Blindsight [Now You See Me] (Romantic Suspense)

by Tina Wainscott

  She walked on weak legs to Louis and had her personal organizer dial Max Callahan’s phone number.

  CHAPTER 10

  The clock on the conference room wall read 9:30. They’d each taken half of Olivia and Mike’s phone records to start tracking down who they had talked to prior to the kidnapping. Sam watched Max staring at the lines he’d drawn through several numbers. His brown hair was messier than usual, the random cowlicks sticking straight up in places.

  Max absently tapped the tip of his pen on the stack of papers in front of him. “Something’s not right about Olivia’s boat vision.”

  “No kidding,” Sam said. “I think she’s trying to distract us from the real clues the same way she distracted the guards at the store.”

  “What real clues? We’ve got nothing.” He continued the tapping motion. “No, it’s something else. Something—” His cell phone rang. He dropped the pen on the table and picked up the phone. “Detective Callahan.” His face transformed from interested to puzzled. “Okay.” He hung up and pushed all of his papers into a file. “I’m going to head home and get a couple of hours of shuteye before I fall over dead. I’ll have these figured out by morning. See you at seven.”

  Sam watched Max head out. They’d been working for hours. He could use some shuteye himself; tomorrow they’d be back at it. He shoved his papers into a file and walked out.

  Max got into his car and drove out of the parking lot. Sam followed from a safe distance. Just as he suspected, Max led him right to Olivia’s apartment. Sam wanted to follow him right up those stairs and call him on it. He glanced at the clock in his car. He had his own trouble to see to.

  “Max, be careful,” he said, pulling out of the parking lot. “Trouble can sneak up on a man just like that.”

  How well he knew that.

  Olivia had sounded shaken when she’d called. Not that it mattered. Max would have rushed over anyway. That she wanted to talk meant she had something new. They needed a lead so bad he’d take anything, even from a psychic who’d been wrong. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t told Sam about the call. Probably because he would have come along and blown it.

  The moment he knocked and identified himself, she opened it. Again, he felt that upheaval whenever he first saw her.

  “Thanks for coming so soon,” she said on a breath of relief.

  “You all right?”

  “That depends on you.” She backed up and let him in. Her hair was tied in a loose ponytail; shorter strands trailed around her neck. She wore baggy blue jeans and a white blouse. Her bare feet thumped softly across the wood floor as she walked to the kitchen. She said over her shoulder, “Coffee?”

  “Definitely. Thanks.” The aroma of coffee mixed with the vanilla and something feminine tantalized his senses.

  The lights on her stereo danced in rhythm to Peter Gabriel’s “Games Without Frontiers.” He followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the end of the counter. “Need any help?”

  “I’ve got it, thanks.”

  And she did, taking down two mugs and setting them on the countertop. She put her finger in the mug and measured out milk to the first knuckle. Then she sifted sugar through her fingers. Even as he doubted her, he found her blind idiosyncrasies intriguing.

  “You’ve got quite an impressive music selection,” he said.

  “I love music. An ex-boyfriend took my collection and burned mixes for me so I could sort them by type of music or mood.”

  She pulled the carafe out of the coffeemaker and felt the mug’s placement before pouring the coffee. She didn’t look down at what she was doing. Her chin remained lifted, and she seemed to stare at the bank of cabinets in front of her. Both cups were under-poured, no doubt a safety precaution to keep from getting burned. He noticed her hands were trembling.

  She handed him a large, blue mug. “Black, right?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  She shrugged and gave him what he’d call a Mona Lisa smile. “Sorry I don’t have a cappuccino machine. Working with hot steam would probably be dicey.”

  “How’d you know I drink…your sense of smell, right?”

  “It’s one of my major senses now. I rely on it the way you rely on your sight. It tells me things that I can’t see, and sometimes it tells me things that you can’t see either.” She took a quick breath. “Please, have a seat.”

  She tucked herself into the large chair in the living room; Stasia sat at her feet. Olivia rubbed the dog’s back with her bare foot. He sat at the end of the sofa closest to her and took a sip of the richest coffee he’d ever had.

