“Harmony House” is a serial novel with episodes released every Tuesday morning. You can read the setup for the story or start from the beginning. Each episode comes with high-quality audio narration for you to enjoy on the go with the Substack mobile app.
Previously…
In the last episode, Eve Baron invited Scott to her palatial home seeking some comfort and understanding from him after learning the details of her father’s crimes all day. Resistant at first, Scott was soon convinced she didn’t know the extent of Cliff Baron’s deeds when she invited him to join her as she requested access for the first time to the digital vault her father had left for her. This ultra-secure piece of software, designed exclusively for Eve and guarded by a mysterious man named Fitzpatrick contained not just the keys to the Baron empire, but all its dark secrets and Cliff Baron’s personal effects including an emotional video of the old man on his deathbed expressing his regrets.
“I know he’s dangerous, Freja. That’s why he’s here. This is not a peaceful protest where we walk around with signs for a few hours and then go home to sleep in our beds.”
Darrow was using that tone with her that she hated. It was early and they were drinking coffee at the small kitchen table where they would be shooting today. Mark was not up yet so she was using the opportunity to make her appeal.
“Deepu was not good when I checked on them last night,” she said.
“Stop using his name. You never use the name of your prisoner.”
“Fine. The prisoner is not doing well. How is that good for us right now? We just got started.”
“Fear can’t be simulated. If we’re not prepared to go all the way. If they sense for a second their lives aren’t at stake, this will never work. Mark is here to do what you and I can’t do. Now, can we talk about today?”
“Yes, but how can Deepu act normal on camera now?” she asked.
“We’ll give him today to heal. We can use the old programmer again. I think we got lucky with him. I can see it in his eyes. He’s one of us.”
“So, we need to rewrite the script then. I mean, we’ve got to make it believable. He can’t just read what I wrote for Deepu. The stuff about missing his family…”
“It’s fine. Just edit that stuff out. It’s the message we’re trying to communicate that’s important. You need to stop worrying. People are sheep. They see what they want to see. Today we drop the bomb about the Congo. Rather than have the kid be here in the kitchen, we shoot the old guy in the bathroom. Everyone knows he’s the one who nerds out on the technology. When he talks about the batteries, he can say it’s those same batteries that are on the other side of the wall in the system closet. That’ll make it real. It’s why we spent all this money to make the replica of Houze.”
Freja knew better than to ask where the money came from. Darrow would never say who their benefactor was, but she suspected it was not some distant connection. When Darrow answered a call from them, his voice softened ever so slightly and became whispery. There was an intimacy there.
As much as she didn’t want to be, she was slightly enamored by Houze. Last night she had spent a couple of hours in here planning shots for the week. It was a perfect set because it wasn’t a set at all. It was a meticulously crafted replica, built from a stolen blueprint. It didn’t have all the sustainable systems because they just needed it to look like the real thing on camera.
Aside from having to wield a gun and scare people, she was having the time of her life. Everything she had practiced in film school she was getting to do. She was the writer, director, and DP of her own production. It was so meta. Shooting a scripted show inside of an unscripted show. Working around the constraints of everything having to be shot on a handheld and having to make it seem there were five other people somewhere just out of frame. All this was thrilling enough, but the fact that they were doing it for a cause she believed in, that they were throwing a wrench in the big machine – it was a dream job. She pushed aside her qualms and questions. She had no choice but to trust Darrow and his leadership.
“Okay,” she said. “I’m on it. I’ll have a rough-cut shot and ready for you to review by lunch and then we can do final edits.”
Two hours later she was back in the same spot except it was Jessie sitting across the table. For a moment, she could almost feel like she was workshopping a scene with her principal actor, but it was hard to forget that Mark was on the couch with a real gun and she was talking through a mask. Despite or maybe because of his grumpiness, she liked Jessie. He reminded her of her uncle Leif.
She had finished tweaking the script and she was having Jessie rehearse it and giving him notes. She was employing the sage advice she had learned in her “Working with Actors” class last year: treat normal people like stars and stars like normal people. Jessie, for all his crustiness, was human and not immune to gushing praise. Or maybe he was just playing along because he had no choice. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. They had a job to get done.
“I wouldn’t say it that way,” he said after reading the closing line she had written.
“Why not?” she asked, leaning forward with her red pen.
“Because I’m an asshole. Everybody knows I’m an asshole.” He pointed at the line in the script as he read. “For me to say ‘how many more children have to suffer so we can have air conditioning and drive our SUV by ourselves to buy an overpriced latte at Starbucks?’ is just too on the nose. It’s an afterschool special PSA.”
