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Martin sat quietly in the living room. It was early morning, the first reaches of sun stretching into the flat and making everything glow with that soft gold that sunrise always seemed to bring with it. The sun reached over to the plants Jon kept on the tv stand and in the corner– gifts Martin had bought for him. It streamed in, touching the small bookcase packed with books, mostly Jon’s selections, the ones he liked to hear Martin’s voice reading out loud. It creeped over to the little desk, brushing over the draft next to the laptop: a poetry book, one Martin wanted to get published more than anything. The warmth of the sunrise filled the room, illuminating their new life here. Safe.
One place the light didn’t reach was the bedroom. It was blocked out by drawn curtains so the man still asleep in there, the man Martin loved more than life itself, could rest a little longer, undisturbed by the brightening sky outside. He still needed his rest, and Martin knew that. He made sure he was never far from Jon though, listening for the beginnings of the night terrors that hadn’t come for a while now. As long as he could be there if Jon needed him, he was content. That was all he needed to do. Be there.
Martin had woken up early this morning, and gotten carefully out of bed so as not to wake Jon. Quietly padding out to the kitchen, he’d made a cup of tea and moved to sit down on the couch with a book he’d been reading. Mornings were nice like this sometimes. He could sit out here and read calmly for a little while, only the noise off the street and the birds singing now and again were able to interrupt the silence. It often seemed like nothing would dare to pierce through that tranquility.
Except for one thing.
There was suddenly a click and a faint whirring sound. Martin perked up, setting the book to the side and placing the cup on the table by the couch. He walked over to the desk, frowning as he saw what was making the noise.
“Oh… Hello," he murmured in surprise, curiosity in his voice more than anything. The source was the small digital recorder he used to keep his thoughts recorded for poems so he could play them back and remember them. It was no tape recorder, but it was what they had. And it was on. Running… recording. He'd been too far away to turn it on, so…
His voice may have been curious, but there was still an underlying tension and fear. Not again… That fear was difficult to suppress, but he did his best to keep it down because…
“Are you still listening?” he asked. There was no way. It couldn’t be, they were somewhere else. It couldn’t still be watching or listening. The Eye was gone. And yet somehow it wasn’t. This recorder was on, whirring away and Listening. He couldn’t help but be a little impressed with its persistence at the very least. “Huh…” The part of him that was impressed was quickly replaced by waves of anxiety.
Martin set the recorder down and glanced into his and Jon's room. He didn’t need to bother him with this now. Besides, he'd need all the rest he could get before Martin explained this. This situation left him with all sorts of anxieties and questions. Ones he worried about the answers to.
He tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t pay attention to his book again. His head was too full, he needed to think. He started to pace, not even thinking to turn the recorder off. It was habit to leave it, knowing it would just click back to life. If this was a sign of what was to come, they had a warning in advance, thank god. Though which god that thanks went to was something he was suddenly wildly unsure of.
In the other room, Jon had rolled over onto his back, still asleep. His eyes were still shut, not that it mattered. The gently whited-over irises couldn’t see anything while opened anyway.
He was becoming restless again, but Martin was too preoccupied to hear the small rustles. It was different this time. He wasn't loud, panicked, dreaming of something ripping away parts of his life, his friends, Martin, his own humanity…
No. Instead of the screams and whimpers of a night terror, fearful, quiet whispers fell from his lips.
Statement remains…Statement remains… Statement remains…