VisionSight: a Novel

by Connie Lacy

  My mind was racing – could I look into someone’s eyes and search for something, in particular? Like exactly what would kill my father. Or who would shoot Brian. I swallowed hard as I tried to avoid visualizing that horrific scene. But I made up my mind that I had to try. I had no clue how I’d go about it, but it could be that my dream was a message from my subconscious that if I could drive a car with no steering wheel, I might be able to drive my visions.

  31.

  “So how does this work?” he asked me.

  I shrugged.

  We were sitting next to each other on the couch. I’d explained to Brian what I wanted to do when he arrived with quesadillas for supper.

  “Maybe we should eat first,” he said.

  But the thought of intentionally triggering a vision was making my heart race.

  “Let’s just get it over with,” I said.

  “Okay. You stay where you are.”

  I got his drift. That way I would already be seated and wouldn’t fall. So I shifted around, folding my legs up on the couch. He took my hands in his and kissed each one.

  “Wait,” he said, leaning closer, his eyes focused on my mouth. He closed his eyes and kissed me – a long, sweet kiss – as he held my face in his hands.

  Then he moved away slightly. I took a deep breath and tried to relax.

  “Brian,” I said softly.

  And when he looked at me I gazed straight into his eyes, concentrating with all my might on seeing everything I could possibly see.

  Didn’t matter that I did it on purpose. I was rocked by the vision, this time a young man – he looked familiar – lying on the floor in front of a counter in a store, blood on his chest and the tiles, Brian stooped beside him, holding his hand. The boy said something and then went limp, his eyes staring, sightless, at the ceiling. An older man behind the counter, pointing and shouting something. Brian’s voice, the crackle of the walkie-talkie. Then running out the door into the night, running and panting into the dangerous darkness. Then a glimpse of someone racing ahead of him under a streetlight – a tall, slender man with a gun in his hand. No, no, no! The popping of gunfire and everything went black. I gasped and covered my face with my hands as I came to. My chest hurt but I wasn’t sure if it was my cracked ribs or my heart breaking.

  “Shh, it’s all right. I’m here.”

  He pulled me onto his lap, holding me until I calmed down and my pulse rate slowed.

  “Oh, Brian. Your young friend – I can’t remember his name – he was killed.”

  “Raymond?”

  “Yes, the boy you brought over here, he was shot dead in a store. I think it was a theft… what do you call it?”

  “Armed robbery?”

  “Yes. The man behind the counter pointed to where the guy with the gun went and you took off after him.”

  He sat quietly for a moment, obviously as shaken as I was.

  “Anything else? Did anyone say anything?”

  “Raymond said something to you but I couldn’t hear.”

  “Hm.”

  “And the man behind the counter shouted something.”

  He sighed heavily, lost in thought. I tried to remember more but I never heard what was being said.

  “Did you see what the gunman looked like?” he asked.

  “No. He was just a dark shadow in the dim light of the streetlamp. Except he was tall and thin.”

  “Tall and thin.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about the man behind the counter? What did he look like?

  “He was Asian, I think.”

  We sat for a moment, both lost in thought. He held me close, rubbing my back and kissing my cheek.

  “You need some food,” he said. “And so do I.”

  We took our quesadillas out on the patio so we could look at the garden and not each other, sitting side by side at the table. Not much conversation, though, as we ate.

  “Thank you, Jenna. I know that was hard. But what you saw could help me save Raymond’s life.”

  “And yours.”

  “Yeah, that too. I don’t know how you did it, but you were able to expand your vision.”

  “It would help a lot more if we knew who that guy was.”

  “Well, I’m gonna talk with Raymond.”

  “If only I could hear what they were saying. Maybe I should try again.”

  “I don’t want to put you through…”

  “Brian, we’re talking about your life and Raymond’s life. If I can focus on hearing the words.”

  Now that I had such a strong motivation, I realized I wasn’t as fearful of the visions as I was before.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  I could feel him looking at me as he mulled it over and I decided now was as good a time as any, and I returned his gaze before he could look away, concentrating with all my might on hearing.

  My senses were overwhelmed by noise as though the volume was too high on the TV. A call came in over his police radio – armed robbery in progress. He swung his patrol car around in a squealing U-turn and roared down the street with his siren blaring and blue lights flashing. The noise was unbearable. Then screeching to a stop in front of a small store, running inside, gun drawn, to find Raymond lying in a pool of blood on the floor. Brian squatting next to him, leaning close. Raymond whispering a name, Mike? A frantic Asian man behind the counter shouting: “He point gun at me!” The man gesturing toward the street. Brian rushing out into the darkness, running, running into a trap. I heard the gunfire and saw Brian fall. In the distance I could see the tall, thin man with the gun under a streetlight. And I gulped hard as I regained consciousness, Brian’s hand on my arm. Then I leaned away from him and threw up.

  He helped me inside to the kitchen sink where I rinsed my mouth, then practically carried me to the couch so I could lie down. If I’d been drained before, I was totally spent now. Even if it ended in a nightmare, I had to sleep. But before I did, I told him what I’d heard. He kissed me and said he’d be back in the morning.

