by Lisa Amowitz
Gabe caught up with him just as he stumbled over a low fence.
“Why did you run off like that? You could get hurt.”
“I have to see something. Spot me, okay? I need to learn how to do this, anyway.”
“In the middle of a park in Manhattan?”
“At least I’m not walking out into traffic. Stop me if I do.”
He walked tentatively ahead, the cane scraping across pavement, until he was certain the source was right in front of him.
“Hey!” someone snarled. It was a park bench.
“Sorry. Mind if I sit here?”
After some heated whispering, the bench emptied. A vivid image burned into his mind. A ragged man sprawled on the ground beside the bench, asleep. The gleam of a knife. Laughter. The gurgling sound of the man’s last breath. The sound of running.
He sat there frozen, terrifying images filling the dark void in horrible, lurid color.
Quickly he stood, realizing how stupid it had been to wander away from Gabe. He’d blundered ahead, unsure of where he was going.
“Bobby! Over here!” Panting, she grabbed him by both arms. “Please, don’t ever do that again!”
“Sorry. Can you do me a huge favor? Does your phone get Internet? Can you look something up for me quickly?”
“What?”
“Can you see if any murders took place here recently?”
“Madison Square Park is a pretty safe place. The murder rate in Manhattan is exaggerated.”
“That’s not why I’m wondering, Gabe,” he said.
“Okay, then. Whatever you like.” Back at the blanket, he had his answer.
“Whoa. There was a homeless man stabbed right in this park last week. He was asleep next to a bench. They haven’t caught the killer.”
Bobby glanced around. The colors were starting to return, dim smudges emerging against the dark.
There was no avoiding it—if they were going to be together, she had to know the truth about him.
“It was that bench,” he said, “the one I just sat on. I saw it. Saw the murder. The killer was a kid who did it as a gag to impress his friends.”
“What are you saying, Bobby?”
“I saw it, just like I saw Dana’s body and the body in the dumpster. I see things, Gabe. Things nobody else sees.”
Gabe hesitated. He wished he could see if she doubted or believed him. Or thought he was completely nuts. Or if he was the killer.
“Did you mention this to Dr. Constantine? Maybe, and don’t take this the wrong way, Bobby, but hallucinations could be another symptom of your, uh, problem.”
“Maybe. But in my case, the hallucinations come true.”
Gabe didn’t get the chance to reply because the band started playing. With the first blast of sound, Bobby willfully clung to the deep bass notes, the high wail of the guitar, the gritty rasp of the singer’s voice, backed up by what sounded like a chorus of angels.
He let his mind empty of murder and death, instead admitting only the taunting smell of what he thought was smoked sugar, but Gabe informed him was candied peanuts, and the warmth of her sun-heated skin against his shoulder. Her lips on his as they kissed. The shape of her earlobe, the wispy hair that grew at the nape of her neck.
The trees above glittered, a ceiling of green, white, and pale blue. As his fragile vision slowly returned, all of his senses combined to put Bobby incredibly at peace.
“Bobby,” Gabe said, after a while, “I just got a text. The doctor is ready to see you with the results.”
His insides pulled taut and adrenaline rushed into his veins, crushing his serenity. Gabe squeezed his hand. “Whatever it is, you’re going to be fine. But promise me you’ll tell him about your visions. The doctor needs to know everything if he’s going to help you.”
The receptionist led Bobby into a bright room to a seat opposite a desk. The doctor, Bobby realized after a few seconds, was already seated there. Dressed in a white lab coat, he seemed to blend in with the brightness of his surroundings.
“Hello, Bobby! We were able to get the results back quickly because we do the MRI here in-house. My radiologist confirmed what I already suspected. I would have preferred you have a parent present, but since Mr. Friend informed me of your situation, I’m going to make an exception. It’s your health, after all.”
Bobby had gone completely still.
“Are you with me, Bobby?”
“Yes.”
