Blindness

by Ginger Scott

  I see the panic hit Trevor now, and he pulls his keys from his pocket and hands them to me, leaving a few bills from his wallet for tips on the table. He shakes Kevin’s hand quickly and pats Rob on the back, leaning over to explain to them that there’s an emergency.

  We’re out the door seconds later, Jessie tagging along behind us. “Where is he at? What’s going on?” Trevor says, his step picking up pace as we hit the ramps to the parking lot.

  “He’s drunk. Just got a little carried away is all, but he’s heading out to the pits to jump his bike,” Jessie says, once again bailing me out of a situation.

  “Damnit,” Trevor says, and I can see the frustrated look on his face. It’s not that Trevor doesn’t drink; quite the opposite, he can hold his liquor well. He’s just not a big fan of drunken behavior. The wildest thing he’s done at a bar is make an unwise bet on a hockey game.

  We get to the car, and I click the locks. We get in, and I start racing from the lot before everyone’s seatbelts are on.

  “Where do I need to go?” I ask Jessie.

  “Highway. Get off on Bird Lane, it’s about ten miles past the shop,” she says.

  I do as she says, letting my foot fall heavy on the pedal. I know Trevor’s had a few beers and that’s why he let me drive, but I’m glad he did. I need the distraction, because the visions racing through my mind are unbearable, and each time I let a new one rear into my mind, I edge up a few more miles per hour. By the time we hit the suburbs, I’m cruising at about 90.

  “Careful, Charlotte. Watch for cops, okay?” Trevor says, his voice stern. I can tell he’s angry that we had to leave, and I can tell he’s irritated at me somehow, too. But I don’t care. I swear if I can just get there fast enough, somehow stop Cody before he rides up a hill and does something to hurt himself, I’ll tell him everything. I’ll tell Trevor everything. I don’t know what I was thinking letting Jim make decisions for me, about who I get to love.

  Jessie guides me down a few rural roads after I exit the highway, and soon we’re pulling into a giant dirt lot, with lighted tracks and riders zipping over mounds and hills. I see a few big ramps and a giant pit in the middle, full of foam, and I know that’s where he is. I don’t even turn off the car when I push the gear into park and sprint away, the door hanging wide open.

  “Cody! Cody!” I’m yelling, my voice shrill and cracking from the cold. People are looking at me like I’m crazy, but I don’t care. I have to find him; I have to stop him.

  “Cody! Cody…Cody Carmichael?” I ask one guy walking by with a helmet covered in stickers. He just shrugs and shakes his head at me, almost avoiding me like I’m one of those phone salesmen at a kiosk in the mall.

  “Cody!” I hear Jessie yelling, several feet away from me. She’s climbing up a series of steps, and Trevor is jogging to catch up to her. I look to the top of the steps, up one of the ramps. I see Gabe, and it fuels me. I run, faster than I ever have, and take the stairs two at a time until I eventually catch and pass Trevor and Jessie. When I get to the top, I see him, swiveling his tire side-to-side on his bike, his helmet buckled, but his goggles pushed up so I can see his bloodshot eyes.

  “Cody, no! Stop it!” I yell, walking out to the edge of the giant dirt ramp, but Gabe grabs my arm and pulls me back to him.

  “Careful, Charlie. It’s steep! You’ll fall,” he says.

  “I have to get to him, Gabe. He has to see me. He can’t do this,” I say, my entire body shaking from the crying I can no longer stop.

  “Relax, Charlie. He jumps all the time. He’ll be careful, he always is,” he says, but I can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t sure. So when his grip loosens, I take off running toward Cody, waving my arms to get his attention. I’m almost to him, and he’s pulling his helmet off as he sees me, when I feel my left foot give and slide to the side down the hill. I land on my knee hard and fall flat on my hands and face next, sliding forward, but teetering dangerously on the edge.

  I’m going to fall. It’s inevitable—I just know it. I dig my fingertips into the dirt and press my cheek flat as I slide slowly, hoping if I stay pressed against the earth that I won’t roll or break a bone. I’ll have one hell of a set of cuts on the front of my body, but those I can handle. I close my eyes tightly as the direction of my slide starts to turn down the hill, and I feel the left side of my body start to twist—and then I feel a hand grip my wrist.

