The Camera Man

by Amy Cross

  I'll just have to pretend I got emotional about something else.

  Suddenly the chamber comes to a halt on the ground floor, and the door slides open behind me. Turning, I try my best not to look upset as I walk out, although my legs are shaking and my knees feel as if they might buckle at any moment.

  “Hey Jess!” Angela calls out, drunkenly tottering toward me and putting an arm around my shoulders. “There you are! Between you and Kelly, I thought everyone was going to abandon me tonight! Where have you been?”

  “Nowhere,” I mutter, letting her guide me out through the main door and onto the terrace.

  Looking up, I see that the second elevator chamber is finally coming down the side of the building. I wait for a moment, until I'm able to see that the chamber is completely empty now.

  He's gone.

  Whether he was ever really there is still in question, but now he's definitely gone. I watch as the second chamber reaches the ground floor, and then as the door slides open and two drunk women stumble inside.

  “Are you alright, Jess?” Angela asks, taking a step back and putting her hands on the sides of my arms. “Have you been crying?”

  “It's nothing.”

  “Did that Doug guy make a move? I totally saw him checking you out earlier. You know you can do way better, right?”

  I shake my head. “It wasn't Doug.”

  “I can tell something's upset you,” she continues. “Why don't you have a boyfriend, anyway? There's nothing wrong with you, Jess, although maybe you could do with a different hairstyle. Do you want me to put you in touch with my stylist? She's kinda pricey, but she's worth every penny.”

  “I don't need a stylist,” I reply, resisting the urge to add that what I do need is more time with my therapist.

  Leading me over to the drinks table, Angela sways slightly and bumps against a few other guests. She issues some mumbled apologies before grabbing two glasses of champagne and handing one to me.

  “Drink!” she says firmly.

  “You know I don't like -”

  “Drink!” she says again. “Seriously, Jess, this teetotal thing isn't working for you. I'm not saying you have to be a raging alcoholic like the rest of us, but a few glasses now and then won't hurt. You might even start to relax. No offense, honey, but you seem tense as hell.”

  I glance over at the elevator chambers again, but there's no sign of the camera man. Turning to look across the terrace, I keep expecting to see him lurking somewhere with his camera still aimed straight at me. Even though I don't spot him, I can't shake the feeling that maybe he's out there somewhere and I simply haven't noticed him yet. Maybe he's always out there.

  “Who are you looking for?” Angela asks.

  Realizing that there's no sign of him, I turn back to her.

  “There are some hot guys around, eh?” she continues with a leery grin, nudging my arm. “Don't think I haven't noticed, 'cause I have. And it's a wedding, after all, so why shouldn't we have a little fun?”

  I want to answer her, to have a normal conversation, but I still can't help looking out for any sign that the camera man has returned. Why would he appear to me so openly, only to then fade away?

  “You need to have some fun!” Angela says with a laugh, slapping my shoulder so hard that I stumble forward. “Get that champagne down you, and then we can dance!”

  “I'm really not sure...”

  “It'll be the best thing you ever do,” she continues. “Trust me, Jess. With a little alcohol to loosen you up, you'll be the life of the party in no time.”

  I want to decline again, but after a moment I realize that maybe I do need to shake things up. One glass can't hurt too much, and maybe my problems have been caused by the fact that I never really allow myself to relax. As I stare down at the bubbles that are fizzing to the top of the champagne, I start to wonder whether it's time for me to let my hair down just a little. Besides, it's not as if the alcohol could leave me worse off than I am now. Slowly, with a growing sense of anticipation, I start lifting the glass to my lips.

  “Oh my God!” someone shouts nearby. “Is that Kelly?”

  Turning, I look for some sign of Kelly in her red dress, but then I realize that several people are looking up toward the roof of the hotel. Following their gazes, I'm horrified to see Kelly way up high at the very top of the building, teetering right on the edge.

  “She must be drunk,” a man says. “Someone needs to get her down from there!”

  As he and two other men race into the building, I watch Kelly standing high above us all. Her red dress is flapping wildly in the wind and she has her arms out at her sides, as if she's struggling to keep her balance.

  “Is she insane?” Angela whispers, stopping next to me. “How the hell did she get up there, anyway?”

  “I was looking for her,” I stammer, watching as Kelly turns and looks over her shoulder. It's almost as if somebody's up there with her, and I think I can just about make out her mouth moving. “She was -”

  Suddenly she topples forward and falls.

  “No!” a woman shouts nearby, turning away as Kelly plummets from the top of the hotel.

  Another woman screams.

  “Wait,” I whisper, “this can't -”

  And then she hits the ground, no more than twenty or thirty feet from us. There's a loud thudding sound, and I watch in horror as her body explodes on impact, splattering blood and meet against the side of the reception window.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Somebody's calling my name.

  I don't respond.