  “You’re not going to work, are you?”

  I was afraid what I’d seen would happen very soon since I hadn’t seen anything else – no other life events. And I could feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat.

  “No, I’ve got a couple of days off. Don’t worry.”

  *

  The sleep of the dead. I don’t like that expression but it describes the peaceful slumber I experienced. Finally, no nightmare. I wasn’t burned at the stake and I didn’t have to use a crystal ball to make my escape. But when I awoke the next morning, my ribs were throbbing. So I started my day with a pain pill and coughing exercises before making my way slowly up the stairs to take a shower.

  After I dried off and was putting my lotion on, the light over the mirror popped and went dark. I thought about waiting and asking Brian to replace the bulb when he came over but he already did so much and I didn’t want to feel like a helpless female. So I slipped on my short kimono and found a bulb in the drawer, then used the toilet as a step stool to climb onto the counter. I unscrewed the globe on the light fixture but lost my grip and it bounced off the counter and crashed to the floor, shattering in a spray of glass.

  “Dammit,” I hissed.

  And then I heard footsteps bounding up the stairs and Brian’s voice calling my name. He burst into the bathroom, reeking of bacon, taking in the scene with a quick glance.

  “Don’t move,” he snapped. “I don’t want you to cut your feet on the glass.”

  “The light burned out.”

  “Why didn’t you ask me…”

  “I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Would you please make sure that pitiful little excuse for a robe doesn’t come open?”

  He crossed the room and motioned for me to lean down so he could carry me.

  “Because if it comes open,” he said, “I can’t guarantee I’ll continue to act like a gentleman.”

  He carried me from the
bathroom, stepping carefully over the shards of glass. When we got to the door, he slipped off his shoes and continued across the carpet, setting me gently on the bed.

  “You’re too kind,” I said, adjusting my robe.

  “No, I’m not. I’ll tell you what I am. Right now, I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire life. And if you didn’t have those cracked ribs and I didn’t have bacon in the frying pan and biscuits in the oven, I might rip that sexy robe off and…”

  Which made me smile.

  “Do me a favor,” he called, hurrying from the room. “Put on some loose, frumpy clothes and come down for breakfast.” And he jogged down the stairs.

  Breakfast was crisp bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits and coffee.

  “Thanks for getting dressed,” he said, nodding at my capris and tee shirt as we sat down at the kitchen table.

  There was something about sitting next to him with steam rising from our coffee cups and bowls of real food in front of us that made me feel loved. Here was a man who would cook a homemade breakfast for me without any prompting. A man who grew vegetables in a garden that he planted himself. A man who nurtured others. A man willing to risk loving me first despite all the baggage I brought with me, which was plenty.

  Instead of doctoring my coffee, I placed my hand on his arm.

  “I need to tell you something,” I said.

  I could feel his muscle flex beneath my fingers.

  “Because I haven’t actually said it yet,” I whispered.

  He let out his breath.

  “I’m so in love with you,” I said.

  “You’re bound and determined to ruin our breakfast,” he said, leaned over to kiss me.

  “I want you,” I whispered.

  “You’re too…

  “We can go slowly.”

  I led the way upstairs where we removed each other’s clothes and he laid me carefully on the bed and kissed and caressed my body. I kept my eyes closed as we made the most blissful, sweet love to each other, the likes of which I’d never experienced. It was so much more than enjoying a steak. Being with Brian was like the joining of two spirits. I held him close afterwards, feeling his heart pounding against my chest. Or was it my heart pounding against his?

  “Jenna, Jenna, Jenna,” he whispered.

  32.

  We finally had breakfast – reheated biscuits and bacon – and he scrambled up a fresh batch of eggs and fixed another pot of coffee. We were both famished.

  “I went over to see Raymond last night,” he said, digging into the eggs.

  “How’d it go?”

  “Well, we walked over to the elementary school and shot some baskets. Some other kids were there too. I had my eyes peeled for a tall, skinny kid. Then, as we were walking back to his apartment these two guys were headed straight for us. Both of them were tall and thin. And one of them calls out to Raymond ‘you coming with us to the show?’ And Raymond says ‘yeah, I’ll be over in a few.’ He didn’t introduce me or anything. So when we were out of earshot I asked him if they were friends from school. And he says ‘yeah, Stefon and Ike.’ So I asked him if they’re good guys to hang out with and he says ‘yeah.’ I said ‘you sure?’ And he says ‘yeah.’ I asked him how long he’d known them and he said since ninth grade, that they live in the next apartment complex over. So I asked him what their last names were and he told me Stefon Brown and Ike Redding. Made up names for sure. And when we got to his place I talked with him about how important it was for him to graduate and go to college. Talked about taking him on some college visits this fall. But something’s changed. Or maybe I’m just on high alert now.”

  He sipped his coffee.

  “So he went up to his room to get ready and I talked with his mom for a few minutes. And she told me he’s been hanging out with some new guys and she’s concerned. Said he won’t tell her anything about them but he’s been staying out late again.”