  “I got you, Charlie. Hold on; hold on for me, okay?” Cody says, his eyes scared. He’s laying flat along the top of the hill, and he reaches down with his other hand to pull my arm while I kick at the ground and dig in with my shoes, fighting gravity.

  “Cody, I’m falling. I can’t—” I say as my foot slips, and I slide down a few inches.

  “No you’re not. I’ve got you. Look at me,” Cody says, his eyes focused on mine, willing me. I keep kicking, reaching up with my other arm, until finally he has that one too, and he starts to pull me backward. Soon Gabe is grabbing my elbow, and the two of them have me back up on level ground.

  I’m crying hard now, mostly from terror, and Cody is sitting back on his hands, his breathing hard. Jessie and Trevor are standing at the platform, and with Jessie’s urging, I make my way over to her on shaky legs. She puts her arm around me and slowly walks me down the stairs; I notice Trevor doesn’t follow.

  “Damn,” Jessie says. She’s calm about it, nothing like the quivering mess I am.

  “Damn what?” I say, my voice shaky, just like the rest of me.

  “I can’t really punch you in the face after something like that. Just…pisses me off. That’s all,” she says, curling the side of her mouth up into a smile. I smile back and reach for her hand, even more relieved when she holds it.

  I hear the thumping of the metal stairs as Gabe and Trevor make their way down, and I hear the vibration of Cody’s bike as he rumbles up next to us, tossing his helmet to the ground. He’s in front of me seconds later, sitting on one knee and rolling up the legs of my pants so he can cover my scrapes in bandages and Neosporin.

  “That wasn’t funny,” he says, not looking me in the eye.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be funny. You scared me. You were going to get hurt,” I say, my heart sinking at the thought of what could have happened if I had been a few minutes too late.

  “Probably,” Cody says, his face a half-smile.

  “Okay, what the fuck!” Trevor says, his shadow blocking the light from Cody’s eyes.

  Cody sets the first-aid kit down in front of me and stands up, brushing his hands off. “I know, I know. I’m really sorry, Trev. I ruined the game for you, it’s my fault really…” Cody starts to explain, but Trevor cuts him off, pushing him back, away from me.

  “No, not that. I mean what the fuck is going on, here—with you two?” he says, his face growing redder, and his jaw flexing with every word.

  Cody just slumps his arms to the side and takes a deep breath before he looks at me. He’s waiting—he wants me to do it, here and now—but I’m paralyzed. I can see his thoughts behind his eyes, begging me. I try to open my mouth, but my lips are dry, and all I can do is gasp and stutter.

  Cody pulls his lips into a tight line and sucks in, rolling his shoulders back, readying himself before he faces Trevor. “I love her,” he says, and I feel my body slide forward from the chair as the wind flees my lungs.

  “What the fuck do you mean you love her?!” Trevor says, getting closer to Cody, standing with him toe-to-toe. Cody has him in height, but Trevor’s thicker, and I know he’s strong. I grip the bottom of my chair, trying to find courage.

  “I’m sorry, Trevor,” is all that comes out, but it seems to be enough. Trevor steps back a few paces, his hands flying to his forehead, his eyes wide. He turns away from all of us, and I stay in my chair, watching his every movement as he paces back and forth, mumbling to himself. I glance at Cody, and he’s looking at me, his mouth curved into the slightest smile, his hands tucked into his pockets, and in that minute, I know I d
id the right thing.

  “You piece of shit!” Trevor yells as his fist launches into the side of Cody’s jaw. Cody falls onto his back on instinct, and Trevor sits on him, pinning him to the ground while he continues to beat Cody’s face. Finally, he fights back, pushing Trevor back on his heels.

  “It wasn’t like that, Trevor. It just happened, man. I just get her,” Cody says, trying to make Trevor understand, trying to calm him down.

  “Get her?” Trevor yells back. “You hardly fucking know her!”

  Cody’s face falls, and he stands up to push Trevor back a few more times. “No, you don’t get to fucking do that, man. You’re the one who doesn’t know her. You don’t know a damn thing about who she really is! You just want to turn her into your damned perfect wife, someone who’ll sit back and play house with you, be there waiting for you when you come home from work. But you’ve never once really thought about what Charlie likes or what Charlie wants!” Cody’s hands are shaking as he grabs a fistful of Trevor’s shirt. “But I do care what Charlie wants. That’s the thing, I care a whole fucking lot! It’s my number-one goddamned priority!”

