BLIND: A Mastermind Novel

by Lydia Michaels

Abruptly, she turned and marched out of the auditorium, letting the door slam behind her. The school was vacant, every student and teacher in attendance for the big unveiling.

  He’d done it. He’d managed to infiltrate the last sanctuary she had, violate every part of her life until there was nothing left unbothered by his presence.

  This was her project. She’d written the grant. She’d poured her heart into the reasons why her students deserved this program. He had no right to take this away from her too. It was the first thing that made her happy and had absolutely nothing to do with him—or so she’d thought.

  She returned to her classroom and shut the door. Maybe she should go home. Her mind spun as she stood in the center of the room surrounded by thirty empty desks. Her hand pressed to her queasy stomach as she caught her breath.

  The cadence of heavy footsteps built down the hall, echoing through the barren corridor. Perhaps it was Calvin or Nancy coming to ask if she’d lost her mind. She’d politely thank them for their concern and inform them that, yes, she was officially bordering on insanity and needed to take the rest of the day—maybe week—off.

  The door clicked and her head lowered. She had no excuse for her display or any of this nonsense. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me—”

  “Scarlet.”

  The breath knocked out of her as he whispered her name. Not Nancy. Not Calvin. Slowly, she turned and glared at him, again, floored by how attractive he was. His brow creased in what appeared to be concern. So many times she’d considered what her exact reaction might be if she ever got the opportunity to talk to him again, if she ever got the opportunity to see him at all. Nothing prepared her for this.

  He approached and everything in her demanded she run, but not a single muscle in her body seemed to be working. “Scarlet,” he repeated, voice hoarse. His hands lifted as if to cup her shoulders and—

  Her hand shot out from her side with no warning from her chaotic mind and punched him. His head snapped back the second her fist connected with his face. Her eyes went wide as pain radiated in her knuckles. She couldn’t have just done that.

  “You asshole!” she shouted, unaccustomed to the level of rage spewing from her. It was as though she’d lost every ounce of self-control.

  His fingers cupped his nose as he bent forward and groaned. Blood, there was blood. “I know! I’m a complete jerk, but, please, listen to me.”

  “Listen to you? Listen to you? I spent months doing nothing but! How dare you come in here and act like some sort of hero! Did you even read the proposal I wrote?” Her hand throbbed and she regretted hitting him, almost certain she’d broken at least one of her fingers.

  Horrendously shaking with adrenaline, she marched to her desk and used her unspoiled hand to open the drawer and dig out her purse.

  He unraveled several paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. “Scarlet, please—”

  “Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me.”

  “I love you.”

  She paused, her entire being trembling. Pain exploded in her chest as tears threatened.

  Keeping her gaze on her desk she heard him approach. He handed her a paper towel. “Your knuckle’s bleeding.”

  It literally hurt to look at him. Focusing all of her energy on her composure, she silently turned. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “So many things. But you were the one thing that was right. Please don’t walk away again. I…love you.”

  Walk away? He was the one that walked away. He left her there in front of some driver, naked and shattered. Her jaw tightened. He didn’t love her. “Stay the fuck out of my life…whoever you are.” She shoved past him and let the door slam behind her.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Memories

  Her students read a lot of shapeshifter books. They all had the same theories about shifting. It was a painful process, stretching ligaments, contorting muscle, and snapping bones, all to become something else. Sometimes, recalling the person one used to be was equally painful.

  Looking into her past was not a pleasant process. When she finally found her high school yearbook her recollections of the good ol’ days faded into honest truths of a very confusing time in her life. Over the years she’d somehow wrapped up that part of her past with a pretty little bow, but the truth was, all those people she thought were her friends were not people she remembered fondly.

  Nicole was the one exception. Her loyalty and dependability was the one souvenir she kept from her past and Nicole was the only person she’d ever really believed knew the real her. The jocks, the cheer squad, the people she passed time with, she’d only ever showed them an impression of the person she thought they wanted to see.

  So many insecurities, so many moments of self-doubt and worry came back to her. Some days she’d hated the people that made up her social world, but knew it was easier to stick with them than find herself on the other side of the great divide. They chose her for whatever reason, but she could have just as easily been one of the ostracized pariahs sitting alone at lunch.

  Graduating high school was like exhaling after the longest obstacle course of her life. She’d survived, which was the whole point. Minor moments and events chipped at her protective shell, but she’d made it out with hardly a scar and when she left she never looked back. Some weren’t as lucky.

  It turned out she remembered Asher Roan from high school.

  It took a while. Her memories were shoddy at best, overwhelmed by creepy recollections of Bobby Westerman and his dominating presence over so many of her adolescent years. But Asher was in the background, a quiet little noise they seldom noticed and swatted away like an annoying gnat. Elliot and Hunter were there too. Jet, she vaguely remembered, but never as their friend.

  Asher was definitely someone to her—or he should have been. She wasn’t sure what exactly provoked certain events in her life, but looking back as an adult and a teacher who actively spoke out against bullying, she needed some answers. Which was why she waited outside the coffee shop at six o’clock in the morning on Wednesday.