“What’s an ‘afterschool special?’”
“Never mind. It’s just not what I would say.”
“Well, what would you say?” she asked, setting her pen down.
“A lot less. I’ve already provided the facts, the evidence. That should speak for itself. All I’d do to wrap it up is say ‘think about it.’”
“Yeah, I like that. Very immediate. Very much you.”
She picked up the pen, took the script from him, and made the change.
“Can I ask you something?” he asked.
“Okay, make it quick. We have to shoot.”
“Have you really thought about why you’re doing this? I mean, I get wanting to strike a radical blow against hypocrisy and focus on the real issues, but have you thought about who’s funding this little enterprise of yours?”
Freja did not want to have this conversation. Of course, she had questioned this. She stole a glance over Jessie’s shoulder at Mark. He had earbuds in and was scrolling through his phone with the hand not holding the gun.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said softly.
“Doesn’t it? How are you any better than these FutureAbode clowns if you’re taking money from people you don’t know?”
It was uncomfortably hot in the small space. The kerosene heater was three feet away from them. The mask was itchy and making it hard to breathe. She just wanted to get this over with quickly so she could get outside to get some air.
“Everyone has an agenda,” she said. “All that matters is that we disrupt. We must wake up the world before it’s too late.”
“But there’s always a fee. There’s always a cost. All I’m saying is this is a game of chess, and you can’t be thinking it’s checkers.”
Freja ignored him. She picked up the phone they were using as the primary camera, opened the captioning app, and corrected the script. She saved the changes and pushed it back across the table to him.
“I don’t need your approval. Now, get up and take this into the bathroom,” she said. “I will be monitoring the scene from out here. Read from the scrolling caption app same as yesterday but try to sound like you’re not reading. Some improvising is fine. Make some natural pauses.”
Jessie grumbled and picked up the phone. He stood, startling Mark from the doom scroll on his phone. Mark pointed the gun at him. “Hey, hey, where we going?”
“We’re doing the shoot now if that’s okay with you,” Freja said.
She motioned for Jessie to go, and he did. Mark lowered the gun, allowing him to pass and go back to the bathroom. She followed close behind. She had already checked the light levels and added another fill light so the shadows on Jessie’s face wouldn’t be so prominent. Once he was inside, she closed the door and returned to the table where she had a display set up with a feed from the phone that she could use to monitor the scene. She pulled down the balaclava and took a deep breath.
“Can you shut that off?” she asked Mark, pointing to the heater. “I’m dying in here.”
Mark did as he was told.
“Start whenever you’re ready,” she shouted in the direction of the bathroom.
On the monitor, the view swung around in a dizzying arch and landed in a portrait framing Jessie’s face. His beard looked enormous, and the skylight put his entire face in shadow.
“Hold the phone higher!” she shouted.
She watched as he changed the angle and his face no longer looked like a witness protection video.
“That’s perfect! Whenever you’re ready.”
Jessie peered into the camera with his signature furrowed brow. There was an advantage to having him as their principal actor. His normal speaking voice sounded stilted and a bit under duress. He began his monolog.
“Hi folks, it’s what, day twelve or thirteen? Fuck, I don’t know anymore. Feels like a long time. I’m in the can for today’s ‘sharing session’ cause it’s the only damned place to have a little privacy.”
He adjusted the angle of the camera and paused for a moment, looking away as if he was thinking. He was a natural at this. Freja leaned in and glanced down at the marked-up pages to see where he was in the script.
“You guys know I tell it like it is and I’ve got more to tell today. One thing about being couped up like this, you’ve got a lot of time to research things and think. I’ve found out some more troubling news about our friends here at Houze. If you’re thinking maybe it’s not a winning strategy for me to be outing the sponsor of the show, you’re probably right but truth is, I don’t give a fuck about winning anymore.”
The changes he was making to the script were perfect. Freja was getting tingles.
“So, you’ve probably seen all the propaganda about Houze and all its sustainable systems. They shove it down your throat at every commercial break. Yesterday we talked about the human cost of the water we’re drinking. Today I want to talk about the cost of keeping the lights on.”
He turned slightly and tapped on the wall behind him.
“Behind this wall, there are a couple of enormous batteries where the solar energy is stored. Without them, nothing would work, but the story behind how they get manufactured is a trail of blood and suffering. To make a battery you need an abundance of a few critical elements, one of which is cobalt. Cobalt like most things that come from the earth is mined. The Congo in Africa is one of a few sites in the world that is rich with cobalt.”
