Blind Sight

by Terri Persons

  “Overflow parking for Ed’s buddies in homicide. Not the nicest room in the house, but you wanted dark.”

  “It’s perfect.” Bernadette rubbed her arms over her shirt and blew a puff of air. Not quite cold enough to see her breath. On her lap was the plastic bag containing the sliver of flannel from Lydia’s nightgown.

  “Ready?” Garcia asked.

  “Ready,” she said.

  “Here we go.” He snapped off the lamp as the buck’s butt was again fading out of view.

  No airplane or traffic noise. No distant voices or music. Not even the wind broke the stillness. The only interruption to the quiet was a wooden groan. The cabin settling. She concentrated on her breathing. In and out. In. Out. She opened her hand on her lap and tipped the bag over her palm. As light as a feather, the fabric floated down to her fingers. She curled her hand into a fist, closed her eyes, and whispered her prayer.

  Bernadette opens her eyes to … the storm.

  The killer is looking out a window. Even with her hazy vision, she can tell that it’s daytime and snow is falling. Beyond the white blur, green blurs. Pine trees. This could be virtually anywhere with a winter season, but she knows it’s up north. She can feel it.

  The murderer drops the blinds and cranks them so they shut tight. Why close them in the middle of the day? What is this person up to?

  The killer turns away from the window and flicks on a table lamp but makes the move too quickly for her to study the hand—its size, whether there is jewelry or a watch. Whether this person has tattoos.

  The room is small and butter-yellow. Rectangles decorate the walls. Color photos or paintings—she can’t tell which. A bed with a nightstand and the lamp. Odd lamp. The base is bright yellow and in the shape of a duck.

  Suddenly everything goes dark, but it isn’t the same as when Bernadette loses a connection. There are shadows and vague shapes. Movement. A distant, throbbing light beyond the blackness. What is this? She’s never been here before. Her sight has never done this sort of…

  Inside the yellow room again, glancing toward a door beyond the bed. The murderer steps up to it, raises a fist, and knocks. Again, too fast for her to scrutinize the hand. The killer backs away, and the door pops open. Someone standing in the doorway. Bernadette can’t make out the details of the face, a creamy round with dark slits for eyes. Long brown hair. A rose-colored robe or dress. Can’t tell which. Doesn’t matter. This is a woman. The killer puts a hand on her shoulder and they walk together to the bed. Is this the next…?

  • • •

  That strange, shadowy world again. Gray shapes like amoebas, moving and undulating and pulsating. A hint of light behind them, or between them. Past them. What is this place? This is the weirdest thing she’s ever …

  The rosy woman is sitting on the edge of the mattress. She turns on it and brings her legs up. The killer is standing over her, concentrating on the woman’s face. She’s talking.

  The woman lies back against the pillows, and the baby butcher puts both hands on her belly.

  Black and gray again. Bernadette tries to will the shadowland away, but it stays in her eyes. Stays. Stays. Swimming gray shapes. A promise of light, but no light. She can’t waste time with this nonsense. A woman is in danger.

  Bernadette forced her fist open and tipped her hand, dropping the fabric.

  She closed her eyes tight and opened them to a familiar darkness. The cabin’s basement. She could see daylight oozing out from the edges of the makeshift curtain. Before she could speak, she had to take a gulp of air. “The killer’s with a pregnant woman!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Garcia turned on the light. “Where?” She jumped to her feet and ran up the stairs while stuffing the plastic bag into her pocket. “Could have been a private home, a clinic.”

  He followed her. “The hospital?”

  “We were over every inch of that place, and I didn’t recognize the room.” She gave him a summary as they put on their outdoor gear. “A small yellow room with a bed. The murderer looked out the window and I saw snow coming down, so it’s gotta be up here.”

  “The entire state and half of Wisconsin are under a blizzard warning,” said Garcia.

  “Fine. I think it’s up here.” Bernadette zipped her jacket. “A woman came out of another room. The bathroom, maybe. She had brown hair and wore a rose-colored outfit. After she stretched out on the bed, he put his hands on her stomach.”