“Your friend mentioned to my assistant that you’ve also had some other symptoms, very vivid hallucinations that seemed real to you. It’s not unheard of.”
“But mine came true, Doctor. I saw things that actually happened, before they happened.”
“I understand. Interesting,” he said, scribbling in a notepad. “Would you like your young lady friend in here to accompany you? I’m about to share some very difficult news.”
“No, thank you. I can handle it.”
“Okay, then.”
Bobby swallowed hard, palms damp. The doctor took him by the arm across the room to what looked like a wall of light. “I have the results of your MRI here. I’ve had the staff enlarge it significantly so you can see it.”
In front of him was a large grey square with swirly, light-gray shapes inside a medium-gray blob. The image made no sense to him at all.
“This is your brain, Bobby.” The doctor pointed to a spot on the blob. “You see this dark area here? This is a mass coiled around your optic nerve—the source, I believe of your headaches and failing vision.”
Bobby squinted at the mass. The floor seemed to liquefy under his feet.
“What is it?”
“It’s a tumor. A tumor growing in your brain. It’s benign, which means it’s not going to kill you, but if it’s not removed, you will go permanently blind. And quickly.”
He stood blinking, opening and closing his hands. His eyes burned. Maybe it would have been better not to know. Better to let the dark creep in slowly like nightfall, instead of fearing the moment the light would leave and never come back.
“Can it be—can it be removed?” he blurted. The doctor brought him back to his seat and offered him a glass of water.
“It’s a very risky, very experimental procedure. I’ll have to cast a wide net to find someone with the expertise to do the surgery. Then there’s the cost. And,” added the doctor, “the very real possibility that you’ll die on the operating table.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, Bobby, not to have better news. But you have people who care a lot about you. People who will help you adjust. You’re young, strong, and adaptable.”
Bobby closed his eyes. He didn’t want any visual record of the moment he learned the awful truth.
“But I assure you, Bobby, I am going to pool all of my resources to help you as best I can. In the meantime, I have a prescription for the headaches, which should help you manage the pain, and for the light sensitivity, which will dissipate, unfortunately, as your eyesight dims.”
“So, eventually I won’t be able to see anything. Not even light and shadow.”
“We don’t know that. It depends on how the tumor grows. If it stops soon, your vision may stabilize. It’s small yet, but these types of growths can be quite aggressive.”
Bobby sat, flexing and unflexing his hands. He didn’t want to open his mouth, because if he did, he would start screaming and might not be able to stop.
Max took them out to dinner at a very exclusive restaurant, all wavering lights and the gentle clink of glasses. Bobby envied the busboys who worked there, untroubled by the knowledge that soon they wouldn’t be able to see the dishes they removed, or even the tables beneath them.
“I want to keep working, Max. Until I can’t.”
“That’s fine, Bobby.”
He didn’t speak through the rest of dinner, just methodically speared his food and chewed it. No. He wasn’t going to feel sorry for himself.
The clock might be running out on him, but h
e still had a murderer to catch.
CHAPTER
16
Gabe and Max brought Bobby straight to the Woods’s cozy old house in the center of town. It was ablaze with light, warm and welcoming, as always.
Aaron came running onto the porch and straight into his arms. Bobby hugged him fiercely. He wasn’t ready to tell him the news yet. Wasn’t sure how you tell a kid that pretty soon his big brother, the guy he’d always looked up to, wouldn’t be able to look back.
“Where’s Coco?” Bobby asked. “He okay?”
“He’s quiet,” Jerry said, “if that’s what you mean. Just lying in his bed, staring at the walls. Frankly, I don’t know what to do with the boy. The town is going nuts. The sheriff is on a bender. Bobby, I don’t know how to tell you this—but he’s telling everyone who’ll listen that it’s you. That you killed Dana.”
A shiver raced up the back of his neck. Bobby reached for something solid to grab hold of. “Do you—you don’t believe that, do you?”