  Trevor looks stunned, his arms limp at his sides and his eyes intent on Cody’s. I can see him swallowing hard, trying to keep his emotions in check, cool and calm, just like he always is. But he can’t do it—not today—and soon his fist is busting Cody’s nose, and blood is filling his shirt and splattering on the dirt around him as Trevor continues to throw blows.

  “Stop it!” I yell, standing to my feet and trying to push myself between the two of them.

  My phone rings, and my favorite Killers song blasts through the small moment of silence between the grunts and the sounds of knuckles hitting flesh. I press ignore, but seconds later it’s ringing again. I ignore once more, yelling from the side while Trevor and Cody roll along the ground, each fighting to gain dominance, pulling and ripping shirts. When my phone rings a third time, I pull it from my pocket and see my aunt’s picture. Just wanting her to stop, I swipe to answer.

  “Caroline, I’m sorry…but I’m going to have to call you back,” I say, sliding the phone from my ear to hang up on her.

  “Charlie…it’s Mac. They found the guy,” she says just loud enough to stop me, and I stumble back onto the ground, falling on my ass. I fumble to get the phone back to my ear, and I wave my hand in the air. “Stop!” I scream, halting Cody and Trevor instantly with the sharp attack of my words, which echo off of the nearby dirt mountains and metal ramps.

  I’m panting into the phone, willing myself not to pass out. “What?” I say, the taste of bile souring my mouth, and my body dazed.

  “They found him, Charlie. They have him, and we need you to come home,” Caroline says, her voice wavering from crying. She cries a lot, but this one is different, and it has me off-center. I can’t find reality, her words are so unexpected. This call...it was never supposed to come.

  “Where?” I ask, not sure I’m ready for her answer.

  “He was here. In Louisville. They got him in a drug bust,” she says, and I’m nodding with her information. I’m nodding because it fits everything—every nightmare, every feeling, every suspicion I’ve had for the last three years. “You have to come home, Charlie. They need you…to identify…”

  “I know. I know. I talk to Brian…” I interrupt her, holding my hand up to my chest and gripping at the pain. “Okay, I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  I hang up with Caroline, and I stand and start walking to the car, to the parking lot, leaving the entire mess I’ve made behind me. I have a new mess, a horror story, waiting for me in Louisville—and that’s where my heart is now.

  Cody is behind me in seconds, reaching for my hand, but I jerk it away. “No, don’t touch me!” I say, lashing out with my tongue. It’s not his fault, but I can’t handle everything that’s happening all at once, and I don’t know how to be nice.

  “Charlie, wait!” I stop and turn to him, breathing in through my nose and fighting the hysterics that I know are barely tucked below my surface. “What’s going on? Who the hell’s Brian?”

  Trevor is behind him now, and he answers before I can.

  “Detective Shiller,” he says, his eyes understanding. Trevor doesn’t know the entire story, but he knows enough, and he’s already pulling out his phone, making calls to the airport for me.

  “Detective?” Cody says, his confusion apparent. “What are you doing?”

  He’s grabbing Trevor’s arm, trying to figure out who he’s calling, looking at Jessie and Gabe, who are just as confused as he is, and then back at me. His eyes are full of sadness and fear, and I know he’s afraid he’s losing me to some strange unknown, and it breaks me—breaks through my trance—for just a moment, just long enough.

  “They found my dad’s killer,” I say, and I see the flash of recognition, of understanding, in his eyes. “My dad was a cop. He tried to stop a hold-up at a convenience store when he was off-duty. I was in the car, and I saw the whole thing. He shot him—in the back.”

  I cover my mouth as the memory floods back to me, and I collapse to my knees, my body convulsing, and my weeping moans loud and disruptive.

  Cody is next to me seconds later, pulling me into his lap and squeezing me tightly, and I cling to him. Trevor is pacing, making calls, and I know he’s broken from seeing this, from seeing me lean on Cody, but I need him—now more than ever—so I continue to hold him, and the fighting stops, at least for the moment.

