Drone

She first heard it while she was making coffee.

The morning was already off to a rough start. Rachel had woken up, lazy and languid in the wake of her twice-snoozed alarm, and reached for her husband's side of the bed. Much to her disgruntlement, the spot where he should have been was empty and cold. She glared at the empty space for a moment, then promptly snoozed her alarm again out of spite. One of the downsides of working from home was she missed out on good morning kisses as Mark got ready for his morning commute. The upside, however, was she could take a few extra minutes to pout about it.

When her alarm declared her brooding time over, Rachel sighed and put the alarm to rest for good, pulling herself out of bed. She had an instant pang of wanting to crawl back into it. The air beyond her cozy covers was chilly with mid-October refusal to turn on the heater until absolutely necessary (Mark). Worse yet, as soon as she was up, she was reminded of every little discomfort that came with having an adult human body. Back pain, ankle pain, jaw pain from sleeping strangely, a bonus ache in her joints from the cold—oh, and after a few moments upright? She also needed to pee. All the usuals, checked off!

A moment's pause by the bathroom door, Rachel shambled her way into the kitchen, like the zombie she sometimes suspected herself to be. Undead or not, there were still bills to be paid. At the very least, that means she needed to be sharp enough to get some work done. Time for a good, strong cup of coffee. She stumbled to the coffee machine and collapsed into familiar routine, her eyes seeking her prize on autopilot.

She pulled a mug from the cabinet. She placed it under the dispenser of the machine. She opened the lid of the machine. Something began to buzz. She reached back into the cabinet. She pulled out an off-brand K-cup. The buzzing was getting louder. She placed the cup in the coffee maker. She closed the lid. The crunch sounded violent. She punched the '8oz' button on the little touch screen. The buzzing became a drone. She pressed the button underneath the touch screen. The machine whirred to life. She could hardly hear it over the drone. The floor groaned behind her. Something was watching her. Something was watching her—

The world snapped back into uncomfortable clarity as she whirled around, nearly knocking a jar of sugar to the floor in the process. Of course, there was nothing behind her. She was alone in her apartment. Mark had gone to work before she'd woken up, and a quick glance to the right confirmed the door was locked behind him. He'd even remembered to lock the deadbolt that morning. No one was there, the only sounds to be heard the coffee maker steaming, the pounding of Rachel's heartbeat. No buzz, no drone.

Rachel took a deep breath, then leaned back against the counter with a groan. Shaking off the adrenaline, she opened the fridge to get some creamer and poured a generous amount into her cup. As she stirred her coffee, she reached for the pill container on the counter next to the kitchen sink. What better way to christen a fresh cup of coffee than by using it to wash down an unassuming little capsule? Not that she needed the coffee anymore. After whatever the hell that was, she was plenty awake.

Taking a sip of her coffee anyway, she padded across the apartment to drop down into her office and get to work. More than six months in, and the job still felt too good to be true. She'd found a remote biller position for a telehealth practice. Medical billing was a notorious nightmare of paperwork—perfect for Rachel. Translating rejection errors, filling in boxes, deciphering ERAs? That scratched a mental itch she hadn't realized she had. And the best part? Through the whole process, she hardly had to speak to a single soul. She could put on some music, bury her head in paperwork, and not worry about the world beyond her office for hours.

Paperwork, the first order of business: signing into the practice's EHR showed her a number of bright red claim rejections waiting for review. They were all from the same insurance company, all related to the same clinician, so Rachel's first guess was an NPI-related problem…

That puzzle led her to another, and soon enough she found herself easing into the natural flow of work.

She decoded the error message. Emailed the clinician. Opened the next batch of rejections. Ignored the drone. Turned up her music. Pulled up a patient profile. Selected the billable dates of service. The droning overpowered her music. She double-checked the payer address. She filled out the daunting red form. Her jaw still hurt. She submitted the claim. It was so loud. She opened another ERA. The drone was right behind her. It was in her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Her monitor suddenly shut off. She stared into her reflection. Something else stared back.