A Blind Eye

by Julie Daines

  It was the last thing I’d ever expected to find in my father’s office. I stared at it for a long time. Then I turned the picture, showing it to him, and whispered, “Why?”

  His eyes locked on mine for a moment then lowered to his desk. “Because you’re my son.”

  I shook my head, blinking back the sting in my eyes and trying to swallow the burning in my throat. I looked out the window. They say that in Oregon, Mount Hood is the volcano most likely to erupt. I pictured a cloud of ash billowing toward the city. I laid down the photo.

  This doesn’t mean anything. Everyone knew he had a kid. A picture on the desk would be par for the course. The firm obviously didn’t know he’d virtually disowned me, and he probably wanted to keep that under wraps in public.

  I stood up. “I’m sorry I bothered you.” I took a step toward the door.

  He jumped out of his chair and strode around the desk, laying a hand on my arm. “Christian.” I looked down at his hand, and he dropped it. “Don’t leave.”

  Did he mean don’t leave the office? Or don’t leave town? Because in my mind, they were the same thing. When I left here, I’d be heading out for good. Maybe Scarlett would take me in in London.

  He cleared his throat, “If you tell me what happened, maybe I can help.”

  “Help?” How dare he say that. After all the times I would have given up everything for one ounce of his help, now he offered it, without apology or shame. I snapped. “Help?” I yelled.

  He took a step back.

  The muscles in my arms tensed. I wanted to grab the law book and use it to break his nose, just like I did Connor’s. I balled my hands into fists to stop myself. Before I walked out of his life for good, I wanted him to know exactly how much he’d helped. “How can you possibly say that? You ruined my life.”

  My voice cracked on every word, but I didn’t care. “It’s a pretty miserable existence when the only parent you’ve got left treats you like the plague. Do you know how many times I’ve wished I was dead?”

  He lowered his head, and his shoulders sagged. Did I finally get through? Was it possible he felt something in his frozen heart after all? Good.

  I pointed a finger at him, stabbing him right in his sorry heart. “You know what? It would have been better for me if you’d died with mom. I hate you.”

  He looked up at me, his face void of color. I opened the door and walked out, heading straight to the elevator. The receptionist said something to me, but I didn’t turn around. The doors opened with a ding, and I stepped in, out of sight, and slumped against the wall.

  The elevator doors slid shut. I sucked in a huge breath and blew it out slowly, then used the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe my face. Now I knew exactly how Mount Saint Helens felt after blowing, releasing all the pressure that had been building for eons. There was a huge crater left behind but also relief.

  Now nothing remained between my dad and me. A steel door slammed closed, shutting out all desire to have him in my life. I’d put everything on the table, and he could do whatever he wanted with it. It wasn’t my problem anymore. So much for Scarlett’s promised second half. This was real life, not a soccer game. What made me think he might change?

  Or maybe I was looking at it the wrong way. Maybe my leaving him for good and starting a new life was my second half, my turnaround. The era of my dad was over. From here, things could only get better.

  I paused in the main floor by the coffee shop and turned my phone on long enough to call Scarlett. I really wanted to talk to her, to tell her I was finally free. To tell her how much I missed her. No one answered. It was probably too soon for her to be back from her dinner.

  Being chased through Portland and then the confrontation with my father, on top of no breakfast, had left me ravenous. I took hungry as a good sign—that I was already on the road to recovery. Scarlett would have never made it this long after skipping a meal. I went into the coffee shop and ordered a soda and a sandwich.

  I sat on a bar stool at the counter that ran along the side wall and unwrapped my food. I’d stick with the same plan: drive to Canada and see if my aunt would take me in. Without my dad’s money, I’d have to get a job and save. If I did well in school, I’d be eligible for a college scholarship. Lots of kids my age had to make it on their own. If Scarlett could do it, so could I.

  I’d have to risk going home to get a few things, even though the extra twenty-four hours of surveillance was up. I wanted my computer. And maybe some more cash from the safe.