  “Sure it was a he? What about Ashe? Could have been her hands doing that healing-touch bullshit. Potters have strong mitts, right?”

  While Bernadette couldn’t visualize the witch’s hands at that moment, she did recall the woman’s athleticism. She tossed those dogs around like puppies. “Could have been Ashe.”

  “Should we go back there?”

  “Wasn’t her house. No black paper or sheets on the window. Blinds.”

  “How do you know the gal on the bed was pregnant?” asked Garcia, pulling on his hat. “Did she have a bump?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then how do you know?”

  “I told you, he—or she—laid hands on her gut.”

  Garcia didn’t say anything, but she knew that expression. She’d seen it before on him. He believed in her sight, but he didn’t always agree with her interpretation. It frustrated her. “Tony I know. I just know she was pregnant, just like I know the killer is up here.”

  He put his hand on the door. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “OB clinic in Akeley Let’s start there.”

  As they drove, she told him about the strange dark interludes in between her visions.

  “What was that about?”

  “Haven’t a clue,” she said. “Let’s worry about it later.”

  The storefronts lining the tiny town’s main thoroughfare were all but invisible from the road. They passed the Akeley Historical Museum and a fifty-foot statue of Paul Bunyan. He was down on one knee and had his hand out. It was piled high with snow, making it appear as if he were in the process of forming a snowball.

  “Akeley is definitely in touch with its inner lumberjack,” Bernadette observed.

  The town’s grocery store—the Blue Ox Market—had a huge mural of Paul’s blue ox, Babe, splashed across its exterior. The hair salon was called Babe’s Cut and Curl. One of the gas stations was Bunyan’s Gas Station. The ice-cream shop was named Paul’s Purple Cow Ice Cream & Eatery.

  “Where did she say it was?” asked Garcia, peering into the whiteness.

  “West end of town, two blocks or so off the main street.”

  “I seem to remember some businesses down here,” Garcia said, swinging a wide left and fishtailing a bit as he did so.

  They drove two more blocks and Bernadette spotted a squat brick building across the road, sitting on a corner. Floodlights mounted at its entrance illuminated the front. Garcia made a U-turn, so that the truck was parked on the same side of the street. When Bernadette hopped out, she landed in snowbanks that went past her knees. Garcia was on point and she walked directly behind him, taking advantage of the path he made with his big boots. When they got to the front, they were able to read the sign on the glass door: NORTHERN PINES OBSTETRICS AND GYNECOLOGY. “Sounds like a resort,” Bernadette said.

  They stomped their boots on the stoop and pushed inside, going through a foyer and a second glass door. They stood just inside the second door, stomping again and unzipping their jackets. Bernadette saw a receptionist’s window on the left, but there was no one at the counter. She spotted a box of Kleenex, grabbed a handful of tissues, and blew her nose. “Hello,” she said, trying to see if there was anyone hidden among the filing cabinets behind the counter.

  The lights were all on, but the waiting room was empty. “Think the clinic is closed?” Garcia asked.

  “Patients must have canceled because of the storm,” she said.

  “So maybe this isn’t what you saw.” Garcia thumped around the room to take a look. Couches and
chairs covered with a print depicting bears and pine trees. Framed pictures of loons on the water and ducks in flight. Magazines scattered on coffee tables and end tables. Opposite the receptionist’s counter, a large room for kids with toddler-size tables and chairs. Tons of toys and puzzles. An aquarium and a television set mounted to the ceiling. The Little Mermaid was playing, and a toddler girl was sitting on the floor watching. “Hey, kid,” said Garcia. “Didn’t see you there. Where is everybody? Where’re Mommy and Daddy?”

  The girl looked up at him and giggled. “You’re silly.” She went back to staring at the screen, and Garcia joined her.

  Bernadette tried the door to the receptionist’s area and found it locked. She moved down to a door that she assumed led to the examining area. Locked again. She pounded on it. “Tony?”

  “What?” he asked, still staring at the television.

