Extract From Notebook 4
Sometimes, when I go into the room I use as an office, I scare myself.
I look at the walls, covered in hundreds of photographs, and wonder at what I’ve become.
How is it possible that I’ve let my life be defined to such an extent by another human being?
It is madness, I tell myself. I am mad. Then nostalgia will take hold and for a moment I’ll mourn the good, decent, honest person I once was.
Because I wasn’t born evil, I just became it.
On the outside, no one would ever guess at the obsession that lies within me.
I live a normal life. I have friends, I have a job.
When I’m not following you, I’m at work.
It’s why I only follow you mornings, evenings, and at weekends.
Once, when you tried to avoid me by changing your routine, I took some days off, citing urgent business.
But then, realizing I’d worked out what you were doing, you chose to work from home for a while, which was a lot less fun for me.
Not that it matters. You’ll be exactly where I want you to be when I kill you.