You Are Not the Signal - Part 4
Missed the first note of the siren’s song? Or need a refresher? Go back to part 1:
I jumped at the presence.
My phone almost fell from my hands, but I let it fall anyway. And kicked it so it slid a few feet away. Anything to give myself more time. Five seconds of chaos to devise a plan while I made a production of fetching my phone, congesting the space with my arms and legs, and scrambling with “Oh’s” and “Umms.”
“Clearly being a klutz,” I muttered when I finally plucked it off the ground.
I turned toward him, trying to adopt that same smile I had seen the employees wear. “I’m Josh from IT. Just came up to start our inventory checks. We have to…to take pictures of all the company’s assets. You know how it is, end of quarter, asset tagging.”
The man’s black beard cut across his face, making his expression look carved rather than worn. “I used to work in IT. I’ve never seen you before.”
“I just started as an intern. Last week. Seems like we get all the grunt work.” I gestured to—well, I wasn’t quite sure what I was gesturing to. The work that be…and things?
He looked me up and down. “Intern?”
I knew what he must be thinking. I was too old to be an intern. “Yes?” I cleared my throat. “Yes, it’s a career pivot.”
He considered me. “Huh. Wish we had interns back then. Would have saved me a lot of time.”
I chuckled, rubbing the back of my neck. It seemed he bought the cover. “Hey, do you have any advice for someone new here? You know, anything I should watch out for.”
“Ahh,” he said, like he’d just clicked in the final piece in a puzzle. “You haven’t had your final alignment yet, have you?”
“No,” I replied. “What is it exactly? Should I be doing something to prepare?”
He clasped my shoulder, firmly. His eyes locked on mine, pupils a little too still. “I’m jealous that you’ve yet to experience this. Just be open. It’s like waking up with new ears.”
Then nothing. He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, smiling faintly, eyes unfocused as if he were listening to music only he could hear.
The silence stretched.
I untensed my shoulder, excused myself, and made it back to the interview room before my lungs gave out.
These people.
These people were freaks.
A deep exhale escaped when I got back to the interviewing room.
Except the breath got caught in my throat. The room shimmered, not visually, not really. But like something in it had shifted. I blinked once, and Callista was already seated, legs crossed, like she’d been waiting since yesterday.
“Are you going to stand there, Mr. Trinh, or do you want to start the interview?” Callista asked. Her voice was low and lovely, carrying to every corner of the room. It electrified me into action.
She didn’t stand when I entered. Just turned her head, her smile already formed.
“Yes, of course.” I pulled out my phone. “Give me a second. The recorder app always hides itself behind twelve other icons.”
“This meeting has already started. I manage my time very carefully. I have slotted you no more than thirty minutes, but you’ve already used four of them.” I could detect no malice in her voice. She said this clear and matter-of-fact, a simple mathematical observation.
I apologized while my palms grew sweaty under the purview of her eyes, dark and vivid as obsidian. Somehow, I managed to get the interview started without fumbling too much more.
“This piece I’m writing for the Times-Dispatch is a profile about you. Something local, humanizing. The woman behind the waveform.”
She gave a small laugh. “You make me sound mythic.”
“You have a master’s in electrical engineering, a couple of patents, and you’re the CEO and founder of a multinational company that has brought lots of money and opportunity to the Richmond area. And you’re not even 30. Some people would say you are.”
Her eyes gleamed, but only briefly. “Those people usually haven’t met me.”
I offered a dry smile. “Harmonia began as a headphones company. Then moved into speakers. Now, it’s televisions, groceries, and even clinics. What changed?”
“Nothing changed. We’ve always offered resonance. We just expanded what could be tuned.”
“I see.”
“I suggest you pick better questions, Mr. Trinh. You’re not here for what could be found on our about page. You’re writing a profile, but you have not advanced this conversation. Do you intend to?”
Normally, I would chafe at being bossed this way. But somehow, the words did not sound like commands in her mouth. They were neutral and calm, encouraging even, to press onward.
“How did you discover you had…that kind of voice? The one that gets people to act.”
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