Looking Through Darkness

by Aimée Thurlo

  “I think we punctured a tire,” she said, compensating with the steering wheel as she came to a stop again. “Let me get out and take a look.”

  Leigh Ann glanced around. It was dark here in the middle of nowhere, though there was a glow in the sky from the city to the east. Leaving the engine and the headlights on, she walked around to check the right front tire.

  “I’ve got a flat, Melvin,” she called back. “There’s a big board filled with nails stuck to the tire.”

  As she brought out the jack and lug wrench, Melvin got out, and felt his way along the side of the Jeep toward the sound of her voice.

  Leigh Ann looked over at him just as he froze in midstride and began turning his head to the side.

  “Get back in the Jeep,” he whispered harshly. “Drive on the rim if necessary, but let’s move. Hurry. Leave the tools.”

  She looked around with the flashlight, probing into the waist-high sagebrush. “Huh? It’s okay. There’s no one around.”

  “Yes, there is,” he said. “Give me the lug wrench.”

  Leigh Ann did as he asked, then looked around again with the flashlight. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “Behind you.”

  As she turned to look, two men rose from behind the brush just off the road and out of the glow of the headlights. They were wearing masks and camouflage uniforms of some kind. The gleam of knife blades in their hands captured her attention instantly.

  “Melvin, knives!”

  Both men rushed Melvin, but he swung the lug wrench with deadly accuracy against the first man, catching him with a glancing blow on the arm. He tucked his left shoulder down and stiff-armed the second man in the chest, sending him stumbling backward. Both attackers backed off a few steps.

  Leigh Ann, now behind Melvin, reached inside the Jeep through the open window for her purse and pulled out her gun. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot you full of holes!” she said, stepping past Melvin for a clear line of sight.

  The men spun around and ran off into the brush.

  Leigh Ann fired once at their legs, barely missing the slower of the two. As she took aim again they both vanished into the dark.

  “Leigh Ann, stay low and keep your back to the Jeep. Save your bullets and call the sheriff’s department.”

  She stepped back to where he was and crouched beside him, her revolver out and ready. It took a little longer calling 911 with only one shaky hand, but no way she was putting down her revolver until the deputies arrived. She was scared, tired, and most of all, confused.

  “They targeted you, Melvin, not me. Why?” she said, her voice low.

  “Maybe they saw me as the bigger threat, the one they needed to neutralize first,” he answered. “That was until you brought out the pistol.”

  “It’s obvious now that the board filled with nails was put there to set us up for an ambush. But why? What did they think we had?”

  “Maybe they were looking for whatever it was they failed to find at your house earlier,” Melvin said.

  “Could have been Wayne and Pierre?”

  “The men I fought off weren’t both Anglo.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “When I hit one with the lug wrench, he grunted, then said ‘shicho’ in perfect Navajo.”

  “What’s it mean?”

  “Shichó with accent over the o just means ‘my’ as in yours, mine, and so on. But without the accent, the high tone, it means male genitalia.”

  “Oh.”

  “As I said, he was Navajo. And there was something about the voice—I’ve heard it before … somewhere,” he said. “Don’t worry, it’ll come to me. We’ll figure it out once we’re at my place. For the moment, though, we have to stay alert and wait for the sheriff.”

  * * *

  “So they both came at Mr. Littlehorse?” the young deputy verified, looking at Leigh Ann, who nodded. He glanced at Melvin, and noting his expressionless eyes, added, “Are you completely blind?”

  “Not a hundred percent, no, but at night I can’t even make out shapes unless the object is bathed in enough light to present a silhouette,” Melvin answered.

  “And you’re sure the attackers wore gloves?” he asked Leigh Ann.

  “I’m sure.”

  “I can second that,” Melvin said. “I took a grazing punch and felt hide, not knuckles, against the side of my face. I could also smell the leather. The gloves were probably new.”

  Leigh Ann watched a second deputy put the knife into a bag, then write something on the paper. “Can you trace that without fingerprints?”

  “We’ll try, but this is a very common, inexpensive hunting knife, the kind that’s for sale at every sporting goods store and Walmart across the country,” he said, his gaze on the other officers working the area.

  “Is there any way to track these men down now?” she asked.

  “We found where their vehicle was parked, so we’ll be taking tire impressions. Boot prints will also give us each man’s approximate height and weight. We may even be able to identify the brand they wore. Of course, if Mr. Littlewater can recall whose voice he heard and come up with the name of his Navajo assailant, we’ll bring the suspect in for questioning.”

