My job is watching someone else in a room, but he can't see me. Not until yesterday, anyway.

My job is watching someone else in a room, but he can't see me. Not until yesterday, anyway. <br><br>The room is small, with white walls and no windows. There is a wooden desk in the center of the room, with a wooden chair tucked under it. There is a man in a white button-down shirt and blue jeans sitting in the chair, reading a book. He spends most of his days reading. <br><br>I watch him through a camera feed on a laptop screen. The camera is positioned in a corner of the ceiling, giving me a wide-angle view of the room. There is a bedroll made out of a sleeping bag with a pillow on it in the corner of the room. There is a wooden door with a keycard lock on it. The door leads to a bathroom. <br><br>I sit at a desk with the laptop on it, in front of a wall with a keycard lock on it. The wall leads to the outside. <br><br>I am not allowed to look at the guy in the room except through the camera. I am not allowed to hear his voice. I am not allowed to smell him. Those are the rules. <br><br>I have been working this job for three months now. I won't lie, it's boring. But I don't get bored because I have to pay attention to him. <br><br>He seems like a nice guy. He has brown hair and blue eyes. He has a small beard and a cute nose. He was brought into the room unconscious and put in the chair. That was the first time I saw him. <br><br>Most days he reads. Sometimes he takes naps. Sometimes he plays with strings. Sometimes he just sits there. <br><br>He's very quiet, but I can hear him talking to himself sometimes. Whimpering. Crying. Laughing. Sometimes he sings. Last week, I heard him singing in the bathroom. I recognized the song. It was *Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star*. I remember my mother used to sing that to me when I was little. <br><br>I started humming the song. I couldn't help it. I hummed along as he sang. <br><br>He stopped singing. I heard him turn off the faucet in the bathroom. I heard him stand up and walk to the door. He put his face against the door and said "Hello?" <br><br>I didn't answer. I don't think he could hear me anyway. I'm in a different room. But I think he could hear me. I think the camera must have picked up the humming. <br><br>He stood against the door for a while. He didn't move. After a while, he went back into the room and sat back down in his chair. <br><br>I was terrified he would figure out I had heard him. But he just sat there and read his book. He didn't look up. He didn't seem startled. He didn't seem upset. He just sat there and read. <br><br>Once he fell asleep, I went to the wall with the keycard lock on it and swiped my keycard. I walked outside into the cool night air. I lit a cigarette and took a long drag on it. I looked up at the stars. I thought about the man in the room. I thought about him singing *Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star*. <br><br>I went back inside. He was still asleep. Last night I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about him. I sat at my desk. I watched him on the camera feed. I watched him move. He was dreaming. He moved a lot when he slept. He twitched. He groaned. He tossed and turned. <br><br>This morning when I went back to him he looked up. He looked right at the camera. He stared at it. He stared at me. He looked... different. His eyes looked black. His skin looked pale. <br><br>He was still looking at the camera when I left to go outside and smoke. He was still looking at the camera when I went back inside. He hasn't moved since yesterday.