  She cradled her mug in her hands. “I’ve been sitting here trying to think of how to say this. No matter how I put it, it sounds like crazy, so I’m just going to lay it out there.” She took another quick breath. “I know who took Phaedra.”

  This reminded him of his conversation with Sam earlier. “You waited this long to tell me? Wait a minute. You’re not going to tell me it’s Santa Claus, are you?”

  “I didn’t know he was on the suspect list.”

  “Never mind. Go on.”

  Her fingers tightened on her mug, making her knuckles stand out. “I told you I was kidnapped when I was eight years old. I was taken from a toy store that used to be in downtown Palomera, December twenty, sixteen years ago.”

  “December twenty? That’s—”

  “The same day Phaedra was taken, I know. I thought it was just an eerie coincidence. He also lured me into a back room. When I woke up from the chloroform, I saw the cage he’d intended to put me in. I panicked and tried to escape. In our struggle, I got knocked out. When I woke, I couldn’t see.”

  As she spoke, her foot movements became more rapid. “The man who took me tried to make me into someone named Rose. That’s what he called me, drilling the name into my head. He also insisted I call him Father. He held me prisoner for five days, and almost every day he set me up so he could punish me afterward. I was lucky…no, blessed would be a better word; I was able to escape thanks to a guardian angel. I pushed most of the details out of my mind. I don’t even remember my captor’s name; maybe my parents never told me what it was. But it didn’t matter, because he killed himself before the police could apprehend him. We moved out of town soon afterward and started a new life in Ohio.”

  Max said, “Wait a minute. You were kidnapped down here? I thought…well, I got the impression it had happened in Ohio.”

  “The kidnapping was why we moved to Ohio. Otherwise we would never have moved away. My father loved this area; that’s why he wanted to come back.”

  Max’s throat had gone dry and prickly. He was paralyzed, waiting for her next words.

  Her fingers were so damp, they slid over the handle of her mug. She set it down on the coffee table and faced him. “But he didn’t die. He’s the man who took Phaedra. He’s doing the same things to her, making her call him ‘Father,’ calling her Rose…and the punishments. Some of the things I saw when I connected to Phaedra made me think that, because of the similarities of our kidnappings, I was getting my memories mixed up with what was happening to her. I didn’t tell you everything I’d seen for that reason.”

  She nervously smoothed her hair back from her face. “I connected with her a little while ago. That’s when I realized I wasn’t seeing my memories.” She shook her head. “When I saw her this time she was rubbing a gold shamrock on a chain, and he…” She took another breath. “I realized that I couldn’t be inserting my own memories, because I couldn’t see anything. What I’m seeing has to be through Phaedra’s eyes. He’s alive. Detective Callahan, are you listening to me? I know I gave you wrong information before, about the boat, but I swear to you that this is real. You’ve got to believe me.”

  “I’m listening.” She knew about the shamrock necklace. It still didn’t prove she was psychic. In fact, it was yet another reason to think she was involved somehow. The rest of what she’d said, that’s what had made him feel as though his insides were being press
ed between two blocks of ice. His voice nearly cracked when he said, “I’ll look up your case and see what I can find.”

  “I wish I could help more. But I can only help if you believe me.”

  He pushed himself to his feet, and she mirrored his action. He was surprised when she reached out and grabbed his arm with her uncanny precision. “Find her, Detective Callahan, before he can punish her again.”

  “Tell me about these punishments.”

  “He played the same sick game with me that he’s playing with her.” Her face tensed with worry, and her fingers tightened on his arm. “He made her drink water all day today, but when he brought her dinner, he wouldn’t let her go to the bathroom. He told her not to wet herself. But she’s not going to be able to hold it.” Her voice was breaking. “And when he comes back, he’s going to wash her clothing and blankets and make her spend the night damp and naked.”

  Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. He didn’t like this, her showing emotion. It was easier to think of her as cool or just plain crazy.

