A crow craws as the Babylon Apartments slowly wake and text-ready hands reach in the darkness for mobile phones. Tiny blue screens beep, chirp, tink, ping and buzz as a flood of tweets, Facebook posts, Instagram’s and emails, shine on yawning faces.

Rochelle Caries was worried. Tommy, an ex-client, had left a voice message. He used to send five texts and emails every day, wanting to know what mascara and clothes to wear to make himself attractive to men. Now his messages were totally weird. She made an expresso and ate half an orange, then played the message as she watched a young semi-naked man, do bench presses in the flat opposite hers.

“Head piece is filled with straw.”

There must be more than that. Tommy had been hounding her for months for beauty tips. She replayed it again. Just the head and the straw. Rochelle texted Veronica who texted back that Tommy was a sick fuck, even though she didn’t know him. Rochelle looked at her Facebook page, which she rarely did, and saw Tommy’s picture of a straw man with the words, “Our dried voices, when/ We whisper together/ Are quiet and meaningless”.

A work email pinged. The Zoom communication seminar scheduled for that afternoon was cancelled, replaced with ‘Issues with Peripherals.”

She found an empty seat on the tram next to an older man wearing a black suit and a white wrap around collar. Rochelle thought priests were extinct. Most of the churches had been converted to upmarket apartments. She drew her knees together.

“I see we work in the same business,” he said, pointing to her Marriage Councillor licence in her bag.

“How so?” She regretted asking a question as it invited a reply. The tram was now full of people looking at their phones. She was stuck.

“I counsel people who have lost their faith. You counsel couples who have lost faith in each other”

Trams are full of them, she thought. Weirdos. Probably a paedophile.

“The difference is I use psychology and modern counselling methods,” she said curtly, “while you invoke a statistical improbability”

He was about to reply when she raised a ‘hold a minute’ finger, as a text came in from Alex. She’d perfected the technique in public of staring so fixedly at the screen, that no one dared interrupt her. Alex wanted to know what Tommy had done. Rochelle quickly tapped ‘later’ but kept staring at the phone.

As they entered the CBD, metal speakers under the seats kicked in as hyperventilated 20-somethings from a local Wi-Fi station, barked out the latest ‘happenings’ in the city. The priest turned away and stared out the window. Lone drivers with their windows up were talking in to phones, gesticulating with their hands to no one.

xxxxxxx

Rochelle didn’t have time to read the case notes. Something about a couple in their early 60s looking for mediation before spending a small mortgage fighting out the settlement in court. She logged on to Zoom and saw Peter on the left hand screen with salt and pepper hair, staring blankly at the camera and then Michelle appeared on the right with ash blonde hair and a thick red lipstick smile. Rochelle set her mobile phone to silent and propped it just below her computer. In the right hand corner of her phone and work screen, email icons appeared from her boss, her dentist, the mechanic, the rental property manager and her mother.

“Welcome, Peter and Michelle, I’m Rochelle and we’re going to spend the next 30 minutes trying find some common ground and move forward with a sense of empathy and harmony”

A tweet from Tommy arrived: “As wind in dry grass/ Or rats’ feet over broken glass/ In our dry cellar”. Maxine, who works at BHP next door, texted and wanted to know if she was free for drinks after work.

“Rochelle, we’ve been through this,” Peter said. She made a mental note ‘patriarchal tone, bully and a prick’. “You don’t look much over 25. Just how long have you been a marriage councillor?”

“Ignore him, darl,” Michelle said. “I have”

“To answer your question Peter,” Rochelle said, “I have a degree in psychology and graduated in relationship management from the Scorpio Training College”

Peter gave that smarmy-butt-plug-up-one’s arse smile, which said ‘I’m an older male and I’m going to treat you like shit.’ Her desk phone rang and she directed it to message bank.

“Congratulations,” he said, “but have you got any direct experience with marriage? For example, if I wanted to speak to an expert about space flight, I’d talk to Neil Armstrong…”

“He’s dead, Chubby,” Michelle butted in. “For Christ’s sake, let her get on with her job. We’re paying for this in 15 minute increments”

Rochelle launched in to her patter from the standard script as she stared out her tinted window at the red brick wall of the car park next door.

“Marriages need more than good communication and strong listening skills,” she said. “We need to be problem solvers.”