There was a deep exhale. “No, Bobby, of course I don’t believe it. But there’s nothing. No leads. The killer’s a phantom. It’s driving Barclay mad, chasing his tail like this.” Jerry’s big hand rested on his shoulder. “Look, never mind all that. How are you, Bobby boy? What did the fancy doctor say?”
Bobby didn’t answer right away. He wasn’t sure if Aaron was in earshot or not. But Jerry must have read his expression and squeezed him into a bear hug. “Whatever it is, we’ll all face it together, like we always do. When you’re ready, you’ll tell me. But you gotta promise to tell your dad right away.”
“When he’s out of the hospital. He’s got enough troubles of his own right now.”
Jerry’s tiny Thai wife, Tula, bustled about, setting down trays of food.
“Bobby. You eat,” she said.
“I’m stuffed, Mrs. Woods. Thank you. Can I see Coco now? I shouldn’t have left him here like this.”
“Sure. He’s upstairs.”
Bobby had spent his entire childhood racing up the steps to Coco’s room, jumping on his bed. He held the rails and climbed, made a left and followed the stream of light spilling from under the door.
Coco sat on the bed, staring at his phone.
“Hey, man.”
“Dude! I shouldn’t have left you alone. There’s no excuse. You okay? I heard you went to some fancy-pants doctor in the city for a miracle cure.”
Bobby sat on the bed. “There’s no miracle cure, Coco. You might as well know. I’m going blind. It’s definite.”
“Jeez, dude. I thought it was… I don’t know what I thought. God. Could this week get any worse?”
“Probably,” said Bobby, “if the killer murders someone else.”
“I can’t stop thinking about Dana. How terrified she must have been.”
Bobby sat silently, staring at the shadows on Coco’s wall. “If I told you I knew how to track down the killer, what would you say?”
“I’d say that, along with your sight, you might also be losing your mind. Is this that psychic thing again?”
“Let’s just say, for argument’s sake, if I told you that with your help, I could track down the killer, would you be in?”
“Of course I’d be in. I’d like to get my hands on him and rip his head off. But how?”
“We’ll talk tomorrow, then. Let’s get some rest tonight. We’re going to need it.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Dead serious.”
Jerry Woods tried to get Bobby to stay the night, but he argued that he had to get back to let Pete out and feed him. He insisted he was okay on his own and wanted to keep his independence as long as he could.
The next day dawned clear and bright. Before he’d gone to bed, Bobby had taken the sample medication the doctor had given him, and was pleased to find that his light sensitivity was almost under control. He could walk around without the glasses, which made everything considerably brighter and more vivid. Thrilled, he threw a cap on his head and ran outside with Pete, tossing a stick as far as he could throw.
But there was no avoiding the sorrow that crashed like snow sliding off a roof. Scratch Lake. No more misty mornings, swirls of fog over still water. No more minnows dive-bombing for bits of bread. He could, he supposed, still hook a worm, sit on the dock and wait for a bite. Maybe he’d get someone to take him out in the boat. He remembered his, which was currently rusting on the opposite side of Scratch Lake. Nothing he could do about that in his present condition.
Still, he had to go there. Had to fish while he still could. He ran into the house, got his fishing rod, the last container of nightcrawlers from the fridge, and a water bottle. The clock on the coffeemaker told him it was way early enough to get there, get some fishing in, and be back in time for his outing with Coco. He whistled for Pete.
“C’mon, boy!”
It was a three-mile walk to Scratch Lake and Bobby was determined to enjoy every inch of it. Pete prancing by his side, he stopped to study the blue-green shadow carpeting the morning woods, the way the light studded the leaves in glittering clusters of pale yellow.
It was a May morning. He didn’t want to think about death. He didn’t want to think about murder. But most of all, he didn’t want to think about living in endless night.
It felt good to get out and move. To breathe in the fresh, damp air. He didn’t see how people could live like sardines in the city, stacked on top of each other. He could certainly understand why Gabe would want to escape here.