  “She’s going to be all alone in there, cold and alone.” She released him and wrapped her arms around herself. “Yesterday he put gum in her hair and accused her of doing it herself. He chopped it all off, all those long, brown locks. Tomorrow he’s going to starve her all day, then leave a plate of fried chicken within her reach—and order her not to eat it. She will, of course. Just like I did.” Her voice dropped to a scared whisper. “And when she eats it, he’ll make her eat hot sauce, enough to get her sick.”

  She blinked, and two teardrops rolled down her cheek. In those few seconds of silence, he heard Peter Gabriel’s haunting song, “In Your Eyes.” It was all he could do not to pull her hard against him. The lieutenant was right. This case was sucking him in, but in a way he could never have imagined. So was Olivia Howe. He just hoped he could grab enough breath to last until he surfaced again.

  “I have to go.” He wondered if the desperation in his voice was as clear to her as it was to him. It seemed to take all of his effort to open the door and push himself through. One foot in front of the other, just like always.

  He hoped she was crazy—or at least wrong. He couldn’t afford to believe anything else.

  Olivia pressed herself against the door after Max left. The coolness of the steel soaked through her skin to mingle with the chill in her heart. She looked up. “God, you led that boy to save me. Lead us—or someone—to save her. Please.”

  She had believed it was an angel that had taken her hand and led her to safety. His soft, cherub-like voice had said, “Come with me,” as though he often saved lost girls. She would have gone anywhere with him. His small hand was tight on hers, pulling her away from the hell she’d endured for five days. Once they’d started running, all she could hear was the hammering of her heartbeat and the buzz of fear. And his erratic breathing. He’d been as afraid as she’d been, but even when she’d fallen, he’d been in control, pulling her to her feet and urging her on.

  She turned off the light and wondered if she were tired enough to sleep for a while. Tired, yes; but way too wound up to even think about it. She felt the rush of panic at the same time that the sound of an opening door took over her consciousness. Her legs went to jelly as she slid to the floor.

  “Rose, were you a good girl while I was gone?”

  A cry escaped her mouth. The pee was strong enough for him to smell. No way to hide it. The wetness soaked both her underwear and pants and felt clammy against her bottom. “I…couldn’t hold it anymore. I’m sorry.” She tried to bite back the sob. She wanted to tell him it was his fault. He couldn’t punish her for wetting her pants. But she was afraid to make him madder. For good measure, she even pushed out the word, “Father.”

  She saw his mouth grimace. “All I asked is that you hold it in a little longer. Was that too much to ask?”

  She didn’t answer. It wouldn’t matter what she said.

  He thrust his hand through the bars. She flinched at both that and his harsh voice as he said, “Give me your clothes. Now!”

  As she pushed out of her pants, he said, “What kind of father would I be to leave you in soiled clothes? I’ll wash them for you.”

  Trying to keep her lip from quivering, she handed him her pants with the cotton panties wadded up inside them.

  “The shirt, too.”

  She pulled it off and handed it to him, even though it wasn’t wet.

  “And the blanket. I’m sure you got that wet, too.”

  “I didn’t.”

  He held his hand out, and she pulled the blanket from the corner and gave it to him.

  “I can’t believe my daughter still wets herself. It’s shameful, that’s what it is. Your mother thinks you’re doing it on purpose, maybe to punish me for being so strict.”

  He walked into the bathroom at the end of the hallway, rinsed out her clothes, and hung them over a shower rod to the right. He shut out the light and walked past her. Without another word, he left, locking the door behind him.

  She curled up on the floor of the metal cage, cold and damp and naked. Only then did she let herself cry.

  And in the background, the dripping noise. Coming from the bathroom. Water dripping from the clothing into the tub. No, can’t be the clothing, because I heard it before. Water dripping into a partially filled tub.

  With a searing flash of pain in her head, Olivia came out of the vision. Stasia whined and set her chin on Olivia’s leg. She scratched the dog’s head, pulling her thoughts back to the connection. She’d been able to stay longer this time. Perhaps Stasia hadn’t realized her mistress was having one of her strange visions until just then.