  I glanced up and noticed two men enter the lobby. Connor and his pal, Deepthroat. No way did they follow me here. I knew I lost them in the downtown maze. They must have assumed this was where I’d come. I picked up an abandoned newspaper and opened it to hide my face. Maybe they’d found my car in the parking garage.

  They gave a quick scan of the main area, then Deepthroat stepped into a vacant elevator, leaving Connor pacing back and forth across the lobby. I waited, taking bites of my BLT when he wasn’t facing my direction.

  Several minutes later, the elevator doors opened and Deepthroat stepped off, shaking his head. I strained to hear them, but the hubbub in the café made it impossible to catch more than a few words. I inched closer to the coffee shop door, keeping my head buried in the Oregonian.

  “The receptionist told me he left fifteen minutes ago,” Deepthroat said.

  “Did you see the dad?”

  “No.” Deepthroat took out his phone and held it to his ear. He turned away to speak, nodding his head to whatever was being said by the person on the other end of the line. He flipped his phone closed and turned to Connor. “She says we should wait for him to go home. If he’s not there in a few hours, she wants us back at the lab.”

  They exited through the doors opposite the coffee shop. I followed them and watched through the glass while they climbed into the Tahoe and drove away. They’d parked in a handicapped space.

  She. That must be Dr. Wyden. What was she really up to? And how did it involve Scarlett? I risked turning on my phone and used the map feature to locate Dr. Wyden’s clinic. It showed the address and phone number. I tapped the number and then call.

  “Hello. Center for Vision Repair.” It sounded like the same girl who was there on Saturday.

  “Yes, I’m calling for Dr. Wyden,” I said, trying to sound like a responsible adult.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. She’s not seeing patients today. But you can schedule for tomorrow.” Definitely the same girl. What was her name? Jenny?

  “Look, I don’t want an appointment. Ever. I just want to talk to her. Please tell her Christian Morris is on the phone. I’m sure that will get her attention.”

  “Dr. Wyden isn’t in the center at all today.”

  “Will she be in later?” If Wyden was out of the office, maybe I could go down and do some investigating. It sounded like I had a few hours before Connor and Deepthroat would meet up there.

  “Nope. Not at all today.”

  “Thanks,” I said and hung up before she could offer me another chance to schedule an exam. I powered off my phone again so they couldn’t track me.

  I turned and started for the parking garage at the exact moment my dad stepped out of the elevator. I tucked my head and kept walking. I’d said my peace. I didn’t want to see him again. I had nothing more to say.

  He tried to cut me off. “Christian, wait.”

  I shook my head and kept moving. The door to the parking garage was almost in reach.

  He jogged to catch up. “Please, son. Can we talk?”

  I spun around to face him. “Don’t call me that. You are not my father.” I pulled open the heavy glass door and left him standing alone in the lobby. I wanted to forget him. To move on. But I couldn’t if he kept popping up. One more reason why Canada—or London—appealed to me.

  I left the garage and headed south, back to Dr. Wyden’s clinic. I hadn’t heard anything from Detective Parker, so either he hadn’t found anything at Wyden’s place, or he’d chosen not to
share it with me. He tended to keep his findings between my father and him, effectively cutting me out of the loop whether he meant to or not. As I understood it, Parker needed reasonable cause for a warrant to search the place, and I didn’t think she recognized Scarlett counted as reasonable cause. That meant all he could do was ask questions.

  I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to check it out for myself. I wanted more information about Dr. Wyden’s obsession with Scarlett and why she was still after me. Maybe I knew too much. Maybe she simply wanted revenge for my saving Scarlett from her crazy eye experiments.

  Scarlett was halfway around the world. Would Wyden try for her again? Now that Simon knew the whole story about Scarlett being kidnapped, he was on the lookout, prepared for another attempt. He promised me he wouldn’t leave Scarlett alone until things had settled. He had cops on standby. Was Scarlett right in accusing the London police of being involved somehow?

  I called Scarlett again on my way to Wyden’s. Still no answer. It would be just after seven in the evening in London. I guess it wasn’t unreasonable that she’d still be out.

