was wrong, deeply wrong, and that Sarah was somehow at the heart of it. She realized that the little manifestations of this conviction — the anxiety about Sarah and what she knew and what she wanted to know — were not actually the problem. The problem was a deep-seated certainty that things were not as they should be.

That certainty was profoundly unsettling.

As afternoon turned into evening, Leah began to think less about Sarah and more about dinner. She opened her fridge several times, peering into it with the half-hearted hope that some new and delightful meal would have spontaneously appeared since the last time she’d checked. Or, at least, that the constellation of unrelated ingredients might suddenly speak to her and give her an idea of what to make.

She finally settled on a sandwich, simply because it was easy and didn’t require any real decision-making. Piling chips on her plate beside a handful of carrots, she resigned herself to the fact that Sarah was going to visit soon, and that she would have to make a choice: confront the anxiety head-on, or bide her time to make more observations before reaching a conclusion? If the former, she was in for an uncomfortable conversation; if the latter, she was in for an uncomfortable several days. And neither option guaranteed that the truth would come out, or that the anxiety would leave.

Just as she sat down on the couch with her plate in one hand and the remote in the other, she heard a knock on the door. Once again it startled her, drawing her attention out of her troubled mind and back to reality. She crept over as quietly as she could, berating herself all the while for letting her irrational fear dictate her actions. Sarah’s concerned face stared back at her through the peep hole.

Leah paused, debating with herself whether or not to open the door.

The knock came again, louder, followed by Sarah’s muffled voice. “Leah, are you awake? Leah, I’m a little worried about you.” A third knock, loud enough to rattle the window a bit, finally convinced Leah that there would be no avoiding her.

She took a deep breath and opened the door. Sarah’s face looked genuinely relieved.

“Oh thank God. Girl, are you okay? You seemed off earlier. Shaken, or something. I’ve been worrying about you all afternoon. Have you had a headache or anything?”

“No, no headache. I’m still really stiff when the meds wear off, but no headache.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it? You were really worried about that yesterday.”

“Yeah,” Leah responded, pensive. “Yeah, I guess I was.”

The lull in the conversation dragged out, quickly going from friendly to awkward and then to uncomfortable.

“Can I come in and sit down? I want to hear how your day has gone.”

“What?” Leah’s thoughts had been racing again. “Oh, yeah, sure.” She led Sarah over to the living room, sat down, and picked up her sandwich.”

“So… how was your day?” Sarah finally asked.

“You’re looking at it. Haven’t done much. The morning was lovely, but I’ve been feeling off all afternoon.”

“I can tell,” Sarah said. Leah thought it was a little rude to speak the subtext out loud, but she didn’t say anything in response.

“Oh, by the way,” Sarah said, her voice stiff with forced casualness. “Leah, did you find a pen in the taco bag when I brought your lunch over?”

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