The Watcher

37

The doorbell breaks the silence. My hands stop moving. I look up and listen. Someone has come to see me. I know who it is, suspect what it’s about. The clock chimes again, and I cast a quick glance at the open bedroom door. From where I sit, I can just see the first steps leading down to the front door. I see myself moving the computer aside, getting out of the bed, walking down the stairs, and opening the door. I see it happen, imagine how it will be, but I don’t budge. The doorbell goes quiet, and I turn my full attention back to the keyboard.

The hours pass, and I lose track of time. My back and neck start to ache. My wrists hurt, but I don’t stop writing. It grows dark in the room, and then it grows light again. I’m still writing. Did I sleep a little? An hour here and there, at most two or three in a row, maybe. But it’s as if I don’t need sleep anymore, as if I have wrestled with insomnia for so long that, somehow, I’ve overcome it, liberating myself from one of the most fundamental human needs. As long as I can write, I don’t need to sleep. I leave the bedroom only to go to the bathroom or when my stomach screams for something to eat. Apparently some needs are still intact.

I only stay in the kitchen for as long as it takes to make a sandwich, boil an egg, or make tea. The blinds are still drawn, and I leave them like that, but I still make a habit of turning my back to the window. I take great pains to do what needs to be done as quickly as possible. I don’t tarry unnecessarily, never sit down at the table either to eat or write. I take my plate or cup and return to the bedroom, eating and drinking while I continue writing.

I write about the woman and the man, about the downfall that must come, about the time after that. And while I write, it gets dark and then light again, maybe once, maybe multiple times. Yes, almost certainly several times.

Now and then, the sound of the doorbell can be heard throughout the house. I don’t know how many times it happens, am not sure I even notice them all. There’s an on-and-off ringing in my ears. Sometimes the volume increases and exceeds a roar. Usually it goes away if I set down my computer and sleep for a while. The doorbell ringers go away, too. As long as I just don’t open the door, they go away on their own sooner or later. I turned off my phone a long time ago. There’s only me and the text, the text and me.

The light fades away, and we travel into the darkness together.