Hilbert leans in to me, speaking softly, so Shelley won’t hear.

“I want you to paint marks on me if that’s what you see,” he whispers. “Paint what you see.”

“Come,” Shelley says, and she ushers him out.

It’s not until they’re gone that I realize I can hear Pete playing his violin.

Now it’s just me. Single. Solitary. Unattended. A hermit. Alone in my room, just like being back in my apartment. No Hilbert. No one to talk to. No one to touch. No one to paint.

I walk into my bathroom, run the warm water, and splash some on my face, neck, and on my wrists.

What did I just see on Hilbert’s skin? Was it there when I was painting? If it was, I didn’t notice. Maybe I’m imagining it. Perhaps it was only a shadow. We can’t always trust our senses.

I slowly turn in a full circle, looking at the walls of my room, then down at my arms and hands. I have a strong instinct to crawl into my bed and get under the blanket, to lock my door. I play around with the door handle.

There is no lock on my door. I can’t lock my door.

I go into my bathroom again and check the door and frame. No lock here, either. I inspect the area around the sink and mirror. I open the shower curtain. I walk back out into the room and over to the window, the fading daylight.

I haven’t been outside since I’ve arrived here. Not once. I want to breathe the fresh air, feel it on my face.

It’s been too long. We’re all breathing the same air in here. I used to go outside, walk to the park, sit on the bench near the path. Fresh air is essential to humans, to animals, to plants and trees.

I walk to my desk and bedside table, flipping on the lamp, flipping it back off. On. Off. On. Off. The click settles me. Hilbert’s unfinished portrait gazes back at me.

I sit down on my bed. In the quiet. I hear a faint buzzing, almost like an insect, a bee. I tilt my head, trying to hear better. It’s almost indistinguishable from the silence.

I get up again, walk back to my desk. The sound is louder the closer I get to it, until I’m standing right at the desk. Above me is a light bulb. Just like at my apartment. When I fell. I hit my head. Someone was inside the apartment with me. I woke up with blood on my head, blood on the floor.

I turn the chair around, and with some difficulty, am able to get one knee up on the chair, then the other. From the chair I step up onto the desk. My old joints work. I didn’t fall this time. My room looks different from up here, smaller. I steady myself and then, using the wall for leverage, I go up on my tiptoes, getting as close to the light as possible. The light is definitely the source of the buzzing sound. I’m so close. I close my eyes… listening.