Jessie paused, looked off-camera for a few seconds, and shifted the phone back to his other hand before he looked back at the screen and continued.
“As you might guess, a few multinational companies have set up massive mining operations there to squeeze every bit of cobalt from the soil. They sell the raw material to other companies who process it and make the batteries. One of those companies is Greener Tech. As you learned from my last video, Greener Tech is a silent partner of Future Abode.”
“All this is public information but what’s not so public is what’s happening on the ground in those mines. You see there’s no fence around them, no real security. The mining companies just dug massive fucking holes in the ground in the middle of communities where locals live. Those locals are among some of the poorest people in the world.”
Jessie brought the camera close to his face at this point. Freja could see the emotion there. He wasn’t acting anymore. He paused and swallowed hard trying to regain his composure before continuing.
“Kids,” he said, his voice cracking. “Kids as young as six years old are going in there and digging, hauling out this material. There have been more than a dozen deaths reported. The earth collapsing on their… little bodies…”
Jessie can’t continue. Freja begins to cry watching him struggle, his mouth a quivering frown, his eyes glassy with tears. He’s silent for a full minute but never lowers the camera. Finally, he takes a deep, shuddering breath and continues.
“These kids and their mothers and fathers don’t work for the companies. That would be illegal. That would be immoral. Greener Tech and the rest of the big tech firms from the West have contracts with assurances and all kinds of other bureaucratic bullshit to protect themselves. You see, these locals work independently because they have no other way to survive. Sending their babies into this open gash we’ve made in their ancestral lands is the only way they can earn enough to eat. They sell their burlap sacks full of cobalt-rich dirt they’ve dug by hand under the table to these big operations. They earn pennies on the dollar for their sacrifice. What’s worse, Cobalt is a highly toxic material that can make you sick and is proven to cause a variety of cancers. So even the ones who don’t die, buried alive will surely die in a matter of years because of their exposure.”
Jessie pauses again, looks off-camera, and sighs. He begins talking without looking at the camera or the script. Freja thinks momentarily she should stop him but doesn’t.
“You probably don’t give a shit about any of this, right? It doesn’t affect you. It doesn’t affect me. Let’s just get back to the show. Let’s see more privileged people compete to win this beautiful feat of Western ingenuity that will save us all.”
These last few words he punctuates by slapping his large hand on the countertop of the sink.
“Bullshit. Nobody’s interested in saving anyone but themselves. And we will do it at any cost. Let the goddamned world burn. Let babies die beneath a mound of dirt as long as our AC works, and we can stream our favorite fucking show. You can turn this off if you haven’t already. But I hope some part of this will stick with you. Nothing’s free. Someone somewhere is paying the price for your luxury, your convenience. No Houze is going to fix this problem. No EV is going to fix this. Sooner or later, we’re all going to burn unless we begin to figure out that we’re all the problem and we’re all the solution.”
The camera feed ended. Freja heard Jessie set the phone down on the counter. For a moment she didn’t move or say anything. She hadn’t noticed that Mark had taken his earbuds out and was listening to the whole thing. He had the same awe-stricken look on his face that she imagined mirrored her own. They looked at each other. Mark shook his head slowly. When they heard the handle of the bathroom door, they both scrambled to pull up their masks before Jessie emerged.
“Happy?” he said.
Neither Mark nor Freja responded.
“Look, I gave you what you want,” Jessie said. “Now, let Deepu go. He’s hurt, he’s just a kid and you don’t need him for this.”
In response, Mark stood, puffed out his chest like a rooster, and cocked the gun. Jessie sighed, pushed past him, and stopped in front of the door that led to the outside. Without turning around, he added, “And don’t fucking touch him again. You want to hurt somebody, hurt me.”
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Who’s Who in Harmony House?
Having trouble keeping track of who’s who from one week to the next? It’s tough when you only get to visit once a week. I made a little cheat sheet just for you:
Wow, Jesse! Preach! I’ll admit, this catches me in a downward spiral over big events as well as personal failings. So I’ve sunk a bit lower after his performance. 😢 But I can also admire the craft here -- how you bring this big-picture reality into the story via sympathetic characters, exposing our ignorance and complicity, questioning assumptions. It’s riveting and devastating.
This just keeps getting better. The interaction between characters is genuine. And as I've said before, no one is all good or all bad. Here, we see real people trying to sort things out.