Schroedinger s Cat

Ever since the accident Emily’s life has taken a downturn. The injury, which deprived her of both her everyday routine of teaching at a school and the freedom of movement, has also left her acrimonious for a while. Now she spent her time in three major locations: in her bed, in front of her computer teaching Skype lessons, and in the wheelchair, which she often placed at the window overlooking the block of flats across the street.

The bitterness and the outrage turned her into a boring interlocutor. As months passed by, fewer friends would come to visit or called her. She was left pretty much to herself. She never blamed her friends for abandoning her. It is no fun dealing with someone confined to a wheelchair. Yet, she yearned for someone or something to take her out of this shell, most of which was her mutilated body.
Since she refused to be taken to a disabled people’s home, a social worker came over to attend to her daily needs, once a day, seven days a week. As pain abated, Emily grew more silent. And more self-involved. She mostly felt flat, hardly ever showing any interest in anything apart from her online classes, which seemed to bring a bit of colour to her cheeks and a bit of strength to her body.

Joanne, the social worker, would often try to involve her in some kind of a conversation, but the meagre reaction she got, made her feel out on a limb. Yet, she was patient. She knew she could not let Emily slide into the cocoon of her loneliness, for this would only exacerbate her mental sufferings. Thus, she would talk and talk, often telling Emily of the world around, her own family and little things happening to her. In most cases Emily would be silent and listened passionlessly, as if to a radio talking. Still, a couple of times Joanne managed to draw her into a discussion.

Once Joanne started talking about something she had read online. It was a famous mental experiment by an Austrian physicist called Schroedinger, in which he showed that a cat could be both alive and dead at the same time.

“Like me,” replied Emily quietly.

“Pardon? What do you mean?”

“I am like that damn cat, neither alive, nor dead. You can’t tell really until you come here. I may be dead for twenty-four hours and no one will know. They will still think I’m alive, until you come and find me otherwise.”

“Don’t be silly, Emily. You are not a cat. And you are definitely alive. Of course, unless you keep shutting yourself off everyone and pretend your life is over.”

“Isn’t it? I mean my life is over. I’m disabled and I’ll never be able to walk on my own again.”

“Emily,” Joanne sighed, “It doesn’t mean you are dead. You just don’t want to accept this new life, that’s it. But it is life anyway.”

“Oh, please! Stop talking that psychological rubbish to me. You are not my psychotherapist! I feel neither alive, nor dead. It’s like I’m stuck here, in between the two states. Like I am that bloody cat! And that car accident was that very random event in the experiment! It didn’t have to happen at all, yet it did! And here I am!”

“Car accidents happen every day. Yes, it’s unfair that it happened to you. And the consequences you have to endure are horrendous. But you are alive. You just have to live. Many people live like that. Or in a much worse state than yours. But they do live and do not get discouraged!”

“Please, stop telling me about others feeling worse than me. I’ve never gloated over other people’s misfortunes. And never has gloat cheered me up!”

Joanne felt furious and defeated. Never again would she draw Emily into a discussion! Not only had her efforts been wasted, but she also felt perceived as a villain who gets pleasure in being luckier than others.

***

Days passed with very little conversation between them, until one day Joanne appeared on Emily’s doorstep with a sly smile playing on her lips. That day she told Emily about her father, a keen birdwatcher, who had died a couple of years before. The story preceded the present, which Joanne had brought for Emily.

“What’s this?,” Emily asked, looking at the dark blue wrapping.

“Come on, Emily. Open it. This is something which belonged to my dad, but I reckon it’ll be useful for you.”

It was a pair of binoculars.
 
Emily looked up scornfully. “Thanks,” she said with neither enthusiasm, nor gratitude. “What shall I do with them?”

“Well,” Joanne was feeling slightly annoyed. “Considering how much time you spend staring out of the window, I think it would make sense if you could observe the world in more detail.”

“Spying on people and voyeurism are not my cup of tea,” Emily snapped.

Joanne smiled tiredly and replied, “Give it a try.”

When Joanne left, Emily spent a few hours looking out of the window. She didn’t look at anything in particular, simply let her mind wander back to the happier days when she could walk. Now that her physical pain was less recurrent than the mental one, she would often wonder why fate had to grind her down. Being confined to a wheelchair seemed more than she could bear. Yet, it was the hopelessness of her case that had turned her into the passive snail she was now. It is amazing how physical deficiency can affect our personality. Once jolly, she was now a scornful burden, a tedious site to look at, a gloomy shadow of the person she used to be.

It was dusk now. The binoculars were still on the table, left unclaimed by their new owner. Emily felt drained, exhausted by her thoughts and despair.

She picked up the binoculars and looked at the yard. A man in a dark hoodie was crossing it over to the building opposite. He didn’t seem familiar to Emily, and there was something in his stride which made her keep close tabs on him. The man seemed to have a purpose, a direction which was meaningful for him, a task he was about to accomplish. His stride was confident, yet hasty. He kept his head low, like trying to become less noticeable, more obscure. There was something in his hands which looked like a bunch of flowers, although it was hard to make it out in the dark. As he entered the building, Emily felt intrigued and grateful for the binoculars she had been so loath to accept. She was wondering whether the man was about to propose to his girlfriend. Who was that girl? Did she know her? What will she say? There was a slight uncertainty about the man, which made Emily suspect he could be turned down, just as well as accepted. “Another Schroedinger’s cat,” she thought with a sad smile.

