by Amy Cross
“But have you seen the camera man?”
As those words leave my lips, I realize they sound utterly ridiculous. At the same time, I feel as if I might be on the verge of talking to someone who understands what I've been going through.
“The camera man?” he says cautiously.
“With a camera, like this.” I hold my hands up, covering my face and mimicking the way the man holds his camera whenever he's looking at me. “Have you seen him?”
“I'm being followed,” he replies.
I lower my hands again. “By the camera man?”
I wait, but now he's staring at me with a bemused expression. Just as I'm about to try explaining, however, he bursts into a fit of laughter.
“What?” I ask. “What's wrong?”
“I'm not talking about no camera man,” he chuckles. “Where did you get that idea from? I'm talking about the one who follows me day in and day out. The one who won me in a soul auction and who thinks he's got the right to tear my life to shreds. I've seen him, you know.” He leans even closer. “I've seen him real up close and personal. I've looked into his eyes, and do you know what he looked like?”
“What?”
He slowly raises his hands to the sides of his head, and then he extends his index fingers to form little horns.
“I'm talking about Satan,” he explains, as his smile fades. “Satan follows me, and he makes my life a living nightmare.”
Sighing, I realize Samuel must be completely insane.
“Okay,” I tell him, “I think maybe I should just -”
“People laugh at me,” he continues, with a hint of urgency in his voice now. “They call me crazy, but I know the truth! Nobody's ever gonna convince me that he's not after me, because I know that what I see with my own two eyes is the only thing I can trust!”
“I should go.”
I start to get up, but the man grabs my arm and squeezes tight.
“You've got to believe in yourself,” he stammers, “even when everyone else tells you you're crazy. If you've seen Satan too, you've got to protect yourself! Those other people, they'll tell you you're wrong, but they won't be around to save your ass when Satan decides to make his move!”
“Can you let go of me, please?” I ask, trying in vain to twist my arm away. “I just want to go to my room.”
“You're the only one who knows!” he screams, yanking me closer. “You've got to trust your own eyes! You've seen him! You know Satan is upon us! You've seen him with his horns and hooves!”
Before I have a chance to react, two nurses rush to the chair and push the man down. He fights back, but one of the nurses slides a needle into his neck as the other works to get me free. Just a couple of seconds after the man is injected, his grip falls limp and I pull away, but I'm shocked as I hear the man still mumbling about Satan as he struggles to stay conscious.
“Tell Doctor Goodman that Samuel had a relapse,” one of the nurses says, before turning to me. “What are you looking at? There's nothing to see here, Jess. Move along!”
I hesitate, and the other nurse immediately takes me by the hand and leads me out of the room.
“Don't worry about Samuel,” he explains, “he just gets a little hyperactive sometimes. Don't listen to the things he comes out with, 'cause we all know he's imagining it all. You know that, don't you?”
“Of course,” I reply, even though I'm still shaken by the man's outburst.
“If I leave you here,” the nurse continues, stopping in the corridor and letting go of my hand, “can I trust you to go straight back to your room?”
I nod.
“If I find you wandering around later -”
“I won't,” I tell him. “I promise.”
“Well, I'll give you this chance. Just -”
“Satan is upon me!” the man screams suddenly, and I hear the sound of chair legs scraping across the floor in the recreation room. “I see Satan right in front of my eyes!”
“Go to your room!” the nurse tells me. “Now!”
With that, I'm left standing alone in the corridor, listening to what sounds like an increasingly desperate struggle. That Samuel guy is clearly fighting back against the nurses, and they're yelling at one another as they try to somehow force him back down into his chair. Honestly, the entire situation sounds completely insane, and after a moment I lean back against the wall and listen some more. The worst part is that I know I could easily end up like Samuel if I remain detached from reality.
I have to make myself accept that the camera man isn't real. Not just in my head, but in my heart too.
Chapter Thirty
“She must have said something,” Scott mutters as we sit in the hospital's visiting room. “Something must have been on her mind, something she felt she couldn't tell me.”
“There was nothing,” I reply, even though I know nothing I say can ever help him get over the loss of his wife. “The last time I saw Kelly, about twenty minutes before she fell, she was laughing and drinking and having a good time.”
“And she never talked about suicide?” he asks. “You knew her longer than I did, Jess. Did she really never talk about that kind of thing? Not even once?”
I shake my head.
“Not even once, Scott.”
“Then I don't get it,” he continues, putting his head in his hands again. “I'm sorry, Jess, I know this must be hard for you too. It's just that the police aren't really giving me any answers, and I still don't understand why my wife suddenly decided to...”
His voice trails off.
I want to make him feel better, but I have no idea what to say.
“Some people think she was talking to someone,” he adds after a moment, raising his head and looking at me again. “People from the terrace, I mean. A few of them swear Kelly turned around just before she jumped, and they insist her lips were moving. Is it possible that someone else was up there, maybe someone who gets kicks out of encouraging people to kill themselves?”