  The parking lot in front of Dr. Wyden’s clinic contained only one car. A Honda Accord in faded white—old, rusting, and square. That had to be Jenny’s car. No doctor of vision repair would drive such a dilapidated vehicle.

  I looked at myself in the rearview mirror before exiting the Rover. My eyes were a little bloodshot; it had been a stressful morning. Not much I could do about that. I ran my fingers through my hair and threw a smile on my face. It’d have to do. I had a plan that I hoped would work. I popped some mint gum into my mouth, opened the front door of the clinic, and went straight to the counter.

  “Hi, Jenny. Remember me?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Christian vs. The Tour

  Jenny eyed me up and down and then grinned. “Oh yeah. I do remember you.” She punched a few keys on her computer and squinted at the screen. “Did you make an appointment?”

  She was obsessed with appointments. It was like she was working on commission. Five bucks for each exam scheduled. I shook my head. “No, I can see fine. I, um.” I rested my forearms on the high counter and leaned in. “I actually came to see you.” I gave her a jaunty smile, hoping I didn’t look like a total nut job. “I thought you only worked on weekends.”

  I didn’t usually spend time hitting on girls, but I knew a few important essentials. Rule number one: maintain eye contact. I might not have been the best-looking guy in school, but according to the poll in my junior yearbook, I made it into the top ten.

  “The other receptionist is sick today,” she said.

  “Lucky for me.” The other receptionist could’ve been fifty instead of eighteen. But by the fluttering of her eyelids, at least I knew Jenny was on board. “So, are you here alone?” Okay, that sounded creepy. I tried to backpedal. “I mean, if Dr. Wyden’s not in today, why is the clinic open?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “In case someone comes in.”

  Right. Jenny may not have been a regular Einstein, but at least she had a nice, friendly smile. I didn’t know if I’d call her hot, but she scored in the six or seven range. When she tossed back a lock of her shiny blonde hair, I felt a sting of guilt for leading her on. I already had an attraction to a girl with pink hair. But I really wanted some information, and this was probably my best chance.

  “I was wondering if you wanted to go get some lunch.” I’d just eaten the sandwich, but it seemed like a logical next step.

  “That would be great,” she said, then her face fell. “But I can’t today. I can’t leave the clinic unattended, or I’ll lose my job.”

  I walked around to the edge of the counter and through the door that separated her from the receiving area. “Well, maybe I could hang out here with you for a little while, and you could give me a tour.”

  She perked up. “Okay.”

  Wow. That was easy. I noticed a textbook open on her desk. “Were you studying?”

  “Yeah. I go to Pacific School of Optometry.”

  Jenny studied optometry? I guess it made sense—she worked in an eye clinic. But wow. An optometrist? I hadn’t seen that coming. How does a girl who used the phrase visual doctor become an optometrist? I worried for her patients. “That’s pretty cool.” I pictured the front door of her office: Dr. Jenny, VD. I coughed to cover my laugh.

  “Thanks.”

  I perched on the edge of her desk. “Why don’t you show me around? Let me see what’s in store for your future.”

  “I don’t know if I’m allowed.”

  I rested a hand on the back of her shoulder. “Come on. I’ve never seen the inside of a vision repair center before. There’s not a soul in sight. What could happen?”

  “Well . . . okay.” She closed her book and opened a drawer, retrieving a set of keys. She waved a hand across the reception counter, encompassing a phone, the computer, a credit card machine, and other office essentials. “This is where we schedule appointments and answer the phone and stuff.” She pointed to a wall of shelves, where manila folders with color-coded tabs were stacked. “These are the patient files.”

  At this rate, it would be time for dinner before she showed me anything useful. Maybe that was her goal. Take it slow and hope for a dinner date.

  She gave me a tour of the copy machine, eye chart—where she giggled as she tested my vision: twenty/twenty—restroom, and break room, with a microwave, coffee machine, and full-size refrigerator. She opened the fridge and showed me the medicines stored there. And her lunch, which I told her she could eat if she was hungry. She refused.

