The Public Eye

His penthouse was hardly anything she hadn’t seen already. A blocky modern design with windows for walls on their right as they entered, and flat boards for stairs on their left. The only noteworthy thing she could name was that the front door closed slowly, with a hollow whooshing noise as it nestled softly into the frame.

“Is your front door hydraulic?” She asked.

“Yes, I find it’s better for soundproofing.”

“Why do you need soundproofing?”

“Wouldn’t this be better answered during the interview.”

She saw no real flaw in that argument, so she took a seat on the chair across from him and placed the tape recorder on the dinner table between them. She pressed record.

“This is Sally Woodrow from TMZ, here with an exclusive interview with new age rock sensation Terra Ryzer. How are you tonight Mr. Ryzer!”

He didn’t answer for a moment, brushing his oversized blonde curls away from his face, and she saw a quizzical look on his face, directed at her. She suspected this was going to be a long interview.

“I’m doing well Miss Woodrow, just a bit jet lagged is all.” He spoke finally, his voice sounding rough and straining.

“I can imagine. You just got back from your big European tour and it sounds like you went all out for it.”

“I did, and I’ll admit I wish I hadn’t.” He suddenly leaned in, staring at her but speaking directly to the recorder. “Not that all my fans in Europe don’t deserve the best from me, it’s just my voice is probably going to be shot for a few days.”

Sally had been leaning back during that, straining herself to keep that fake smile plastered wide, but his eyes were still on her. They had not left for the entire time he had been speaking, not for the entire time he had been sitting down, she now realized. Her brain was sparking out electric warnings through her body, making preparations.

“I think you’ll manage.” She blurted out, immediately considering if her abruptness might offend him somehow, and then kept going. “Can you please back away from me Mr. Ryzer.” He did so without haste and with an open mouthed chuckle. His eyes were still on her. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to get a better look at your eyes.”

She felt taken aback by that, and, from the way his smile widened, she knew that it showed. “Why are you interested in my eyes?” She asked. He chuckled again, more like a strangled puff of breath, before he answered.

“Eyes are of great importance to me. I thrive off of having them on me at all time, not just in my live performances or in the public eye, but privately as well. It helps me sleep.”

“What does?”

“Being watched. It’s why you’ll never see me in the papers alone. The watchful eyes of another man, or a woman, or even a child who can’t even understand what seeing is. It doesn’t matter. The notion of it is what’s important to me.”

She was getting increasingly worried with each word out of his mouth. He knew the recorder was on, right? Did he realized how odd this sounded? How personal this was to share with a stranger? It at once disturbed and fascinated her. This article is going to be amazing! She thought.

“Why is this so important to you?” She asked, and was promptly shocked when, for the first time since they sat down, Ryzer averted eye contact. He seemed to slump down in his seat, become smaller, vulnerable. If for only a brief moment, he looked incredibly scared. He recovered in short order. “It just…” He started, trailed off for a moment, and then continued. “…helps me sleep.”

Very suddenly, his chair scraped loud across the floor as he shot up out of his seat, the smile on his face widening to such a degree as to hide his eyes. Sally was confronted for the first time that night with how much larger he was then her. She was not tall, standing at five feet and four inches, and she could pass one hundred pounds soaking wet, maybe, but Terra Ryzer was a giant of a man. He had to be seven feet at least, or, if he wasn’t, he might as well have been. Sally Woodrow was frozen in her seat paralyzed at the looming figure above her, but only for as a long as it took him to speak again.

“I need to get changed.” He said, his voice a whisper. “I’ve been wearing these for the entire day. Please, help yourself if you’re hungry.” He was walking as soon as he finished talking, heading for the stairs, not giving a single look back.

Sally stopped the recording. What was she going to ask him next? What could she even think to ask him next? This was supposed to be some nothing tabloid interview and now she felt like she was conducting a therapy session. Maybe have him lay on the couch? Maybe ask him what he meant by soundproofing for one thing.

She got out of her seat and looked at the front door. She could tell just from a glance that it was heavy, and that green light above the peephole gave her an impression that was confirmed by the lack of any kind of lock or chain on the inside of the door. She could leave anytime she wanted, she thought, and then her stomach growled. She looked around the space of the suite, not for any reason mind you; the kitchen was right next to her. She just wanted to take everything in. He told her to help herself, right? Why shouldn’t she?

The refrigerator was in front of her now, sleek and gray and shiny. She clasped the handle and paused. A strange feeling came over her then, but she could not name or place it, so she shrugged it off and opened the fridge. She stared into it, and it stared back at her. It was full of jars, and those jars were full of water, and, in that cold liquid, were eyes. Jars of eyes on every shelf, stacked in rows and on top of each other until their lids scraped the ceiling and the ones furthest behind were crammed against the back of their cool box. She didn’t scream. She didn’t run. She couldn’t move or speak or do anything but see. Suddenly, a loud buzz broke her trance and she hurried, her breath coming now in quick gasps, into the hallway leading to the door.

The green light had turned red.