  A light flashed on from the inside and she frowned, assuming the store only had one entrance. Peeking through the glass, she spotted Bobby turning on machines in the back. Her lungs tightened as she breathed deep. She could do this. She could face him. People would be arriving for coffee soon, so she wasn’t necessarily putting herself in any danger—besides, she had pepper spray.

  Her knuckles lightly tapped on the door and his initial scowl at being disturbed transformed into a welcoming, yet nauseating, grin. He rounded the counter and unlocked the front door. “Hey, Red. You here for your coffee? First cup’s always the best.”

  “I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.”

  “Hell yeah. Come on in. You can keep me company while I get everything going.”

  She followed him into the store, but kept her distance. “Bobby, do you remember a guy named Asher Roan from high school?”

  “Asher Roan, Asher Roan…Names not ringing any sirens, but I don’t remember a lot of things from back then. Who was he?”

  “I know you know him. Think. You used to pick on him, played a trick on him senior year before homecoming. I remember him showing up at my house and I know you and your friends lead him to believe something—”

  “Oh yeah!” He laughed. “I remember that dweeb. Ha! He used to follow you around like a little lost puppy.”

  “He did?”

  He laughed again. “Yeah. Everyone knew he was obsessed with you.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “And why should you? You were with me. Speaking of…” He leaned over the counter. “You haven’t accepted my friend request yet. When we gonna have that date?”

  She ignored his question. “Why did he show up at my house that day?”

  Bobby scowled. “Why do you care? It was twelve years ago.”

  Her reasons weren’t any of his business. “I just do.”

  He shrugged. “He must ha
ve thought if he showed up you’d go to the dance with him. What a loser.” He chuckled and busied himself filling a carafe at the sink.

  She tried desperately to recall that night, but her memories were distorted. She’d been embarrassed. He’d said something or done something, but she didn’t remember what. The entire night was a disaster, ending with Bobby clumsily taking her virginity. She’d tried so hard to forget the entire mess, but now she wanted certain details back.

  Her eyes closed, the darkness making her other senses stronger. She’d worn her purple dress and Asher had shown up in an old suit—“You told him to come to my house.”

  “Nah,” he denied with a smirk. “He was just stalking you as usual.”

  “Then why would he show up like that, dressed up with flowers?”

  “You’re not gonna let this go are you? All right.”His smirk stretched into a grin. “I didn’t invite him, Red. You did.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “All your sweet love letters.”

  “What are you talking about? I never wrote him any letters.”

  “Sure, you did. Why do you think he’d leave all those bouquets of flowers by your locker?”

  She stepped back, recalling several mornings she’d been surprised with mix tapes or fresh flowers. “I thought they were from you.” He’d acted like they were plenty of times and she took them as a sign of redemption.

  He laughed. “Nah. I don’t do that pansy ass shit. Only fags do that crap.”

  She shook her head, stumbling back another step. “What’s wrong with you?”

  He frowned. “What? Red, it was over a decade ago. I’m sure he’s fine.”

  She laughed without humor. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve never been pushed around or manipulated, called names or forced to do something that makes you sick. You have no idea how horrible it feels to be the victim of someone else’s cruelty.”

  He waved a hand. “Easy, Red. I’ve been pushed around plenty. Don’t act like an expert on things you don’t understand.”

  Recalling all the times she’d asked him to slow down and he didn’t, she wondered if he had any concept of the monster he was. “I understand,” she growled. But maybe he did too. Bullies weren’t born. They were made. “Who picked on you, Bobby? Your dad? An older sibling? A kid in your neighborhood?”

  “Hey, Oprah, figure out someone else. You want coffee or not?”

  She swallowed. “Not.” Stepping to the counter, she quietly said, “I want you to know, the first time we had sex, I wasn’t ready. You were rough and took something I didn’t want to give.”

  “Yeah, well, you never said nothin’.”

  “I said plenty.” There were other times too, moments she should have walked away and stayed away, but somehow he’d always found her again. “You can wait an eternity for me to be your friend, Bobby, but it’ll never happen. People like you don’t have friends.”

  “Get lost,” he sneered, rolling his eyes as if her accusations were ridiculous. But she saw the moment the truth hit him. “You were never that good anyway.”

  “I feel sorry for you. And that kid, that guy that you called a loser…” she tossed a copy of Time Magazine on the counter where Asher, Elliot, Jet, and Hunter made up the cover. “That’s him. He is doing just fine. You’re the loser.” Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned on her heel and walked out the door, not able to bear another second in his presence.

  When her feet hit the pavement she was trembling. Her heart raced as she struggled to maintain her composure. She needed to find a new coffee shop and a place to sit down. Then she needed to think of how she was going to face the other ghosts of her past.

  ****

  Disappointment didn’t begin to describe her feelings when she realized Asher wouldn’t be teaching the seminar for Technology in the Classroom. Running into him there had been her only hope of tracking him down, his social status making him impossible to locate. She thought—if he truly loved her—he’d return, but he didn’t.

  She waited until the staff cleared out and quietly approached Elliot and Jet. When she cleared her throat Elliot stilled, eyeing her from under his glasses, but paying her little mind. It was clear he didn’t like her very much. She turned to Jet. “Mr. Roan couldn’t make it tonight?”