As she spoke, she considered Alex as a romantic partner. He’d been in her friendship circle for six months and knew Veronica. She’d given him the thumbs up. He was cute and worked at Macquarie Bank as an investment adviser. He was a Gemini and liked to travel. Gemini’s were dodgy but he didn’t interrupt when she talked. She’d ask him out.

“… so in the next 20 minutes, let’s try create an empathetic context. Let go of all your preconceptions and picture a clean slate…”

A text pinged. Nancy from her yoga class wanted to know if she wanted to go on a weeklong Yoga retreat to Byron Bay in November.

“Hey Planet Rochelle, it’s Michelle here. We’re over here. I rarely agree with what’s-his-name but walking down the empathy road will lead us nowhere. I have as much intention of creating an emphatic context as having a baby. Our marriage is like the first day of the Somme”

“Hang on, General Haig,” Peter said, “now you’re hanging shit on this professional adolescent. Back up and take a ticket.”

“Talking about a clean slate,” Michelle snapped back. “What happened to the $50k we had in our joint bank account? I presume that went on wining and dining that blonde you euphemistically call your ‘financial adviser’”

Rochelle cut off their microphones. The phone rang again and she unplugged it. She let them yell in to the void for 20 seconds and then terminated the session.

“Peter and Michelle, this is not a good start. Let’s reschedule another session for next week, when you’ve had a chance to calm down”

Peter stood up quietly, pushed his chair in and walked out the door as Michelle put her handbag over her arm.

“I’m sorry love,” Michelle said. “Men are obnoxious pricks. Send me the bill. One bit of advice. Don’t keep looking at your mobile. Sends the wrong signal”

xxxxxxxx

She had 15 minutes before the next couple. She ran to the bathroom for a quick pee, texted Maxine that drinks were on at 5.45 at the same place as last time. She texted Alex and invited him to dinner at her house on Friday night. She immediately regretted that as it was almost an invitation for sex. She sent another text and re-invited him for a late lunch next Saturday. She’d cook pasta. Bring red wine, something light. No toilet paper so she waddled to the next cubicle, finished and splashed cold water on her face. The hand dryer was broken. Typical. Five minutes to the next client. Just enough time to call Mum.

“Mum, it’s me, I’m flat out. What’s the story?”

“Darling, you’re actually calling me. I’m going to make a note in my journal tonight”

“Very funny. Give it to me in ten second sound bites”

“Your father’s early on-set dementia is getting worse. Last night I found him wandering around the garden at 2.00 am muttering, ‘only connect, only connect’. He called me ‘Geraldine’ the other day, who was his first girlfriend and he wanted anal sex in the kitchen. I’m only 52 and I do want to travel with the girls to Greece this year. I’m thinking of putting him in an aged care home. Any thoughts?”

“Too much information Mum but I sympathise with you and I hear what you’re saying. I hear Dad is driving you crazy. You know I’ve only got positive regard for you Mum but we’re going to have to talk about this later. I’ll text you. Ciao”

A text came in from Alex, “looking forward to it” with a smiley face, then a thumbs up from Maxine and a text from Tommy, “Shape without form, shade without colour/ Paralysed force, gesture without motion”. The rental property manager texted and said she’d tried to contact her three times. Would she please call her this afternoon.

She tore down the corridor and plonked herself in the chair, just as the next Zoom counselling session started. A young couple in the mid 20s: Rachel and Jed. They were sitting together at a kitchen table with coffee cups. Jed had blonde dreadlocked hair and a goatee. He looked 16. Rachel was bouncing a toddler on her knee and she wore a clean but used gingham dress. The breast cancer had spread to her liver. She had 12 months to live.

“Good morning Rachel and Jed, my name is Rochelle and in the next 30 minutes, we’re going to try find some common ground and move forward with a sense of empathy and harmony”

“Let’s skip the empathy and harmony bit,” Rachel said. “Jed doesn’t want to sleep with other women. I haven’t got long on planet Earth and it would make me very happy to know he found sexual fulfilment in the arms of other women”

Rochelle’s tummy rumbled. She’d only had a slice of orange for breakfast. The cafeteria downstairs sold bagels with pastrami and cream cheese with capers. She’d wash it down with a fresh kale, carrot and apple juice. She could almost taste the cream cheese.