  He obviously didn’t believe the clinic was going to give them anything, and his skepticism made her mad. “Want me to turn up the sound for you?”

  A door marked PRIVATE popped open and a tall, plump blond woman came out into the waiting room. She wore a smock with a Hello Kitty print on it and matching slacks. The outfit was finished off by sneakers the size of skateboards. “I’m sorry, folks. Thought our receptionist got a hold of all our appointments to reschedule.”

  “You Dr. Bossard’s nurse?” Garcia asked.

  “For about a hundred years.” The woman stared at Bernadette’s face, and then at her midriff. “Are you a new patient?”

  Bernadette: “I’m not—”

  “You’re not the one I talked to this morning? The triplets?”

  Bernadette’s mouth dropped open, and Garcia glanced over with a lopsided grin on his face.

  The woman went to the receptionist’s counter and reached over for some paperwork. “I’m sorry you hauled all the way over here for nothing. You and your hubby should have called first.”

  Garcia left the kiddie room and walked over to the woman. “Is Dr. Bossard expected back today?”

  “Afraid not. We had back-to-back emergency surgeries. She’s stuck at the hospital the rest of the day, finishing up with those ladies. It’s only luck you caught me here.” The woman tried to hand a stack of forms to Bernadette. “Why don’t you take these home with you, fill them out, and bring them back. Be as accurate as possible. Did your old OB send your records with you? What due date did he give you?”

  Bernadette didn’t answer. The humiliating line of questioning didn’t distract her as much as the woman’s left arm: she had a stump at the end instead of a hand.

  Garcia approached the woman with his identification wallet open. “We’re with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

  As the woman took in the badge, her eyes widened. “This about that poor little girl they found in the woods? Whole county is talking about it, talking about the FBI coming. All sorts of talk.”

  “I imagine,” Garcia said as he put away the wallet.

  “Why’d you come to the clinic?”

  “We were hoping to speak with the doctor,” said Bernadette.

  “Miss … I’m sorry … what’s your name?” asked Garcia.

  “Rachel. Rachel White.”

  Bernadette held up Lydia’s photograph. “She look familiar? Might she have come into the clinic?”

  White buried her hand and her stump in the pockets of her smock and studied the picture. “The poor sweetheart. Makes you sick just thinking about it.”

  “Take your time,” said Garcia.

  “Sorry.” White shook her head. “Honest to God, how could someone kill a pregnant girl? Who’d do such a thing? Couldn’t be anyone from around here.”

  “We don’t know,” said Garcia.

  “The folks around here, they’re good people,” said White. “They wouldn’t. Got to be a stranger. Someone passing through town. A sicko from the cities.”

  Bernadette found her eyes flitting down to the stump and back to the woman’s face. White caught her staring and smiled pleasantly. Bernadette felt her face redden. “Uh … I’d like to look around.”

  “Can’t let you do that,” said White, crossing her arms under her large breasts. “I’ve got a patient. Need to get back to her.”

  The little girl ran over to White and twined her arms around one of her legs. “I want Mamma.”

  “Go watch your show, sweet cheeks. Mamma will be right out.” White tousled the girl’s hair, and the child ran back to the mermaid movie.

  “I thought you said you’d rescheduled all the patients,” said Garcia.

  “She wasn’t scheduled, she’s a drop-in. She was having some Braxton Hicks contractions. Her hubby freaked out and—” White cut herself off. “I shouldn’t be telling you patient information.”

  A pregnant woman was back there with her husband, and he could be the killer, thought Bernadette. She ran over to the receptionist’s counter, climbed over it, and darted into the back of the clinic.

  “Hey!” the nurse yelled after her.

  Bernadette ran down the hall, sticking her head into each examining room. Empty, empty, empty. The door at the end was closed. She drew her gun, put her hand on the knob, and pushed the door open.

  A woman was half naked on an exam table, her knees raised and her feet in stirrups. She took one look at the weapon in Bernadette’s hand and shrieked.

