BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

  She wasn’t having sex tonight. The confession nearly slipped out, but she understood what he was getting at. Mr. Pennyworth had obviously picked up on some sort of sexual intent from his employer. Her body shivered with new curiosity.

  “Do you think I’m crazy for going to a stranger’s house blindfolded?”

  He chuckled again. “People do all sorts of wild things. Who am I to judge them? We’re here.”

  The car slowed and every muscle in her body tensed. “Can I remove the blindfold?”

  “I’m afraid not. Are you ready?”

  No. She nodded yes anyway.

  “I’ll escort you inside.”

  The door opened too soon and her heart pounded with a need to rapidly decide if it would be fight or flight or enjoy the night.

  “If you reach forward, you’ll find my hand.”

  Her body went on autopilot. Her fingers touched the calloused palm of Mr. Pennyworth and she quietly blurted, “Will you be here the whole time?”

  Stupid to look to a stranger as a possible protector from another stranger, but he was all she had. However, she could rip off the blindfold if she felt cornered or threatened. But that would end everything and she wasn’t ready for that. Still, it was an option.

  “I’ll be parked here the entire time. If at any time you express the desire to return home, I will happily and safely return you to your house, Ms. Farrow.”

  She stood, nodding. Transferring his hold to her upper arm, he announced, “There are stairs. I’ll let you know when to step.”

  She awkwardly shuffled her feet in the direction he led. When he told her to step, she did, following his direction carefully. Lacking sight left her unbalanced.

  “Only a few more steps to the door, Ms. Farrow. You’re doing great.”

  His vote of confidence was oddly comforting.

  “Here we are. I’ll let you in and once Mr. Stone greets you, I’ll return to the car where I’ll be waiting to escort you home.”

  “My purse!”

  “Did you need it?”

  “It has my phone and…” Her weapon.

  “If you want, I can run and get it.”

  “Please.”

  Fingers closed around hers, guiding her hand until it rested on something cold and solid. “This is the railing. Hold on so you don’t lose your balance. I’ll be right back.”

  She gripped the railing as the sound of his heavy steps faded and the car door opened and closed. A second later his hefty footfalls were approaching again. “Here you are, Ms. Farrow.” The purse slipped over her shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “Shall we?”

  She blew out a calming breath that really did nothing to settle her edginess. “Yes, please.”

  The moment the door opened her front was bathed in heat, and her mind registered the sweet scent of wood burning in a fireplace, a fragrance she always found charming. Mr. Pennyworth guided her inside and just as she was certain she’d have an anxiety attack, the door closed with an ominous thud. It must be a large door.

  “Good evening, Ms. Farrow.”

  Her shoulders unknotted as his voice washed over her. Her belly swooped with excitement as his slow steps approached, echoing, pronouncing the room’s enormity. That was her Mr. Stone.

  Her voice shook. “Good evening, Mr. Stone.”

  Her breath sucked in as her body jerked at the quick brush of his fingers along her jaw. “You look beautiful this evening.”

  Unable to form a reply, she fought back every fear hitting her with the gravity of a falling planet. What if Mr. Stone was some Bram Stoker type with Hannibal Lector tendencies? She couldn’t do this! How had she ever believed she was brave enough to go through with this?

  He chuckled. Her hand was lifted as a foreign object was placed in her palm. He gently closed her fingers around it. “A telephone, Ms. Farrow, should you need to call the police. Take a deep breath, Scarlet. I mean you no harm. Would you like to go home? You’re my guest, free to leave whenever you choose.”

  Okay, she needed to chill the hell out. She was making an ass out of herself. Still, she gripped the phone like the lifeline it was. “Sorry. I’m nervous.”

  “You’ll stay then.” It wasn’t a question, but rather a supposition. “Mr. Pennyworth will be leaving us to return to the car, but he’s available whenever you’re ready to say goodnight. Understand?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t seem to find the breath to back her words.

  “Very good. We’ll see you in a bit, Pennyworth.”

  The chauffeur didn’t say goodbye. The only indication that he left was the sound of the heavy door closing followed by the brief draft of cold air mingling with the warm interior of the house.

  Silence.

  She trembled as what felt like the back of a knuckle slowly dragged down her sleeve and fingers gently closed around her hand. His touch was warm, his hand large and soft with a slight callus on one finger.

  “May I? There are chairs a few feet away where we can sit and talk. I think you’d be most comfortable near the presence of the front door tonight.”

  Her hand tightened around his, oddly drawing strength from the source of her fear, and he led her deeper into the room. His other hand touched the backs of her fingers, signaling her to release him. A gentle touch pressed into her shoulders. “There’s a chair behind you. Have a seat.”

  Carefully, she reached out and lowered herself into the chair.

  “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like to remove your coat?”

  “Can I take off the blindfold?”

  “If it is imperative for you to remove the blindfold, I’ll call Pennyworth back in to escort you home. Is that what you want?”

  “I don’t understand why I can’t see you.”