  There were two exam rooms on the main floor. They seemed pretty basic—filled with machines for vision screening and a big brown plastic-covered exam chair. She surprised me by knowing the names of all of the contraptions and showing me how they worked. Projectors, refractors, keratometers . . . I didn’t have eye problems, so I’d never visited an optometrist.

  On the counter of one of the exam rooms stood a large, plastic model of an eye. I asked a question I doubted Jenny could answer. “How does Dr. Wyden’s eye repair surgery work? What exactly does she do?”

  She opened the model to reveal the inside of the eye. “What happens is, some people, when they get old and stuff, their eyes go bad. See the retina—that’s this part here”—she pointed to the curved rear area inside the eyeball—“receives the light coming in through the cornea. The retina processes the light and then sends it along to the brain on the optic nerve.” She touched the long plastic stem coming out the back of the eye.

  Wow again. Between her explanations of the complicated equipment and her knowledge of the workings of the eye . . . I honestly hadn’t thought she’d know all that. Maybe I’d judged her too quickly.

  She smiled, clearly aware that I was impressed. “A lot of times, it’s problems with the retina that cause people to lose their sight. So Dr. Wyden has developed a retinal implant. It’s a tiny microchip that she puts just under the retina, and it gets the light signals and processes them, stimulating the working retinal tissue to do the same.”

  “And then blind people can see?”

  “They can see a little of shapes, and it’s only black and white.”

  I never would’ve guessed, based on our conversation the other day, that Jenny had any idea what Dr. Wyden did. “How do you know all of this?”

  “We have to memorize all of it before we can work here. Even as a receptionist.”

  That explained a lot. “Is Dr. Wyden doing this for her daughter?” I asked, trying to crack into the information that really interested me.

  “The retinal implant can only help if someone’s blindness is from retinal degeneration. Other stuff, like things with the optic nerve, she can’t fix.” She put a hand on my shoulder, leaned up on her toes, and whispered, “But she’s working on a new implant to help her daughter. It’s a secret. I don’t think I’m supposed to know. I heard people talking.” Her hand rested on my neck, and her mouth lingered n
ear my ear.

  I looked at her. She had bright, blue eyes alive with light. Windows. In them, I glimpsed a spark that said I’m here, and I’m attracted to you. Something I’d never seen in Scarlett’s eyes, no matter how hard I’d searched.

  I took a step back and cleared my throat.

  She grinned, knowing she’d affected me. “Here, I’ll show you where she puts the chips in.” Jenny led me to the stairs, and we climbed to the second floor. She took me into a room designed for surgery.

  Instead of an operating table, Wyden had an enormous, super-deluxe exam chair. The metal base had a bulge, which I guessed enclosed a motor that ran the hydraulic functions. Various lights and machines were attached to its side, and under the patient’s foot area was a built-in set of stainless-steel drawers.

  Could this be the room where Scarlett had dreamed her death? Tiles covered the floor, instead of carpet like the rest of the clinic. That matched Scarlett’s description.

  Jenny took out her set of keys and unlocked a cupboard. “This is the microchip.” She showed me a small plastic box with a clear lid. Inside, a tiny black circle the size of a freckle lay on a piece of white cloth.

  It was so small. How could that do anything? “That’s it?”

  “That’s it. This is the sample she keeps here to show patients who are interested in the surgery.”

  “Doesn’t it need a battery or something?” I asked. “Where does it get its power?”

  “It’s, like, solar powered. From the light that enters the eye.”

  Amazing. I never knew stuff like that existed. What would it be like to go from blind to seeing with just a tiny microchip? Too bad it couldn’t work for Scarlett, but what about the new project for Dr. Wyden’s daughter? Maybe she was developing a device to give sight to people born blind. People like her daughter. And Scarlett.

  So why kidnap Scarlett? For a chance to see, wouldn’t she come willingly? And her friend Katie, why take her too? Scarlett mentioned Katie had developed a gadget to help a deaf person hear—or at least an implant that helped Katie hear. Maybe she’d also worked on something for Scarlett. That could be a reason for kidnapping her.