  “Ash doesn’t usually teach seminars,” Jet said as he boxed up sample tablets.

  Elliot paused and gave his friend a warning look.

  “Do you have a contact for him? He said something the other day at the assembly and I wanted to—”

  “We know who you are, Lettie. It’s you who forgets.”

  She turned to Elliot, rather caught off-guard by his accusing attitude. “You’re right, I do forget. I had to look in my yearbook to stimulate the slightest memory of any of you, but why is that so horrible? We weren’t friends. That doesn’t mean we were enemies. I remember you now. I also remember Asher and Hunter.” She glanced at Jet. “Sorry, I don’t really remember you.”

  “It matters, because you were a bitch,” Mr. Garnet suddenly said.

  “Whoa!” Jet drew back. “Elliot, not cool.”

  Taken aback, she scoffed, speechless. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “Nothing. You did absolutely nothing. All the times your boyfriend locked us in uncomfortable places, stole our clothes, beat on us…you were always there, doing nothing. Like we were invisible. I guess you know what that feels like now.”

  His words hit too close to the truth and her throat suddenly closed as her eyes stung. Swallowing, she croaked, “I thought we could talk like adults, but I guess I was wrong.” She cleared the emotional strain from her throat. “For the record, I didn’t know what was happening, because I had my own battles to fight. But if I ever saw Bobby truly go after someone else, I would have done something.” She had to believe that was true.

  “That’s a lie. I remember a time when I looked right in your eyes and thought, how does she walk away with him after he treats people like that? In my book you’re just as guilty as every other bully.”

  No one had ever accused her of being cruel. Her mind shrank from the allegation. “That’s not true.”

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter now.”

  Her gaze lowered to the floor. She couldn’t be a villain if she’d been a victim, could she? Backing out of the room, she collected her belongings and walked slowly down the hall.

  “Scarlet?” Jet jogged after her.

  Her throat was suddenly tight with restricting emotion and the need to cry. She shook her head. “I don’t remember any of that, I swear,” her words were clipped as distress seeped into her voice. “Bobby was horrible to me, always bossing me around, embarrassing me, forcing me to do things I didn’t like. I was so worried about protecting myself half the time, I didn’t think about anyone else. I swear, I’m not a horrible person. I was just a kid.”

  “Hey, it’s fine. We were all kids. Elliot’s just being a dick. Here.”

  She wiped her eyes and glanced at the card in his hand. “What is it?”

  “My business card. I wrote Asher’s cell number and address on the back.”

  The breath knocked out of her lungs. Just like that, everything she’d wanted? It was surreal. Slowly, her fingers closed over the card and his grip tightened, not letting her take it. She whimpered. Another trick?

  “Do you love him?” Jet asked.

  She stared at him, unsure how to answer such a personal question.

  “It’s a simple question,” he said. “Maybe there could be a simple solution to all of this if people started telling the truth and being okay with who they are.”

  She swallowed, and rasped, “Yes. I love him.” A tear tripped down her cheek as his fingers released the card.

  “Then tell him. He’s falling apart without you and we all want to see our friend whole again.”

  A chilling calm came over her as he walked away. He’s falling apart…

  Was that true? Did she really mean so
mething to him? Had he been suffering the same as she’d been? Her fingers turned over the card and there was his contact information. Should she call? Could she forgive him?

  She wasn’t sure what any of this meant, but she was beginning to understand the man behind Mr. Stone. Just like her, he had insecurities weighing him down. It didn’t excuse his actions, but it explained a whole lot.

  What she couldn’t comprehend was why a man like Asher would feel the need for so much secrecy at this point in his life. He’d proven himself to the outside world. Opinions from assholes like Bobby Westerman shouldn’t matter anymore.

  Asher was a very sexy man, so she couldn’t imagine him doubting his desirability. There was a quiet magnetism about him that went beyond normal charm. So why hide who he was? She was exhausted with the guessing game.

  It took her a minute--or twenty—to collect herself and put her car into gear. She’d typed his address into the GPS on her phone and there were only thirteen miles separating them. Thirteen. Miles.

  Her heart pounded as she gripped the wheel and drove, teeth clenched the entire way. How many times had she traveled this road with Pennyworth? She laughed every time she spotted a landmark she recognized.

  Their entire liaison seemed like an adventure in a far off fantasyland, but really they’d been in her neighborhood the whole time. How bizarre and… ordinary. They probably dropped their mail off at the same post office.

  “You have arrived at your destination.”

  She frowned and slowed the car. Where? There was nothing there.

  Edging along the shoulder, she looked left and right. Tall willow trees grew sporadically on what appeared to be some sort of park. Hedges thickened where a sidewalk would fit, but there was no walk.

  The dusk made it difficult to see. Creeping slowly down the road, she spotted a cement pillar, only about three feet tall. There was a stone drive. Was this it?

  She frowned and looked at the card Jet gave her. Her eyes scoured the property for an address, or more sensible, a house. But there was nothing.

  Turning onto the drive, she coasted slowly. The narrow path twisted like a road in a cemetery. She wanted to shut her eyes to see if any of this felt familiar, but that wouldn’t be wise.