A few moments later the man appeared out of the lift on the floor opposite Emily’s. The light in the hallway was bright and offered Emily a good view of his face and build. He was pretty tall, although he was stooping, as if he wanted to seem shorter than he actually was. His face was that of a nomad with a pale yellow skin, high cheekbones and dark Mongolian eyes. Broad-shouldered, bulky and strong, he moved in a leisurely way and seemed conversant with the place. A few quick steps, and he paused in front of Jackie Lee’s door.

Jackie Lee was an acquaintance. Emily had met her a few times in the yard and often chatted with her just before the accident. They were hardly very familiar with each other, yet Emily knew where she lived. Jackie had moved to the flat half a year ago, so they barely had the time to make friends with each other. Emily liked Jackie. She was friendly and fun, obviously very sociable and eager to communicate.
 
A sudden inkling made Emily apprehensive. The man rang the doorbell, lifting the bunch to his face as if hiding. The door opened, but Emily couldn’t see the person in the doorway. The Mongolian-looking man suddenly moved forward, thrusting his whole body into the open space. Since there was no window in Jackie’s hall, Emily could only guess what was happening behind the thick grey wall of the building. A few moments later she saw the man marching confidently through Jackie’s rooms. He seemed to have lost his stooping habit and now looked even bulkier and taller than before.

He was obviously looking for something for he suddenly started searching the drawers of the cupboards and the wardrobe in Jackie’s bedroom. Once his search seemed over, he went back to the hall. Emily felt dizzy. There was something wrong with this whole situation. Who would let a stranger roam through their flat looking into their cupboards and searching their underwear?!


Yet, Emily couldn’t move. Not could she force herself to alarm the police. As if transfixed, she kept watching Jackie’s windows.

Finally, the man reappeared in the living-room pulling something heavy along the floor. Even armed with the binoculars, Emily couldn’t make out what it was.
Suddenly, as if feeling her gaze, the man looked up and stopped whatever he was doing.

Emily felt herself tremble with horror. Pushing the wheelchair off the window, she hid herself in the cozy darkness of her room.

***

She didn’t see the man leaving. It was not until after midnight that she ventured to approach the window again. Jackie’s windows were dark. Emily spent some time trying to see through the darkness with little success. She knew it was not the end. She knew the man’s visit would have a lag effect. Still, she could hardly foresee what was going to happen the next day.

When Joanne came in the morning, Emily felt completely drained. She hadn’t slept a wink that night. Her body was aching all over and she was a poor sight with her swollen red eyes and a puffy face.

“What’s happened?,” Joanne was concerned about her patient’s scared looks.
At first Emily seemed hesitant. But finally, she told Joanne what she had seen the previous evening. No man is an island. She needed to confide in someone, and Joanne was obviously her best and only option.

Joanne listened to Emily quietly, seldom interrupting her to enquire about some details. When the story was over, Joanne picked up the phone and dialed the police emergency number.

“Hello, officer,” she said in a somewhat hushed voice. “I’d like to report a crime. Well, I guess it was a crime. And my friend is an eyewitness.”

***

Whatever had happened to Jackie, Emily was not there to see the outcome. The police arrived quickly and got down to business immediately. The body was taken out and the flat was searched. About an hour later one of the police officers came over to Emily’s flat to interrogate her about the previous night. Joanne was standing by Emily’s side all the way through the interrogation. When the questioning was over, a police artist arrived to draw the murderer’s portrait.

All the time the police were around, Emily felt somewhat somnambulant. It was like she was being motioned through a series of actions, while her own mind was elsewhere, leisurely observing the scene from high above. Although she would answer every question asked and was very detailed in her description of the perpetrator, she felt vacant, like all her energy had been drained out of her body, while her will was being controlled by a powerful hypnotist. Joanne kept her soothing hand on Emily’s shoulder most of the time. Yet, Emily didn’t really feel she needed this support. What she was longing for was a bit of sleep. The cozy duvet of slumber. She felt her eyelids flutter a few times, and her head seemed heavier than usual.

As soon as the police left, Joanne helped Emily get into the bed. Sleep swallowed her immediately, promising her rest, yet giving none, for she slept restlessly for a couple of hours, constantly dreaming of the Mongolian-looking killer.
 
***

She woke up with just one thought instilled in her mind. She knew the killer would be after her. Somehow, the threat was palpable, although the perpetrator had not seen her. Or at least it seemed so. But what if he had? What if he had seen her spying on him, when he looked up from the poor girl’s dead body? Who will protect her now? And can anyone protect her?

Joanne was still in her flat, moving around quietly, doing some chores.

“Joanne,” called Emily, feeling a lump in her throat.

Joanne came up quickly and looked concerned.

“Are you ok? Shall I bring you some water?”

“Joanne,” said Emily hoarsely, “ I’m scared. I feel that he will come to get me.”