  I'm too busy remembering that moment, and seeing Kelly hitting the ground over and over again.

  I can't even open my eyes.

  Not even when I feel somebody touch my arm.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Six months later

  “So tell me,” Doctor Goodman says, as birds twitter in the sunlit garden beyond his office window, “how are you feeling today, Jessica?”

  “I took all my pills,” I reply, still gripping the sides of the chair with such force that my fingers actually hurt a little. “I was really good. I ate all my food and -”

  “That's very good,” he says, interrupting me, “but I was already told all of this by the nurses. What I want to know now, Jessica, is how you're actually feeling. Are you starting to think less about some of the things that happened?”

  “You mean about Kelly?”

  As I say that name, I see another flash in my mind. She's falling, and her red dress is billowing in the cold night air as she plummets to the ground and -

  “Jessica?”

  The image flashes away just before the impact.

  “I think about it sometimes,” I tell him, gripping the sides of the chair even tighter. “But that's only natural, because it was such a horrible thing to see.”

  “How many times a day do you think about it?”

  “Has the report come out yet?” I ask. “They were going to issue a report about the accident. About how she got up onto the roof of the hotel in the first place.”

  “I believe the -”

  “I was supposed to look after her,” I continue, feeling a flash of fear in my chest. “I had her in the reception area, and then she ran off. I was going to go and find her again, but then...”

  My voice trails off for a moment.

  “She was my friend and I was supposed to keep her safe,” I add finally, as I feel tears in my eyes. “I let her down.”

  “I want to ask you about the camera man.”

  I turn to Doctor Goodman.

  “Have you seen him since you returned to Spellwood?” he continues.

  I shake my head.

  “So since you came back to the hospital, you haven't seen him once?”

  Again, I shake my head.

  He makes a note. “That's interesting.”

  “But I saw him that night,” I continue. “He's the reason I didn't find Kelly in time. I was so busy running away from him,
I didn't get a chance to check on her. If he hadn't been there, if I hadn't imagined him, maybe I could have found Kelly and she wouldn't be dead now.”

  “You can't blame yourself for what happened, Jessica.”

  “But I let the camera man distract me!”

  “None of which directly caused your friend to go up onto the roof.”

  “I still could have stopped her.”

  “We'll talk about your guilt in another session,” he replies, making another note. “Right now, I'm more interested in the fact that you claim to have seen this same man several times over the years.”

  “I'm sick,” I point out.

  “That may be so, Jessica, but -”

  “I have a problem,” I continue. “I can't function out there in society. Every time I try, I see things that shouldn't be there.”

  “Like the camera man?”

  I nod.

  “And like the woman in the skip all those years ago, with the camera lenses in her eyes?”

  Again, I nod.

  “You certainly seem to have some interesting hallucinations,” he continues.

  “I can't help that. I just see them, that's all.”

  “And can you...”

  He pauses, before opening his folder and taking out a sheet of paper that I can't quite see.

  “Jessica,” he continues cautiously, “can you describe this man to me again? I know you've described him before, but I'd like to hear one more time.”

  “Why?”

  “Humor me.”

  “I've never seen his face,” I tell him. “He always has a camera in front of it. I've seen his hands, they're old, and I've seen the beige trench-coat he always wears. But that's about it.”

  “I see.”

  “I don't know why he's stuck in my head,” I continue, feeling a growing sense of fear in my chest. “He just is.”

  Doctor Goodman pauses, staring down at the piece of paper.

  “Jessica,” he says finally, “I want to show you something. As you know, on the night of the wedding there was a glitch that knocked out the hotel's cameras, but one unit in the parking lot was still running. I'm wondering if this might shed some light on what happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You must stay calm when I show you this.”

  I crane my neck, trying to see the piece of paper.

  After a moment, he turns the sheet around so that I can see a print-out from a surveillance camera. The image is black and white, and there are several cars parked in the dark parking lot. Just as I'm about to ask why I'm being shown this picture, however, I realize I can just about see a figure at the edge of the frame.

  Doctor Goodman holds the sheet closer, and I'm shocked to see a blurry, grainy shot of the camera man. He still has his camera in front of his face, but he's looking away from the surveillance camera, as if he's watching the hotel from a distance.

  “Is this the man you've been seeing?” Doctor Goodman asks.

  “It can't be,” I reply, shaking my head. “The camera man only exists in my head.”

  “I'm not denying that you might have been suffering from delusions,” he continues, “but I'm starting to wonder whether those delusions might sometimes be triggered by real-life events.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The man in this shot isn't particularly unusual,” he points out. “He's taking a photo, that's all. This is the only shot where he's visible. I'm wondering whether, any time you see a man taking a picture and he looks vaguely like the delusion you've been suffering, another episode is triggered.”

  “You think he was really there?”

  “I think someone at that wedding might have looked enough like the camera man to make you fall ill.”

