I sat bolt upright in bed. It was early in the morning the day after I had taken the four odd-tasting Psylocybin from near the bottom of the bottle. My head ached in a way that it hadn’t done since I was in room 20 at Maple Ridge. My room was completely dark, and the only sounds I could hear were my breathing and the beating of my heart. I felt inexplicably nervous. My hands shook, and it took a lot of concentration to calm them. I sat in bed until a vague, pervasive light heralded the approach of dawn through my bedroom window. My bedroom door was open, and I could see the camera in the living room pointed at me. I felt as if I was on the other side of the camera looking at myself, and the room seemed to pull away from me as the camera zoomed in on my face. Right then, I knew they were watching me. My stomach filled with terror, and I stumbled out of bed towards the bathroom. My legs were weak, and they wobbled underneath me. I made it to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet. I kicked the bathroom door shut to have some privacy from the unblinking eye of the camera, and curled my arms around the cool bowl of the toilet as I knelt on the floor.
Psylocybin was what I needed. I could feel paranoia extending from the lower part of my brain, spreading dark, wiggly tendrils all through my mind. I stood up and took the bottle from the cabinet. I held it in my trembling hand, but I could not bring myself to open the cap. I wondered if the cops outside could see my heat signature, if they had watched me being sick. Then I remembered how the camera in the living room had pointed quickly away from the bathroom wall when I had left it, two weeks or more before. I realized that the cameras in my house must also have heat-sensing technology. It didn’t matter that they were only in three rooms of my house; they watched all the rooms. They watched through the bathroom wall every day as I took my Psylocybin.
Then I suddenly understood. They watched every day to see that I took my Psylocybin. Why was it so important that I take it? The paranoia rose up inside me and I knew I should take the Psylocybin to rein it in, but I wanted my mind to be clear and sharp. Finally, this was my opportunity to help Penelope. I removed the cap from the bottle, and shook several pills out into my hand. Four should be enough, and in keeping with the dose I had been taking. I brought my hand up to my mouth and let the pills slip through my fingers into the sink. They each clinked against the porcelain, and I hoped the cameras did not have sensitive microphones.
I stood in the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, holding the pill bottle in my hand. In the reflection, the NorCorp name on the bottle was reversed. How could I have missed it? It jumped out at me now. RonCorp.
My mouth dried out. My eyeballs too, because I forgot to blink while I stared at the label in the mirror, while I stared at Ron looking back at me from the bottle of pills. I realized that the cameras were still watching me through the wall, waiting for my next move. I couldn’t stand there all day. I gulped a cup of water to moisten my mouth, and also to give the impression that I was actually swallowing the pills as they expected me to.
I had to keep up the illusion of everything being fine, so after I got dressed I made breakfast even though the knowledge the pills I had been taking were from Ron made my stomach uneasy. My hands shook almost imperceptibly as I buttered the toast. I hoped it was completely imperceptible to the cameras. As I carried my bacon, eggs, and toast to the table, my buttered hands lost their grip on the plate and it fell to the floor, shattering when it hit. I stood completely still, frozen amongst the wreckage of my breakfast. Then I looked up at the camera; it was looking directly at me. I could see the lens adjusting behind the blackness of its eye. I had to get out of my house.
“Oops.” I grinned at the camera. I began cleaning up my breakfast from the floor. “Those were the last of my eggs,” I said quietly, ostensibly to myself but really for the benefit of the camera, “I guess I’ll have to go out for breakfast.”
When I got my keys from the key rack, I saw myself in the mirror beside the door. I looked as if I had been lost on a jungle island for weeks. I ran my fingers through my hair and down over my scraggly, food-stained beard, then went outside anyway. As I closed the door behind me, a cool breeze blew over me and chilled my legs. I looked down and saw that I wasn’t wearing any pants. I turned around to go back inside, but I stopped with my hand on the doorknob. All of the cameras were probably watching me through the door. Could I go inside and face their gaze? I took my hand off the doorknob. I was wearing underpants. That would have to do.