The Focus Effect

Eight

A digital clock mounted on the wall above the TV tells me that I've worked for nearly nine hours. I find it hard to believe that much time has passed and am disappointed to have only reassembled ten of Bob's threads. I have a blinding headache and my eyes are on fire. I'm exhausted and can barely function. There are three wool blankets beneath the examination chair and I pull them all out to use. When I collapse in the chair, I only manage to get one of the blankets half over me and one beneath my head for a pillow before I fall asleep.

I wake up the next day at 10:13 am. Hopefully it's the next day and not a day and a half later. Kingshire wouldn't have tolerated my sleeping that long anyway. In any event, I can't be sleeping half the day away or I'll never get Bob fixed. I really need an alarm. By my estimation, there are between 1000 and 1500 damaged frays in need of repair. I try not to think about how long that will take at ten threads a day.

Over the next ten hours I complete fourteen stands. It's getting easier to reassemble the symbols because I'm becoming familiar with the way they reconnect. Using the alphabet analogy, the letter A always separates into two congruent long lines and a shorter one that is a third the length of the longer ones. Putting the letter A back together is a breeze now. The symbols are more complex but it's the same concept. I'm convinced that the symbols are some kind of language. How I understand what they mean is beyond me. This whole experience is, but that's beside the point.

I know I've pushed myself too hard. Not only do I have a massive headache and burning eyes, I'm also nauseated. I may need to cut my focus time into small chunks and rest more often. Around 8:30 pm I collapse into the chair and pull a blanket up over me. As I drift off, I remember my book drying on the table. What I wouldn't give to have it right now. When Kingshire lets me out, I need to make sure I return with it. I don't know what it is about reading but it really helps my sore eyes.

Kingshire wakes me just after 7:00 am.

"I need my book," I say, rolling out of the chair and stretching. "And an alarm clock," I add.

"How many stands have you completed?" he ignores me.

"Twenty-four."

"Out of how many?" His tone suggests that I should have completed ten times that many.

"A lot!" I shout, balling up my fists. "A thousand, maybe two thousand for all I know!"

He slowly nods. "Call me back when you've completed five hundred. Then we'll talk about books and clocks."

The screen goes black.

In my anger, I do what I've wanted to do for a long time. I rip the TV from the wall and it smashes onto the floor. "Now what?" I yell at the ceiling camera. "How am I supposed to call you now, huh?"

Kingshire's voice emanates from the speaker in the ceiling, cool and collected. "Very mature, Hannah. By my estimation, doing approximately twenty-five threads every two days will take you just over five weeks to complete the remaining 475. It's too bad you just destroyed the only way to contact me if you finish sooner. See you in five weeks."

Kingshire doesn't respond to me no matter how many profanities I sling at him. Perfect. Just perfect.

I'm wasting time being angry and force myself to calm down. I need to focus on getting these threads repaired so I can leave this room. I certainly can't count on Kingshire's good graces to get me out of here.

Before I get started, I rip the cushions from the chair and make a comfy little spot in the corner with the blankets for a makeshift bed. Then I get the notebook and a pen out of the box beneath Bob's gurney and get comfortable. If I can't read a book, I'll write my own so I have something to read when I shift my focus from the lights. It's not really a book I'm writing, but I do begin to journal some of my experiences I've had since coming here. After three full pages, I go to Bob and prepare to get to work. It's going to be a long five weeks. I may not have to eat or drink (or use the restroom for that matter, which I have to say is kind of nice), but I'm still 99.9 percent me. So believe me when I say I still need a shower every day. And there's no doubt in my mind that he'll leave me here for the whole time before checking in. Yep, it's going to be a long five weeks.

I shift my focus and fix three of Bob's light threads before taking a break. I read my hand written pages a few times until my eyes are rested before falling asleep for about two and half hours. When I wake up, I add a couple pages to my journal before getting back to work on Bob. This becomes my routine for the next five weeks. Before I go to sleep, I always record the total number of threads I've repaired. It occurs to me that I have no idea what the actual date is. So when I wake up and record an entry in my journal, that entry always starts off with the time, the number of days I've been working and the number of threads I've repaired. It helps to pass the time and the more pages I get, the less monotonous it becomes to reread. As the days pass, I notice that my eyes don't hurt so badly after a few hours of work on Bob. I think they're getting stronger, the same way a muscle gets stronger after daily use.

By day sixteen I've fixed a total of three hundred three of Bob's threads and can consistently repair twenty of them a day now. I break the five hundred mark by day twenty-seven but I don't stop. I'm not sure why, but I don't want Kingshire to know what number I'm on. I figure he's probably checking in on me from time to time and if he sees I've stopped, he may think I'm done. I stop recording the number of threads I've repaired in my journal and spend some time blackening out all the previous numbers so that if Kingshire takes my journal he won't be able to see when and how many I was able to complete. When I hear him make his grand return after thirty-five days, he doesn't say anything about the journal.

"Good afternoon, Hannah. Nice to see you again."

I'm working on threads but stop and shift my focus. "You should smell me," I say. "I could really use a shower." I've been using the sink and paper towels to wash my face and body but depleted the soap dispenser after the first couple weeks. I also had some hand sanitizer that I went through a week or so after the soap. My hair is about an inch and a half long now and greasy. My scalp itches so badly that I've drawn blood in places scratching at it.

"Have you made your benchmark?"

"And then some," I reply. "Around five-fifty," I lie. It's actually over six hundred fifty. I think I've got three or four hundred at the most left to complete. There's silence from his end. I walk to the door and wait for him to unlock it so I can get my book like he promised. "I'd like that walk in the sun now, please."

"How many threads do you estimate remain?" he ignores my request.

"About as many as I've done, I guess."

"It would be a shame to quit now, don't you think?"

I turn towards the camera and glare at him through it. "You seemed to have forgotten that the reason you let me come back to the cottage was because I'd be more efficient if I was exposed to sunlight."

"I haven't forgotten. But right now, I want you to stay focused on the task at hand. There will be plenty of time left for walks in the sun and to improve your efficiency after you've restored Bob."

My patience with him is gone. "Why is this so important to you?!" I shout.

"Because you're special, Hannah. If you successfully restore Bob, think about all we can do for mankind."

What does that even mean? Before I know what I'm doing, I grab a metal tray, spilling canisters of cotton balls and Popsicle sticks everywhere. I throw the tray like a Frisbee at the camera. To my surprise, it hits the camera perfectly and shatters it into pieces.

I hear Mr. Kingshire's anger from the speaker. "Yet another demonstration of your maturity level! Bravo, my dear! I don't need to see you to know what you'll be doing for the next five weeks! When that door opens, you'd have better completed the job!"

"When that door opens, I won't be here!" I'm so mad that I don't know what I'm saying.

He laughs. "And just where do you think you'll be?"

"Coming for you," I growl.