  Still staring at the image, I feel a shudder pass through my chest.

  “It can't be him,” I say finally. “I told you, he's not real.”

  “And yet here he is, caught on camera.”

  “He can't be caught on camera, not if he only exists in my mind.”

  “Which is why I think a similar-looking man might have triggered the episode you suffered that night. If the -”

  “He's not real!” I say firmly, feeling as if I'm on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. “I don't know why you keep saying these things, but the camera man is just a product of my imagination!”

  “You've said that to me every time we have one of our meetings.”

  “Because it's true!”

  “And are you worried you'll see him again when you get out of here?”

  “Why would I ever get out of here?”

  “You can't live at the hospital forever, Jessica,” he explains. “At some point, you're going to have to try to live somewhere else again and -”

  “No,” I say firmly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because then I'll see him again!”

  “Not necessarily. We can alter your dosages and -”

  “I can't see him again!” I shout, even though I know I'm supposed to keep my temper under control during these sessions. “Please, you have to understand! I can't ever see the camera man again!”

  “Or what, Jessica?”

  “Or I'll...”

  Pausing for a moment, I suddenly realize that my entire body is trembling. Just the thought of ever seeing the camera man again is enough to send chills rising up to the back of my neck. Gripping the chair tighter than ever, I ignore the pain in my fingertips as I try to imagine what I'd do if the camera man suddenly appeared again. Right now, I honestly think I'd scream.

  Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my right hand. Looking down, I see that I gripped the chair so tightly that one of my fingernails snapped loose.

  I hold my hand up and see blood trickling down to my wrist.

  “Maybe we should end this session for today,” Doctor Goodman says calmly, as he slips the print-out back into his folder. “We'll talk about your options at a later date.”

  “I can't ever go back out there,” I whisper, watching as beads of blood run down my arm. “If I ever see him again, I think I'll die.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Somebody's sobbing in the hospital's recreation room. As I walk through the doorway, I see that there's a man rocking back and forth in one of the chairs, letting out a constant cry of pain.

  I look over at the nurses, but they're chatting happily at the desk.

  Figuring that there's nothing I can do for the sobbing man, I head over to the window and look out across the bright, sun-soaked lawn. A few people are out there taking walks, but I quickly focus on the line of trees at the lawn's far end. Watching the shadows, I wait in case there's any sign of the camera man. I might not have seen him since I came back to Spellwood, but that doesn't mean he's not out there somewhere.

  Maybe he's just getting better at hiding.

  “Are you looking for him?” a voice gurgles suddenly.

  Turning, I see that the sobbing man is looking at me. His eyes are puffy and red, and there are thick red and purple veins knotted on the sides of his forehead. I've met him before. He's in one of my therapy groups, and I think his name's Samuel. Never Sam. Just Samuel.

  “Are you looking for him?” he asks again, lowering his voice this time to a whisper.

  “Who?” I ask cautiously.

  “I've seen him too,” he continues.

  I look over at the nurses, but they still don't seem interested in what any of the patients are doing. Turning back to the man, I find that he's still watching me intently.

  “Who?” I ask finally. “Who have you seen?”

  “He's out there sometimes.”

  I swallow hard. “Who is?”

  “He follows me. Always watching, always waiting. I used to think I was crazy.” He taps the side of his head. “All my life, I thought I was imagining him, that he wasn't really there. I thought the whole thing was impossible. It wasn't until later that I experienced the epiphany that changed my life. That was when I reali
zed that he'd really been there all along. It was just that most people couldn't see him.”

  “Are you talking about...”

  My voice trails off for a moment. Nobody else has ever claimed to have seen the camera man, not until now.

  “Are you talking about a man with a camera?” I ask finally, before holding my hands up to mimic somebody holding a camera in front of their face. “Like this?”

  The man stares at me for a moment, before starting to laugh.

  “Have you seen him?” I ask again, lowering my hands as I take a step toward him. “Please, this is important. I have to know.”

  “I used to think the people who see him are the unlucky ones,” he replies, “but now I know the truth. Now I know we're the luckiest ones in the whole world, because we know when he's around.” He looks over his shoulder, toward the nurses, before leaning closer to me. “Imagine if you didn't know about him. Wouldn't that be worse, in a way? Sure, it's scary to think that there's a demon on your tail, but what about the demons you don't know about? Isn't that scarier?”

  “I'm not sure whether -”

  “One of 'em might've won a soul auction for ya,” he continues, “and you'll never know nothing about it, not even as your life gets dragged down by the weight of the monster that's hanging from your heart.”

  I open my mouth to tell him I'm too busy to talk, but something about this guy makes me wonder whether he might actually know about the camera man.

  “Tell me what you've seen,” I say finally, heading over to him and sitting down. “Please, it's important.”

  “What I've seen? I've seen everything, little lady.”