I can't sleep.

[The tablet is on the floor, lighting its own patch of paleness on the ceiling above. Beckett is lying next to it, prone on his back - that's what the angle of his arm, raised half-heartedly into the frame, suggests. He pulls more clearly into view for a moment, rising to a sitting position, to squint at the camera. His glasses are off, and his eyes glow a faint red in an ashen face.]

For all I know, I imagined it - the girl, the eyes. I'm certain the red pen was real, though, and the choice that came with it.

[He falls back again. Too tired to sit up. The tablet records to show nothing but light and shadow as he speaks.]

It may have been just me. Doubtful, but possible... but it was not just me who saw things. Perhaps we all did. I'd like to know what. Piece of some whole, or just another attack on what's left of our collective sanity... either way. For the sake of the record, if not any kind of answer.

[His relationship with answers isn't getting any less complicated. His voice drops low, dreamlike as he speaks on.] I saw a girl wearing a cloak. She was drawing the eyes, all around me... around me... until I was surrounded. She climbed on my back and drew her eyes on mine, and I knew there was no leaving. There has never been, not for me. Perhaps we are all...

[Too much. He stops abruptly, and rises again, grabbing for the tablet.]

It's all in my notes.

[The recording ends. In its place he sends his notes file out again.]