  “We’re here on my terms and your trust, Ms. Farrow, just as I stipulated in my note before you consented to come here. It’s imperative, in order for me to give you what you want, that we ascertain that level of trust. Have you changed your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Good girl.” Why did that phrase have such a pleasantly tingling effect on her? “Tell me what you’re feeling?”

  She swallowed. “Nervous. Scared. Excited.”

  “I see your excitement in the heightened color of your cheeks. It’s a stunning blush.”

  Her face heated even more.

  “Tell me what’s making you feel afraid.”

  She laughed nervously. “Basically the fear that I’m going to die.”

  He chuckled. “You have nothing to fear, Scarlet. I assure you, I’m not a murderer and have no intention to cause you harm.”

  His assurance wasn’t all that comforting. Anyone capable of killing would certainly be capable of lying. Her hands gripped her purse on her lap. He wasn’t saying anything. “Why are you being so quiet?”

  “Does my silence unnerve you?”

  “I can’t see, so yeah. I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “I’m watching you.”

  Her breathing slowed. “Oh,” she whispered in a small voice.

  “I’m trying to figure out what it would feel like to voluntarily place yourself in such a vulnerable predicament. Explain it to me.”

  “Um, I’m totally freaked out right now.”

  He chuckled again. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine. I think you should have one too, to help calm your nerves.”

  Could be poison. “Jesus, what am I doing?” she mumbled under her breath.

  “You can call me Mr. Stone.”

  She stilled. Was that a joke?

  He sighed. “Scarlet, I want you to listen carefully to what I’m about to say.”

  She turned to hear him clearly.

  “We’ve had several discussions on the phone pertaining to what you want in your life. While I can’t predict the future, I do believe I can give you what you desire, a glimpse, a moment of experiencing the adoration of a completely f
ocused male. The choice to proceed is yours. However, if you can’t trust that I’m not out to physically harm you, I see this as pointless. You’re emotions are, of course, welcome, but in order for us to make any progress, you’ll have to grant me some level of trust. You’re here. That’s a step in the right direction. Tell me now if this is too much for you and we’ll stop.”

  She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to do this, for herself and for him, but maybe this was simply too overwhelming. Her eyes pressed tight behind the blindfold as she tried to catch her breath. She’d never hyperventilated before, but claustrophobia was suddenly choking her.

  Her heart rate accelerated as she sucked in breath after breath. She was going to pass out. A hand slid under her hair, and she whimpered.

  “Open. Take a sip. It’s only water.”

  A cool glass pressed to her lower lip and her hands reached for the offering, closing over his.

  “Good girl. That’s it. Now take a slow breath.” He pulled the glass away. “Breathe. You’re in no physical danger. We’re just talking.”

  A jagged breath pulled deep into her lungs and she let it out slowly.

  “Do you suffer from panic attacks, Ms. Farrow?”

  What? Her mind was lost in a haze.

  “Answer the question, Scarlet.”

  Panic attacks… “No. This is just a bit overwhelming for me.”

  A snick sounded to her left and she flinched. “That was me setting the glass down on the table. Tell me how you picture your surroundings. It will help you feel more in control.”

  “Large. I smell a fire burning. The room has a slight echo and the floor’s bare.”

  “Very good, Ms. Farrow. See how your senses are heightened when the luxury of sight is deprived?”

  She nodded. This was Mr. Stone. All week she’d thought of little else but how excited she was to meet him. Her fear was spoiling everything. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

  “You’re in control, Ms. Farrow. Say the word and we stop and you return home.”

  Pressing her lips tight, she shook her head. “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Very well. Would you like to remove your coat now?”

  She could do this. She wasn’t a ninny. Shifting her purse to her side where she could grab it in an instant, she proceeded to unbutton her coat. Once she slid her arms out, she folded it on her lap.

  “May I? There’s a coat tree by the door.”

  She loosened her grip and the wool slid from her lap. Amazing how much security radiated from that coat. Stripping it away and being relieved of the garment was like having another layer of her soul exposed.

  His steps echoed as he returned to the other chair. His strides were slow and measured. “How about that wine now?”

  Screw it. She needed wine. “Wine sounds great.”

  He stood and she registered the sound of a cabinet opening, the familiar pop of a cork unplugging a bottle, and the soft trickle of glasses being filled. The upholstery rasped as he returned to his seat. “Reach forward.”

  Her arm slowly extended and the weight of a goblet filled her hands. It was room temperature, telling her it was of the red variety.

  “Cheers, Ms. Farrow.”

  “Cheers.” She sipped the wine, its tart flavor coating her dry mouth and quenching her thirst.

  His glass clicked against the table. “Would you like a grape?”

  A grape? “No, thank you.”

  “When did you last eat?”

  “Breakfast.” She’d been too nervous to eat.

  “Have a few grapes, Ms. Farrow.”

  “No, thank you—”

  “Open.”

  Her lips parted and the small, round ball popped into her mouth. Her teeth bit down and juice spurted over her tongue.

  “Take another sip of wine.”