  Bernadette holstered her Glock. It wasn’t the same room or the same woman as in her sight. “FBI, ma’am. I’m sorry if I—”

  A burly bearded man came out from behind the open door and stepped in front of Bernadette. With both hands, he pushed her backward into the hall. “Get away from my wife.”

  Bernadette shoved his hands down. “I’m—”

  “I don’t give a shit who you are!”

  “She’s got a gun!” the wife yelled from inside the room. “She pointed a gun at me!”

  Garcia wedged himself between Bernadette and the angry husband. “FBI! Back off!”

  Fists clenched at his sides, the man took two steps backward. “What’s going on?”

  “This the guy?” Garcia asked Bernadette.

  “No,” she said.

  “What’s this about?” asked the husband.

  “We’re with the FBI,” said Garcia.

  “Yeah. I got that part.” He looked at Bernadette. “Why in the hell did you point a gun at my wife?”

  “Sir, I didn’t point it at her.”

  “Are you calling her a liar?” The husband was so mad, he was spewing spit while he talked.

  Garcia raised a palm. “Sir. Please calm down.”

  “Calm down? I’m not the one who came charging in here with a—”

  Behind him, his wife moaned. “They’re coming again!”

  White slipped past the trio in the hall and went into the examining room. “Honey, try to relax. Practice your breathing.”

  “I want Dr. Bossard,” the woman whimpered.

  “I’ve been doing this forever and a day, honey. These are just Braxton Hicks. Believe me.”

  The husband glared at the two agents, turned around, and followed the nurse into the room, slamming the door after him.

  “Is this place even remotely like the one you saw?” asked Garcia.

  None of the rooms had blinds or yellow paint. “No.”

  White came out of the examining room, gently closing the door behind her. “You two need to leave,” she said in a low voice.

  Garcia looked past her, toward the room. “Is she okay?”

  “False labor,” said White. “All the commotion didn’t help.”

  Bernadette dug a business card out of her jacket. “If the doctor could call us, we’d appreciate it.”

  “I’ll tell her.” White snatched the card and tucked it into her smock. “There are other clinics in the area. Maybe one of them saw the girl.”

  “We’ll try them,” said Garcia.

  White eyed Bernadette. “None of them will want someone running around with a gun, either. I
guarantee it. When Dr. Bossard hears about this, she’s going to lose it. I mean it. She is going to completely flip.”

  “I apologize,” said Garcia.

  “Who sent you here, anyway?” asked White, putting a hand on one hip and a stump on the other. “Why did you decide you needed to barge in and—”

  The door opened behind the nurse. “Come on!” barked the husband. “Who in the hell is the patient here? Let’s have some closure.”

  White went back into the room.

  Bernadette and Garcia headed for the exit. “I’m not really happy with the way this went down,” said Garcia.

  “I thought—”

  “I know what you thought.”

  “She didn’t ask for the girl’s name,” said Bernadette as they walked outside. “Did you notice that? Wouldn’t that be someone’s first question, unless they already knew the name? Dippy Delores asked. The witch lady asked.”

  “You’re reading too much into stupid shit.”

  Bernadette frowned but let the insult pass. “She was real interested in knowing how we’d gotten on to their clinic.”

  “Not unusual.”

  “I didn’t like the woman,” Bernadette said flatly.

  “Because she accused you of triplets.”

  “That’s not why.” Fuming, Bernadette pulled open the passenger door and jumped inside the Nissan.

  Garcia got behind the wheel and started up the truck. “Is she a suspect?”

  “No,” Bernadette admitted. “You saw her stump.”

  “Now where?” asked Garcia, pulling away from the curb.

  “The hospital.”

  “She’s probably calling Bossard right now,” said Garcia. “Doc’s gonna be madder than hell.”

  After the false-labor couple and their child left, Rachel White went around the waiting room shutting off the television and the lights. After the front of the building was dark, she went to the glass doors and looked outside. Saw only the snow.

  As she walked toward the rear of the clinic, her face was knotted with anger. In a back office, she picked up the telephone and punched in a number with her stump. Walked the length of the office twice while waiting for her call to be picked up. “You’re not going to believe what just happened here,” she said into the phone.