toward the lens, and it's hard not to wonder whether someone is staring back at me through a monitor somewhere. Maybe Freddie has rebooted the system and regained control, or maybe I'm being watched and recorded by whoever set up the password. There's something strangely calming about the idea of the camera always running, always relaying its data back to a hard-drive. It's as if someone's backing up a copy of reality, so that people like me – people whose minds are a little skew-whiff – can go back and check what really happened.
I should hate cameras after everything that happened to me, but I don't, not at all.
I like them.
If I'm honest with myself, I feel lonely when I'm not being recorded, and strangely content when I know there's a camera trained on me. Cameras mean certainty and control, they mean honesty. I haven't told the doctors or my psychiatrist that I feel that way, because I don't want them to start digging around in my mind again, but I feel as if the world is only running properly when there are cameras and -
Suddenly I hear a couple of stumbling footsteps nearby, and I turn to look back along the dark, deserted street. I wait, watching the pools of light beneath a couple of street-lamps, but there's no sign of anyone.
I glance up at the camera again.
Always watching.
Always recording the truth.
Reminding myself that it's not that unusual to hear other people out and about in town, even so close to midnight, I make my way over to the cafe and peer through the window. The scene inside looks pretty ordinary, but for a moment I can't help imagining Karen sitting at one of the tables with Daniel on the other side, and by Daniel I mean the Daniel, the guy who helped capture and torture me in the cabin. No matter how hard I try to remind myself that he and the others died three years ago, no matter how many times I go over and over Daniel's death in my mind, or Jennifer's, there's a part of me that just can't let go of the possibility...
Footsteps again.
I turn and look. They were closer this time, but there's still no sign of anyone. I step over to the corner and look along the side-street, but there's clearly no-one here.
It's all in my mind.
I don't think I'm as well as I'd like to believe.
Realizing that it's getting colder, I take one final look over at the camera on the wall and then I turn and start making my way home. My mind is still racing and I feel far too wired to sleep, but I was up all last night too and I know I have to get some rest. I keep thinking about Karen, imagining her going through something similar to my ordeal at the cabin, and I know full well that these thoughts are going to plague my every waking moment until the police call to say that they've found her. It's as if my experience at the cabin has trained my mind to always imagine the worst, and I feel my thoughts pulled toward sick, disgusting images.
Stopping at the corner, I look over my shoulder again.
No-one.
If only Karen -
Suddenly I hear the footsteps again, stumbling toward me. I turn, expecting to find someone about to bump into me, but there's still no sign of anyone.
“Keep it together, you idiot!” I hiss to myself, even as I take a step back. No matter how hard I try to calm my fears, I can't keep my heart from racing.
I turn and look in every direction.
“There's no-one here,” I say out loud, trying to get my head straight. “There's no-one.”
I wait.
Silence.
There's no camera, either, at least not one that I can see. I'm truly alone.
Turning, I start hurrying along the street again. With every step, I want to turn around and make sure that there's no-one coming up behind me, but I force myself to keep looking ahead. Fear is rising through my chest, gripping my gut and trying to convince me that I'm being followed, but I just keep focusing on the fact that my mind is damaged, that I'm not better yet. I should probably call Doctor Lewis and get an extra appointment for this week, but
I should hate cameras after everything that happened to me, but I don't, not at all.
I like them.
If I'm honest with myself, I feel lonely when I'm not being recorded, and strangely content when I know there's a camera trained on me. Cameras mean certainty and control, they mean honesty. I haven't told the doctors or my psychiatrist that I feel that way, because I don't want them to start digging around in my mind again, but I feel as if the world is only running properly when there are cameras and -
Suddenly I hear a couple of stumbling footsteps nearby, and I turn to look back along the dark, deserted street. I wait, watching the pools of light beneath a couple of street-lamps, but there's no sign of anyone.
I glance up at the camera again.
Always watching.
Always recording the truth.
Reminding myself that it's not that unusual to hear other people out and about in town, even so close to midnight, I make my way over to the cafe and peer through the window. The scene inside looks pretty ordinary, but for a moment I can't help imagining Karen sitting at one of the tables with Daniel on the other side, and by Daniel I mean the Daniel, the guy who helped capture and torture me in the cabin. No matter how hard I try to remind myself that he and the others died three years ago, no matter how many times I go over and over Daniel's death in my mind, or Jennifer's, there's a part of me that just can't let go of the possibility...
Footsteps again.
I turn and look. They were closer this time, but there's still no sign of anyone. I step over to the corner and look along the side-street, but there's clearly no-one here.
It's all in my mind.
I don't think I'm as well as I'd like to believe.
Realizing that it's getting colder, I take one final look over at the camera on the wall and then I turn and start making my way home. My mind is still racing and I feel far too wired to sleep, but I was up all last night too and I know I have to get some rest. I keep thinking about Karen, imagining her going through something similar to my ordeal at the cabin, and I know full well that these thoughts are going to plague my every waking moment until the police call to say that they've found her. It's as if my experience at the cabin has trained my mind to always imagine the worst, and I feel my thoughts pulled toward sick, disgusting images.
Stopping at the corner, I look over my shoulder again.
No-one.
If only Karen -
Suddenly I hear the footsteps again, stumbling toward me. I turn, expecting to find someone about to bump into me, but there's still no sign of anyone.
“Keep it together, you idiot!” I hiss to myself, even as I take a step back. No matter how hard I try to calm my fears, I can't keep my heart from racing.
I turn and look in every direction.
“There's no-one here,” I say out loud, trying to get my head straight. “There's no-one.”
I wait.
Silence.
There's no camera, either, at least not one that I can see. I'm truly alone.
Turning, I start hurrying along the street again. With every step, I want to turn around and make sure that there's no-one coming up behind me, but I force myself to keep looking ahead. Fear is rising through my chest, gripping my gut and trying to convince me that I'm being followed, but I just keep focusing on the fact that my mind is damaged, that I'm not better yet. I should probably call Doctor Lewis and get an extra appointment for this week, but
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