“I made a vow,” Jed said with a quiver in his voice, “to honour and cherish Rachel and I don’t think sleeping around keeps that vow.”

Alex texted, “How about a pinot noir?” The mechanic texted, “VW needs new head gasket. $2400. Want us to start?” Tommy texted “Those who have crossed/ With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom.” She wondered if Telstra could put a bar on him contacting her or was that a police matter? Some sort of electronic AVO?

“Would you say Rachel, because Jed is reluctant to sleep with other women, that this is causing problems in the marriage?”

“I love Jed so much. I want his precious seed to voyage far and collect numerous passport stamps between the thighs of other women. His denial of my last wish is a kind of betrayal. So there’s that”

Jed starts sobbing on the kitchen table.

“Jed has issues,” she said. “He’s started grieving even before I’m dead and that freaks me out. To tell you the truth, I’d like him to get out more”

The Scorpio Training College had not prepared her for this. An email from her boss floated across the bottom of her video screen. “See me immediately.” A lucky break.

“Look Jed and Rachel, your issue is unique. I’d like to discuss this with my boss. Do you mind if we touch base again in a couple of weeks?”

“Any hints in the meantime?” Rachel asked.

“Have you thought of hiring a prostitute and personally supervising Jed while he has sex with her. Act as a mentor, a coach. Hold his hand. Motivate him”

“Hey, that might just work,” Rachel said and signed off.

Rochelle closed out of Zoom and made her way to Murali’s office. She got on well with the managing director. He called her ‘Rocker’. He’d started a successful IT business when he was 20 and the marriage counselling business was an offshoot. He always listened attentively when she complained about the other staff using her coffee mug in the staff room. Murali was sitting on his desk holding a one metre high straw scarecrow. Around its neck, a small cardboard sign read:

Rochelle,

Remember us-if at all-not as lost

Violent souls, but only

As the hollow men

The stuffed men.

“It was left in the foyer,” Murali said. “It’s creepy. What’s the back story on this Rocker?”

“It’s from Tommy Teko, a former client. His girlfriend had a sex change operation and when they split, he’s been asking me for beauty tips to win her back. Lately, his texts have got pretty freaking bizarre”

“Looks like he’s upping the ante. Have you tried calling him?”

“In my opinion that would only lead him on. I’m ignoring him. He’ll get the message”

“Keep up the good work”

She caught the elevator down to the ground floor cafeteria. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young woman carrying a black canvas bag enter a lift going up. She texted Nancy, ‘count me in. how much?” She texted her father, ‘how you doin’, Dad?” and got a text back ‘who’s this?’ She ordered a bagel with pastrami and cream cheese with capers and a kale, carrot and apple drink. She took a seat by the window and watched as people walked past in the street, their heads down staring at their mobile phones. Three roadside workers were leaning on their shovels, watching a man jackhammer the curb. A man was revving his motorbike across the street and a text arrived from Tommy as her food arrived.

“I’m not a violent soul”

Above the street cacophony she could hear the sound of muffled rifle fire. She was annoyed her drink hadn’t arrived. She walked out to the street and saw bullets smash through the windows of her office. She raced back inside the café and texted Murali, “what’s goin’ on?” Then her phone rang with Murali screaming, “Fucking lunatic going from office to office shooting people. Call the ….” Then the sound of an automatic weapon firing. A text arrived from her mother, “can you cook semi-defrosted fish?”

Rochelle raced back out to the street and tried to call the police but her phone went dead. Flat battery. She ran up to a woman in a black suit and heels, walking quickly and talking in to her phone about hedge funds.

“I’m sorry, but there’s a man in my office shooting people,” Rochelle pleaded. “I need to borrow your phone.”

“You don’t have one?”

“The battery’s dead?”

“There’s a pay phone over there. The last one in the city. Use that”

The rifle fire stopped as she ran back to the lobby of her building. One lift made its way slowly down from the 5^th floor. Without her mobile she felt defenceless. In the distance she heard sirens. The doors opened and Tommy walked out carrying a smoking AK47 rifle, wearing an Attico Zebra-striped mini skirt, a woman’s blonde wig, mascara and bright red nail polish. He was beautiful.

“Where’s your mobile” he said.

“The battery’s dead.”

“That’s unforgivable,” Tommy said.

He held the rifle barrel under his chin and with his thumb, pressed the trigger.