I pause, wondering whether to admit that I'm one of the people who thought Kelly was speaking, but at the last moment I decide to keep quiet. There's no point adding to Scott's pain. After all, the police have already determined that Kelly went up onto the hotel roof alone, so there's no point speculating.
“I keep replaying that moment over and over,” he says after a moment. “I didn't see her fall, but I heard the sound of her hitting the ground. I didn't even know what it was. I just heard this heavy thump, and then there were screams.”
“Have you been to see someone?” I ask. “A counselor?”
He shakes his head.
“You should,” I continue. “This isn't something you can deal with alone. Even after six months, I -”
“She must have said something!” he adds, interrupting me. “Come on, Jess, you might have been the last person to see her alive! The last person to talk to her! Are you seriously telling me that she was fine and happy one moment, and then she just decided to go end it all?”
“I'm telling you what happened,” I reply. “I don't know how to put the pieces together.”
“People keep asking me if I saw any signs,” he continues. “At the funeral, everyone asked over and over again. They were all there, you know. All her friends from the old days. Except you, obviously, 'cause you were in here. And Chrissie didn't show up. But apart from that, I -”
“Chrissie wasn't there?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Did she say why not?”
“She never replied to my messages. I still haven't spoken to her since it happened.”
I take a deep breath. With everything that's been going on lately, I've only had time to try calling Chrissie a few times. She hasn't answered, and she hasn't even responded to my parents when they tried to get in touch. I've been telling myself that she's probably just too busy, but now I'm starting to wonder about her. I've refrained from making a fuss, in case Doctor Goodman and the others think I'm showing signs of paranoia again,
but something definitely doesn't seem to be right with Chrissie.
Still, even after more than six months.
“I'm sorry I disturbed you,” Scott says with a sigh. “It's just that the last time I spoke to Kelly, we were joking about maybe getting married some day. And then less than half an hour later...”
His voice trails off.
“There has to be something else,” he adds finally. “There has to be some part of this puzzle that I'm missing.”
“I'm sorry,” I reply, as he puts his head in his hands again. “I've told you all I know. I've told you everything.”
***
“Jessica, what about you?” Doctor Goodman asks, turning to me. “Would you like to share your latest thoughts with the group?”
Startled, I look around at the half dozen other patients who are sitting in the room with us, all arranged on chairs in a semi-circle. They're all looking at me, all expecting me to make a rare contribution to the discussion, and I guess I can't exactly demur. Still, I honestly don't know where to begin.
“Have you seen him?” one of the other women asks, her voice throaty and deep.
I turn to her.
“You told us about him one time,” she continues. “The camera man. I was just wondering whether you've seen him again.”
“No,” I tell her, “I haven't. Not since I got here.”
“And that's been six months now,” Doctor Goodman points out.
I nod.
“Maybe he can't reach you at the hospital,” one of the men suggests. “Maybe for some reason, he has to wait until you leave.”
“I don't think so,” I reply, turning to him.
“And why's that?” Doctor Goodman asks.
“Because I don't think he was ever real.”
“You can't know that,” another male patient says. “If you saw him so many times, then clearly -”
“No, I'm quite certain now,” I continue, cutting him off. “I'm more certain than ever. In fact, I have no doubts, not anymore. The camera man was a figment of my imagination. I mean, the whole thing's absurd. If some guy with a camera was following me, there'd be some evidence by now. Somebody else would have seen him, or I'd have managed to take a photo of him.”
“What about the camera in the shower?” the woman asks.
“I only moved into that apartment about a year before I found the camera,” I point out with a shrug. “It was there from before.”
“What about the man you saw when you were a kid?” she adds.
“Coincidence.”
“Seems like a pretty big one to me.”
“Big coincidences happen.”
“Alright, then,” one of the other man says, crossing his arms as I turn to him, “what about all the times you saw him? You said there were hundreds and hundreds. Are you seriously suggesting that you imagined him every single time?”
I nod. “Every single time.”
“But -”
“Just like I imagined that woman in the skip,” I add. “The one who'd had her eyes gouged out.”
Some of the other patients chuckle. They always laugh when I mention the woman, as if – even for a bunch of patients at a psychiatric hospital – parts of my story are just too extreme.
“Think about it,” I continue, “how could that possibly have happened? The whole idea is crazy, and the police would definitely have found some evidence. I just have to accept that I've been out of my mind for pretty much my entire life.”
I turn to Doctor Goodman.
“At least now,” I add, “I've got the right medicine.”
“We're just working on the dosage,” he replies.
I nod.
“And you really, truly think the camera man was a figment of your imagination?” one of the women asks.
I turn to her. “I know he was.”
“So does that mean you'll never see him again?”
Hesitating for a moment, I can't help thinking that there's no way I can promise my mind will remain clear for the rest of my life.
“I'll do my best,” I tell her, “and if I do have a relapse, at least I'll know.”
She stares at me for a few seconds, clearly unimpressed, and then she rolls her eyes.
“That's remarkable progress, Jessica,” Doctor Goodman says. “You should be very proud of yourself. And now I think maybe it's time for somebody else to talk about their experiences. Samuel, maybe you'd like to discuss the progress you've made since last week?”