  Chapter 17: Let’s Celebrate

  Mac is beaming. He keeps reaching across the seat and patting me on the shoulder, smiling.

  The trophy is heavy between us, and I feel badly that it’s denting in his vinyl seats. “Dad, I can move this to the floor. It’s making holes,” I say, picking it up and rubbing my finger over the small puncture on the bench seat of his truck.

  “Bah,” Mac says, pushing the trophy back down in its place. “I’ll tape the hole if it rips. I wanna see this. I’m so proud of you, Charlie.”

  My biggest fan, Mac hadn’t missed a single golf tournament this season. Winning State felt more like something we both did.

  “We should celebrate. Whadaya want?” he says, pulling off the main highway to head into our neighborhood. His lips are still red from the slushes we drank in the car, and it makes me giggle. We make silly faces at a stoplight, and I snap a few shots with my phone.

  It’s late, and I’m pretty sure most of the restaurants are closed. We’ve been driving for hours, heading home from the tournament held at the university. By the time awards were done, the sun was long gone.

  “Oh, I’m good with anything. How about Wendy’s?” I say, knowing that the baked potato and chili is my dad’s favorite. He looks at me and smiles, his eyes crinkling, like Santa.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he says, pulling onto the side street where the fast food joints are all clustered. When we pull through the lot, the lights are off, but I can tell the drive-thru’s open.

  “That’s fine,” I say, pointing to the menu screen.

  “Nonsense, I want a sit-down meal to celebrate this,” he says, patting the trophy and pulling up his cheeks to grin.

  We pass through three more restaurants, each of them closed, and we start to laugh hysterically with each new closed sign. “I think the gods are trying to tell me something,” Mac says, rubbing his round belly. He has put on a few, but I think it’s because for the first time in years he has joy in his life. We’ve both come to this place, and it was really hard and painful to get here, but it’s wonderful.

  “Hey, how about we get doughnuts and a liter of Coke and pig out at home in front of the TV?” I say, elbowing him and pointing to the convenience store flashing “24/7.”

  “Charlie, I’m a cop—you had me at doughnuts,” he laughs, his chuckle deep and raspy from years of smoking his pipe. It’s a habit I want him to quit, but one I’ll work on later. Tonight, I just want to celebrate with my daddy.

  We pull into a spot, between two really beat
up cars.

  “You just wait here, keep the motor running. I don’t want to have to jump her,” he says, getting out and signaling to me to lock the door behind him. I do as he says, I always do. My dad’s paranoid about my safety.

  I pick up my trophy and read the front, tilting it to reflect from the store’s bright lights. “Kentucky State Champion.” I’ve never really had something like this…an achievement, I guess? I felt proud, and it was a strange feeling. I was so used to feeling like I was nothing, like I was a burden or an accident. I haven’t really thought about my mother in months, but for some reason—tonight—she’s on my mind. I haven’t seen her since the day she dropped me off with Mac, and I used to wonder where she was, what she looked like, if she was well, or…alive?

  The man standing at the clerk’s counter inside reminds me of her. He’s twitchy, and his arms are covered in bruises. He’s wearing a loose white tank top, and it’s dirty. He looks almost homeless. I wonder where Mac is, and I start panning the windows, trying to find him. I notice him crouched down behind the bakery counter, his finger to his lips as he’s mouthing something to the store clerk.

  Something’s not right.

  The clerk’s eyes are wide, and his hands are raised. He’s shaking his head, talking nervously to the man in the tank top.

  I see the gun!

  I look back for Mac, and I panic. He’s no longer there. I scoot over to his seat and put my hand on the gear. He must be sneaking out of the store, and when he does, I’ll have him jump in, and I’ll speed away. Or if that guy looks like he’s going to shoot, I’ll ram through the window.

  My fingers are tingling, my hand muscles flexing on the gear, ready to slide it into position. My heart is pounding loudly in my ears, and my mouth is watering, like it does before I throw up.

  Where is he? Mac…where is he?

  I’m about to push the gas when the guy at the counter raises his arm, like he’s about to shoot, and out of nowhere, Mac tackles him, pushing him into the counter and wrapping his hand around the man’s wrist, pounding it repeatedly into the register until the gun is forced loose from his grip.