Joanne paused, looking earnest. She seemed hesitant before she finally uttered, “Shall I stay the night at your place?”

“I doubt it will help because we don’t know when he comes.”

“He may not come at all. I understand you are terrified and all this is horrible, but he doesn’t know about you. How can he figure out that you have seen him? Or even that anyone has. Anyway, I can stay with you tonight, so you won’t be alone.”

“You can’t stay here all the time, Joanne. And again, I don’t know when he comes after me. But I’m sure he will. I can sense it. When he looked up from the dead body, he knew I was watching him. He knows he has a witness to his crime. He will be back here soon.”

Joanne didn’t answer, but stayed the night.

***

The next day, when Joanne left, Emily took the binoculars and sat by the window watching the yard. Hour after hour, she was straining her eyes to see what was happening below. People down there seemed to be living their everyday lives, walking, talking, enjoying the sunshine. She was the only one who was living in the macabre state of fear and despair now. When dusk fell, she realized that she hadn’t eaten the whole day. She went to the kitchen and made herself some sandwiches, which she swallowed in the dead silence of her flat, barely feeling their taste.

Then she moved back to the window, equipped with her binoculars. She kept staring into the darkness for several more hours until tiredness gained control of her body and she started nodding in her wheelchair. The sound of the falling binoculars woke her up and she decided to go to bed. After all, she didn’t have to open the door at night. No one would come. No one should come. So she thought getting into her bed.

The next morning Joanne came as usual, and they were both involved in their everyday routine. Only now Emily seemed much more eager to see Joanne and talk to her. Surprisingly, the recent events have brought them closer together than all the previous months. Joanne felt elated to have broken the ice with Emily at last. At least, now the girl trusted her enough to confide in her, to share her fears and to talk to her, not just snap, as she used to do.
 
Joanne didn’t know that when she left, Emily got back to her usual position by the window and spent the whole day on the watch for the killer. It was only late at night that she finally went to bed and slept heavily, with nightmares torturing her the whole night. She dreamt of the Mongolian eyes of the killer, of him coming to her doorstep with a bunch of flowers and thrusting himself at her when she opened the door.

She woke up in the morning feeling sour about Joanne’s gift. If it hadn’t been for the damn binoculars, she wouldn’t have been dragged into this! Of course, she had been the only eyewitness and the only one who could identify the perpetrator. But how she wished she hadn’t seen him! She would be safe now but for the damn gift.

Yet, Emily didn’t tell Joanne about her bitter thoughts. She needed her badly. Joanne was her only link with the world outside, the only one who could protect her or, at least, notice her absence from this world. She needed her to come and stay with her at least for a few hours a day. Besides, Joanne was a good woman, kind-hearted and responsible. She wouldn’t abandon her in jeopardy.

A few days passed in the same way. Joanne would come in the morning, spend some time with Emily and then Emily would stay by the window observing the yard and waiting. What was she waiting for? Was she looking forward to the arrival of the man who had murdered Jackie? Or was she simply trying to prevent the inevitable? She didn’t know.

Somehow, she felt more alive now than she had felt for months. She was desperately gasping for the air of life, terrified that this gift could be snatched from her. Never before had she had such an intense desire to survive, to remain intact. Even being disabled was better than being dead. Even being confined to a wheelchair was a chance. A chance to have tomorrow. A chance to do something else, to see, smell, hear, touch, breathe. Only death gave no chances. She knew she had already tricked death in a way when she survived after the accident. Will she be given a second chance to trick him?

***

As days passed and nothing seemed to happen, Emily seemed to relax a bit. She stopped spending so much time by the window with her binoculars. And the nightmares were less frequent now, although still seemed to be intermittent.
A fortnight had passed since the day of Jackie’s murder, when the doorbell rang somewhat around the time when Joanne was supposed to come. Emily seemed surprised, but thought that Joanne had probably forgotten to take the key with her.
 
She came up to the door and looked through the peephole. There was a man in a delivery uniform and a baseball cap. He was holding a parcel in his hands and was waddling impatiently outside her door.

“Who is it?”, Emily asked worriedly.

“Hello, miss. I have a parcel for Ms Emily Watkins. It’s from Ms Caroline Jacobs.”

Caroline was Emily’s friend who had gone to Australia a few months ago. They haven’t spoken for over two months now, and the parcel from her was a real surprise. Emily swung the door open.

“Please, come in,” she said.

The man entered assuredly, like he had known the place. He quietly closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock. All this time he was holding the parcel with one hand. And the baseball cap was hiding half his face.
At this moment a pang stung Emily, like she had seen the man before. He seemed big and bulky and really tall. When he finally looked at Emily, she felt paralyzed with horror. The dark Mongolian-shaped eyes were pinning her to her wheelchair. And the air seemed to have turned into shattered glass. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. She tried moving her wheelchair backwards, but bumped into a wall. The man kept standing, staring at her and smiling wryly.

Terror filled Emily’s whole body, the only thought in her head being of the box of her flat, where she was imprisoned with no ways to escape. She was that cat from the experiment again. Neither alive, nor dead.

“Well,” the man suddenly said. “Hello, Emily. I’ve been longing to meet you.”