Gabriella. Her name sang through his mind, a sequence of notes. He still found it hard to believe she could actually care for him, especially now. He didn’t understand it. He just knew that, like with his busboy job, he was going to make the most of what he had while he still could. He’d deal with the darkness when it came.
He made it halfway down the dirt road when the nearly silent rumble of a car heading his way stopped him in his tracks.
The door on the driver’s side opened. A tall, blond man in a suit stepped out, came around to the passenger side and helped a red-haired woman with dark glasses out of the car. From her bone structure, even without the detail, Bobby could tell the woman was beautiful. The man took the woman by the arm and guided her toward him. Bobby knew at once, by her stiff posture and the way she held her head. The woman was blind.
“Robert David Pendell,” she said. “That is you, I presume?”
“What do you want?”
The woman flipped open a white cane and walked toward him, her other hand extended. “I’m Agent Maura Reston, from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This,” she gestured over her shoulder, “is my partner, Agent Bradley Whitworth.”
“The FBI? You’re blind.”
The woman smiled. “This is true. Rumor has it that you are also, or at least are well on your way.”
Pete began to bark. Bobby started to back away quickly, but the man lunged and grabbed him by the arm. “Not so fast, Mr. Pendell. We’ve heard about your troubles. And in light of the ongoing murder investigation, I think you might want to speak with us.”
“What do you want with me? I didn’t do it, I swear—I didn’t kill anyone.”
“We know that, Bobby,” the woman said. “That’s not why we wanted to talk to you.”
Bobby noticed the blind woman’s hand was extended toward him. “Won’t you shake my hand? It’s rather rude of you not to.”
Reluctantly, Bobby placed his hand in hers and was met with a sharp shock that reverberated through his spine. Shivering, he had the distinct feeling that the woman was looking not at him, but through him.
She smiled. “You can’t outrun the dark, Bobby.”
“You,” he said. “You’re like me.”
“Very astute, aren’t you? What if I told you there’s a cure for your impending blindness? Does that pique your interest?”
“If there’s a cure, why are you blind?”
Maura drew her hand away and snapped, “If you want answe
rs, you’ll have to come with us.”
“What about my dog?”
The next thing Bobby felt was something cold prick his neck.
Then nothing.
CHAPTER
17
Bobby surfaced slowly, like a deep-sea diver who’d gone too far below the waves. He pried his eyes open to see a featureless room pulsing with colored lights that seemed to glow from behind the walls.
Agent Reston sat across from him, her form a silhouette against the shifting colors. “Hello,” she said. “Was your nap pleasant?”
“You drugged me and kidnapped me. That’s illegal.”
“We’re the people who enforce those laws, Bobby, so it’s hardly a worry.”
“I’d like to go home now. My head hurts.”
“Home,” Maura said in a mocking tone, “is a ramshackle modular outside a dying town. Your father is a disabled Iraq vet, and until your eyes started to fail, you were the sole breadwinner and head of the family. At age seventeen. Very impressive. Why would you want to go back to that?”
“I don’t care where you take me. I just don’t want to be here.”
“It’s understandable that you’re scared.” Maura’s voice softened. “I was, too, when they came to me. I was twenty five, just having completed law school at the top of my class and prepping for the Bar when my doctor found the tumor. By then, I was just about blind, but I hadn’t told anyone. I suffered from crushing headaches, my hands shook uncontrollably, and I always smelled cinnamon. I’d thought it was stress. Then I started hearing the voices.”
Maura sat completely still, her hands folded in her lap. “I didn’t tell anyone about that, either. But one day, I had a seizure, the frothing at the mouth kind of seizure. I yelled out a lot of words that no one seemed to understand. Someone taped my seizure and put it on YouTube. I’d called out the names of every other murder victim in the country that year.” She paused for effect. “The month before they were killed.”
Bobby sat at the edge of his seat, fascinated and repulsed by Maura Reston all at the same time. It had never occurred to him there were other freaks out there, or that the government knew about them. Alarm bells shrieked in his mind. He stood and began to pace.