As the others start talking, I can't help looking down at my trembling hands. Just because I know the camera man wasn't real, that doesn't mean I'm not scared he'll appear again. In fact, I'm terrified that when I get out of hospital next week, everything will go right back to how they were before. If I see the camera man again, I think I might crack permanently, but I suppose I'll just have to find some strength from somewhere.
Looking over at the window, I watch the lawn for a moment. There's no sign of the camera man right now, but I don't think I'll ever be able to stop looking over my shoulder and waiting for the hallucination to return.
Chapter Thirty-One
“That's remarkable progress, Jessica. You should be very proud of yourself.”
Doctor Goodman's words are still ringing through my head as I step outside the hospital and look across the yard. I'm supposed to be out here for a short, unassisted break. I'm supposed to be relaxing and getting some air before I go back in for my next session, but I can't help replaying Doctor Goodman's words and worrying that he was simply humoring me.
I haven't made remarkable progress.
I haven't made any progress at all.
Everyone keeps telling me that I'm doing better, that I look and seem so much healthier, but I don't see any of that. Maybe I'm getting a little more proficient when it comes to hiding my problems, but I definitely don't feel even remotely stronger or healthier. In fact, the mere thought of leaving the hospital and returning to the outside world is enough to send shivers up my spine. Stopping at the edge of the path, I look across the empty yard and listen to the distant sounds of traffic.
Maybe I could just stay here forever.
Maybe I just work better in an institution.
Suddenly, hearing a shuffling sound, I turn just in time to see that one of the other patients has followed me out. I immediately tense as I see that it's Samuel, who was only let back onto the main ward a few hours ago. During my time here, he's been in and out of different types of treatment, and even now he's eyeing me with a hint of fear. His hands, meanwhile, are clutched across his chest, which makes him seem extremely nervous.
“Hi,” I say, offering a faint smile before turning to head back inside. “Sorry, I'll leave you alone.”
“Doesn't matter,” he mutters, keeping his voice so low that I can barely hear him. “He'll find you anyway.”
I hesitate for a moment. “I'm sorry?”
“He's new, you know,” he continues. “That's the problem. He's not all grown-up like the rest. The rest have been around for centuries, but your one is new.”
“My... one?”
“I know about them!” he adds, before suddenly tapping the side of his head. “I knew someone else who attracted the attention of one of these... things! She was won in a soul auction, and she got taken, but at least it was quick. They have rules, but the new one, he doesn't know the rules. The other ones haven't explained the rules to him yet, and even when they do, he might be too immature to play by them!”
I open my mouth to ask another question, before realizing that maybe there's no point. After all, Samuel is clearly out of his mind.
“Have a nice walk,” I say, turning to go back inside.
“He was born behind the camera eyes!” Samuel hisses, suddenly grabbing my arm.
I try to pull away, but his grip is too strong. Still, I don't want to make a fuss by crying out, so I try to think of a way to persuade him to let me go.
“Samuel,” I say cautiously, “that hurts a lit
tle...”
“All those cameras,” he continues, sounding a little breathless now, “all over the world. All those eyes! But an eye needs two people, doesn't it? Someone being looked at, and someone doing the looking! We should have known! We should have realized that if we made all these artificial eyes -”
“You mean cameras?” I ask, hoping to get him on my side.
He nods. “All those cameras. Most of them automatic, not actually being used by anyone. All of them together, they created a void on their other side. A space for someone who should be looking out through them all and watching us. And that's where he was born. In that void, and his first view of creation was the view from billions of cameras. No wonder he's a little badly adjusted to life. And the others, the old creatures like him, are amused! They find it funny to watch him grow, to see how he gets on! Maybe that's fine for them, but -”
Suddenly he prods me in the chest with a long, bony finger.
“It's bad for you!”
“Me?” I stammer. “Why?”
“Because the creature behinds the cameras... He needed to look at someone. He had billions of people to choose from, and he chose you!”
He prods me again.
“I really think that's not true,” I tell him. “I think you're reading too much into things.”
“He's growing by the second!” he continues. “Getting smarter, getting more curious. At first he was happy just to watch, but no-one's happy just to watch forever. No, he's starting to want to come through, and that's when you've got to worry! 'Cause maybe at first, he'll just want to protect you! He'll keep you safe, but only 'cause he wants you for himself! And then he's gonna want more and more, 'cause that's how it always works! Eventually, he won't be happy until he's taken you completely, until he's picked you apart like a kid torturing a bug.”
“That sounds pretty nasty,” I reply, peering past Samuel in the hope that I might spot a nurse who'll rescue me. “Um...”
“I only know this because one of the others killed my girlfriend,” he adds, starting to sob now. “One of the mature ones won her soul, and there was nothing I could do! The people here, the doctors and nurses, they don't believe me, but it's true. Her soul was ripped apart from the inside, and I saw it all. I don't talk about it much these days, in case one of the twelve comes to shut me up. But you're in trouble, 'cause there's a thirteenth one of them now, and I can see as clear as anything that he's got his eyes on you!”