  “Jeez.”

  “When he came downstairs he was surprised I was still there. I walked out with him and told him I had reason to believe he might be violating the terms of his probation. He denied it. I told him I thought Ike was probably in trouble with police and asked him to promise not to hang out with him. So he promised. And I said ‘I mean a dead serious promise, not a fake promise.’ And he swore he wouldn’t hang out with Ike. But I think he was just saying it to get me off his back.”

  I took a bite of my biscuit, wondering if talking would do any good.

  “So,” he went on, “I called up a couple of investigators I know and asked if they knew anything about a guy named Ike in that neck of the woods. And John, in the gang unit, said there’s been some recent gang activity in the area with someone named Ike calling the shots. They don’t think that’s his real name. And John said he’s recruiting new guys and sometimes threatens their families if the kids don’t do as they’re told. Which makes sense to me because I think Raymond really wants to succeed. I’m thinking he’s being coerced.”

  “God, that’s depressing.”

  “It is. And I asked if they knew of a store in the area with an Asian man behind the counter. They said there are a number of stores that fit that description.”

  “Well, what if we visit them today and see if I recognize the man?” I suggested.

  He almost stared at me, but stopped himself before meeting my gaze, finishing off his last strip of bacon.

  It took a while, but I finally convinced him it was a good idea. I mean, if we could find out which store it was, we might be able to prevent the armed robbery. So we drove around in his pickup, stopping at one store after another near Raymond’s apartment. At the fourth store an Asian woman was behind the counter. And I stood a few feet back, trying to get a picture in my mind of the scene in my vision.

  “Who works behind the counter at night?” I asked her.

  “Husband.”

  “Do you have a picture of him?” I asked.

  “He do nothing wrong,” she said sharply.

  “I know,” I said. “We’re trying to prevent an armed robbery.”

  I knew that sounded strange but I thought just maybe she might be cooperative if she thought I was on her side. And it worked. After studying me for a moment, she pulled out her phone and showed me a picture of her husband and two grandsons with big smiles on their faces.

  “Very handsome. All three of them,” I said, and nodded at Brian.

  “What time do you close?” he asked her.

  “Eleven.”

  On the way back to my house I sensed Brian was hopeful he could somehow prevent the shooting. But now I was the one having doubts.

  “If you’re thinking of having extra patrols or hiring a security guard at the store, it might stop the shooting on that particular night,” I said. “But if Raymond is being sucked into a gang, he probably won’t survive for long.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what do you have in mind?”

  “Going after Ike. And talking with Raymond again.”

  Thinking about the danger Brian faced on a daily basis made me feel hollow inside.

  “I’m not planning on staying in police work forever,” he said, like he was reading my mind. “I graduate from law school in a year and a half.”

  “You’re gonna be a lawyer?”

  “Already talking with the D.A.’s office about a job.”

  “But that’s a long time.”

  *

  When we got to the house we fixed sandwiches and ate on the patio. Not looking at each other was so frustrating, though.

  “I need a picture,” I said. “Of your eyes.”

  “Yeah, me too. You have the most fabulous green eyes. Little sparkles of gold around the iris. I love your eyes.”

  Which made me blush.

  “But,” he said, “I fell for you the first time I saw you on stage, before I saw your eyes up close. And then, that night when we found you with a broken bottle in your hand at that low-class bar, ready to fight to the death, I
said to myself: ‘Self, this is one feisty, beautiful woman.’”

  The memory made me laugh. I jumped up then to find my phone.

  “All right,” I said, “I need to take your picture.”

  “But…”

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  He looked down when I aimed my phone at him.

  “Please?”

  So he looked into the phone and I snapped several shots. Even though I could see his eyes through the lens, it didn’t cause me to have a vision and we were both relieved. I examined the photos and found one that was perfect. In the picture I could see that his eyes were brown with green specks. And the photo made it look like he was gazing directly at me.

  “My turn,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

  “But I need to put some lipstick…”

  “Jenna, you don’t realize how lovely you are. Now hold still.”

  He took several pictures of me as I tried not to be self-conscious. Then I swallowed hard, realizing how much he meant to me.

  “Wow,” he said, scanning the photos. “I wonder, since you can look at me through a camera if maybe you can look at me in a mirror.”

  “Oh my God!” I squealed, grabbing his arm and pulling him with me through the kitchen and living room to the foyer where a gilt-framed mirror hung by the front door. “Okay, stand beside me.”

  But, instead, he stood behind me, holding onto my arms. And I knew why. Then he peeked around my head so he could look in the mirror and kissed my cheek without breaking eye contact. I pulled him closer to the mirror with me. It was heavenly. And I whirled around and focused on his handsome mouth and kissed him. He turned me away from him again, wrapping his arms around me from behind so we could use the mirror to swim in the depths of each other’s eyes. What I saw was tenderness and yearning.

  “We just need to install a mirror on the bedroom ceiling,” he said, with a mischievous grin.