“I’m not ready yet. I have to think about this a little more.”
“What’s there to think about? You know who I am.”
“I’m struggling to find the right words.”
“The right words? There’s no such thing as right or wrong words; just you, telling a story, my story. That’s what you’re here for. Don’t you know that?”
I lean back in my black swivel chair and close my eyes for a moment. My head is throbbing slightly. I turn on the radio, tuning into the classical station. I allow J.S. Bach to carry me away. The piece is relaxing; the notes of the organ calm my restless mind. I take a sip of wine before turning off my desk lamp and climb into bed. Soon, I begin to drift into a light sleep. I can still hear music in the background when his words rouse me out of my near slumber.
“You are so selfish. That’s what you are; selfish.”
“I’m tired, I want to sleep. Please, let me rest and we’ll discuss this in the morning.”
I wait and listen. He stops speaking. Perhaps he will allow me to rest. “We can talk more in the morning.” I say in a half conscious whisper.
“You will not sleep until you tell my story.” His words hiss at me.
“I created you. Remember that. I will tell you when I’m ready.” I say firmly.
“I will not let you sleep. I will not let you rest until you sit at that computer and write my story. You don’t realize how much power you have given me. You have no idea what I am capable of.”
I try lying still, pretending his words have not stirred me; that his threat has not alarmed me.
“But you do know what I am capable of, don’t you? Like you said… you created me.”
And with that, I am out of bed and sitting at my desk, laptop turned on. I stare at the blank screen. Nothing is coming to my mind.
“I don’t know where to begin.”
“Don’t worry,” his whisper menacing, “I’ll help you.”