  He wasn’t keeping her in a truck trailer. This was a building of some kind with a regular bathroom. And a tub that was filling with water. What was he planning to do with it?

  She wished she could help, wished she could somehow comfort the girl. She kneaded her aching temples, huddled the same way Phaedra had been in her cage.

  It took a few minutes to gather the strength to get to her feet. She used furniture to help her get to a phone.

  “Hallo,” Judy answered in her usual way.

  “It’s me, Olivia. Do you have time to mix some paints for me?”

  “You’re painting now? It’s kinda late.”

  “I know, but it’s important. Can you get away for a few minutes?”

  “Sure. Dad’s not here. I’ll be right up.”

  Olivia had to do something to help Phaedra. She had just enough time to change into her painting clothes before Judy knocked on the door.

  Olivia let her in. “Thanks for coming up.”

  “What colors do you need?”

  Olivia conjured the colors in her memory. “Gray-white, black, and a medium green with a gray tint added.”

  “Okey-dokey.”

  Olivia could have used primary colors that didn’t require Judy’s help in mixing, but she wanted to get the shades just right.

  “That Detective Max Callahan was really cute.” Judy liked using people’s full names, a habit Olivia had dissuaded her of where her own name was concerned. Judy was good at remembering names, though, a skill she could take to the workplace someday. If her father ever let her get a real job.

  “He was, was he?” Olivia said, trying not to sound too interested.

  “Yepper. Brown hair, kinda messy, like he’d been riding a motorcycle. Dark green eyes, like Emerald Green.” She was obviously thinking of colors she had mixed in the past. “No, more like Moss Green. Do you remember what Moss Green looks like?”

  “I think so.” She tried to conjure up a memory of moss growing on a tree trunk.

  “And he has girly eyelashes.”

  Olivia couldn’t help laugh at that. “Girly, huh?”

  “Black comes before Green, and W for White is last. Yeah, thick and curled up. Do you want to go out with him? ‘Cause you were smiling when I described him. I think you should be with Terry Carlton.”

  Olivia frown
ed. “Why is that?”

  “Because he said so.”

  “He did, did he? Recently?”

  “Yesterday.”

  Olivia tried to hide her annoyance at Terry enlisting Judy’s help. “I don’t want to go out with either of them.”

  “Good, then I can go out with Terry Carlton. He’s nice. Oops.” One of the jars hit the floor, and Judy swiped it up. She recited the formula for the color she was mixing. “But I remember you said to be careful around men.”

  “That’s right, hon. You’re a special woman, and a man could take advantage of that.”

  “I’m retarded,” she said so matter-of-factly, Olivia flinched.

  “You’re not retarded. Who called you that?”

  “Dad calls me that all the time. And other people sometimes, too, uh huh.”

  “You’re not retarded. You’re just a bit slower than some people. Don’t let anyone call you that. And remember what I said about the ‘uh huh’.”

  Olivia wasn’t expecting the hug, and it nearly took her off-balance.

  “You’re so nice to me,” Judy said, sounding choked up. “I love you, Olivia.”

  “I love you too, hon.” Olivia’s throat felt tight as she hugged Judy back.

  Judy pulled away. “Okey-dokey, I gotta go before dad comes back. He doesn’t like when I leave the apartment at night.”

  As Judy turned the doorknob, Olivia asked, “Who owns the apartment across the way from me?”

  After a pause, Judy said, “I have to go. Night, Olivia.”

  She said, “Wait!” The door had already slammed shut.

  She locked the door and inserted the magazine of women rocker CDs into the stereo. The Bangles filled the room with their sassy music. She related to the simple messages of rock and roll, good old-fashioned sex, and plain attitude. It was the music she wasn’t allowed to listen to growing up and the attitude she wasn’t allowed to have. Her parents were right; the music wasn’t appropriate for a sophisticated young lady. Which made it all the more appealing when her friends at the Barfield School for the Blind had played it.