  She did as he directed. He fed her a few more grapes and instructed her to sip her wine. When her glass was empty and her stomach a bit settled, she was marginally calmer.

  He relieved her of her glass. “Your water is still here if you get thirsty again. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Tell me about this week. I imagine your mind was busy.”

  She smiled, easing her posture a bit. As busy as her week seemed, it was dominated with anticipation for this very moment, no matter how different she’d pictured their meeting. “I thought a lot about you,” she admitted.

  “Ditto. Are you ready to hear my other conditions?”

  There were more? How many more conditions could he have? She was already blind! Yes, she needed to know what else she should expect. Maybe if she’d had a little warning about the mask it wouldn’t have been so jarring.

  “Yes. I’m ready.”

  “I can offer fourteen nights, Ms. Farrow, as I mentioned on the phone. I believe, in that time, you will truly understand what it is to be adored. After that, I can’t make any promises, and I wouldn’t want you to commit to anything presumptuously. Fourteen nights over the course of time, during which our progress will be dictated by your established trust.”

  So it wouldn’t be fourteen nights in a row. She could probably do that. “What happens after fourteen?”

  “Only time will tell.”

  “Will I be blindfolded the entire time?” Did he have scars? Maybe he was a veteran or in some sort of accident. She didn’t care about that. She just wanted to see him, look in his eyes. There was so much a person could discern from eyes.

  “Would you object if I said yes?”

  “No, but I can’t promise I won’t complain.” That was the truth. Too invested in his personality to care much about superficial flaws, there was no walking away.

  “Good enough. I don’t have any notable scars aside from where I got stitches in the second grade after bumping my chin on the monkey bars, if you’re worried about that.”

  Her thoughts jolted, as he seemed to read her mind. They were so in-sync.

  Trying to imagine him as a child was too difficult, being that she was still trying to piece together the image of him as Mr. Stone. “Are there other conditions?”

  “Yes. I will let you know when I wish to see you and Pennyworth will handle all transportation. Each encounter will start with a note, detailing my instructions. You should know that every request will serve a purpose. I intend to show you a side of yourself no one else ever has. I’ll press your boundaries, but never force you to do anything without your full consent. The moment you feel I’ve asked too much, you simply say no and the liaison is over. You will always have the final say so long as we are both invested.”

  He’d set things up so she would never know what to expect. Maybe the next time the blindfold wouldn’t even be mentioned. Perhaps leaving it open was a test. Eventually he had to show himself. Her fingers squeezed the phone still in her hand, the device warm from her hold.

  Maybe he sincerely wanted to give her this experience. Realizing she had so many trust issues was unsettling. Perhaps that was why she was single. Although this wasn’t a typical situation, any woman would be out of their element with such expectations.

  That realization had her sitting a little straighter. She was here, with Mr. Stone, and not running scared.

  “Tell me what has that little smirk on your mouth.”

  “I’m here. I was scared, but I’m still here.”

  “An indication that trust is developing. Will you continue to trust me, Ms. Farrow? Do we have a deal?”

  It could all end whenever she wanted it to stop. Where was the danger? “Okay.”

  “Very good. Consider tonight the first of fourteen. We’ve broken the ice and you survived.”

  Well, she wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  “Last we spoke,” he continued, voice level and calm as always. “You told me about a moment that you were proud of yourself. Tonight I want you to tell me a memory of failure and what you learned from the experience.”

  She stiffened. Somehow, divulging s
uch information in person rather than over the phone was a lot more intimidating. She still couldn’t see him, but there was a fresh level of judgment to consider. He could see her. “Why?”

  “Because I asked. If you can’t think of a failure, you’re either lying to yourself or purposely trying to deceive me. Trust does not tolerate deception.”

  Oh, she had plenty of failure in her life. “I failed my certification exam.”

  He tsked. “Go a little deeper, Ms. Farrow. Share something personal with me.”

  She swallowed. “I see my unmarried status as a personal failure.”

  “Interesting. Why?”

  She scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Not at all. I’m single, yet I don’t see it as a personal shortcoming. It’s more of a predilection.”

  “Well, maybe it’s different for men. All of my friends are married and onto trying to have children. I can barely have a successful date.”

  “You’re here now.”

  “Yes, but this is far from ordinary. I don’t even know what you look like.”

  “Are dates defined by your partner’s appearance?”

  “No.”

  “Then I don’t see how that applies.”

  She sighed. “I always expected I’d be married with a family by now. I’m thirty years old. Risks begin to present themselves for women who have children late into their thirties.”

  “You have a decade of being in your thirties ahead of you. I don’t think those risks apply just yet.”

  “Ah, but you’re forgetting the time it takes to meet someone, form a relationship, establish a mutual desire to take things to the next level, finagle a proposal—something totally out of my hands—have an engagement, enjoy a bit of being married, and the time it takes to conceive if there are no unforeseen complications.”

  “So, if I understand correctly, you’re stuck in stage one, but should you make it to the later stages of the game, you’d be at the mercy of the man, waiting for him to pop the question.”

  “Yes.”