  The deputy helped Leigh Ann change the flat, while the other officers collected the evidence, including the tire and nail-studded board.

  After another half hour, Leigh Ann and Melvin were back in the Jeep heading to his home.

  “I’m surprised they didn’t take your .38,” Melvin said after a while. “You still have it, right?”

  “Yeah, I told him I keep it in plain view while driving at night—which is legal—and that I’d fired it at the men once. The deputy who checked the cylinder confirmed that, then wrote down the revolver’s serial number and put the weapon back on my car seat. If I’d hit one of the men, or there was blood anywhere, I’m sure the cops would have taken it. The deputy said I’d done the right thing defending myself. He even gave me a little advice about aiming a pistol in low-light conditions.”

  “Think they’ll run the serial number?”

  “Guess I’ll find out in a day or two,” Leigh Ann replied, slowing for a rough spot in the road. “I just hope it wasn’t stolen.”

  “Keep a close eye on your rearview mirror. We don’t want to run into anyone else tonight,” Melvin warned.

  Leigh Ann noted the tension in his shoulders. “Melvin, I’m truly sorry I got you into this mess.”

  He smiled. “Are you kidding me? I finally got a chance to show what I can do and try out some of those moves Ambrose taught me. No regrets here.”

  “You’re being polite,” she said.

  “No, I’m not. I like you, Leigh Ann, more than I should,” he said, his voice low and deep. “Tonight I finally got the chance to show you that I’m more than a blind sculptor.”

  She reached out to him and took his hand. “I never doubted that for a moment.”

  He moved his hand and clasped hers firmly. “A reminder now and then can’t hurt.”

  They arrived at Melvin’s house a short time later. She grabbed the small suitcase she’d brought, along with the plastic shopping bag containing her new clothes, and then went around to help Melvin. This time of night his footsteps were usually less steady, but at least here he was on his home turf.

  “When did Ambrose teach you to fight?” she said, making conversation as they walked toward his porch, his arm around hers.

  “He came to me years ago after I got attacked by a drunk while waiting for a ride. I’d told myself that I’d never let my blindness become an insurmountable obstacle, but getting my butt kicked destroyed my confidence. For the first time, I felt vulnerable. It wasn’t a good feeling.”

  As they stepped inside, she turned on the lights.

  “Would you like something cold to drink?” he asked.

  “That sounds good,” she said. She thought he might mean having a beer, but decided not to ask. As usual, there was the half empty bottle of whiskey sitting
there in the living room. She’d been curious since the first day she’d seen it, wondering just how much he drank, or if he drank at all.

  “You’re been in my house several times, so I’m sure you’ve noticed that bottle of quality single-malt scotch over by my chair. It’s real smooth, with a faint smoky taste. Would you like a couple of glugs over some ice cubes?”

  “That sound terrific,” she said. “Let me get the glasses and fix it. You want yours on the rocks too?”

  “No scotch for me, thanks. I haven’t taken a drink in years. I keep the bottle there as a reminder that I’m in control of my own destiny and that life’s all about choices.”

  “That’s what’s wrong with my life. I’m not in control—of anything,” she admitted, selecting a small juice glass from the rack beside the sink. “I’ve spent far too long going with the flow. It was easier in a lot of ways, you know? Then I woke up. Now…”

  “Don’t let it get you down, Leigh Ann. You’ll find the answers you need soon enough,” he said, walking over to where she was standing beside the refrigerator.

  She stepped back as he came closer.

  “You don’t have to put distance between us. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Sometimes I want it to,” she admitted in a soft voice, opening the refrigerator and bringing out some ice cubes from the tray beneath the icemaker to place in her glass.

  She brushed past him, crossing over to the living room area and that bottle of scotch.

  He turned in her direction. “You and I aren’t trusting people, and we both have things we may never talk to one another about, but if you think about it, there’s balance in that.”

  As she poured herself a drink, she was surprised to see her hands were shaking. Had she been alone, she might have just broken down and cried. Everything she wanted was right in front of her—and completely out of her reach.

  “Bring your drink and come into the study with me so I can work on that sculpture. That’ll help me unwind.”

  “I don’t see the sheepskin rug,” she said, following him into that room and looking down at the floor. “Would you like me to get it for you?”

  “It’s not necessary, not anymore, just sit wherever you like. At the beginning it was a matter of getting the right feel for the sculpture through your pose, proximity, and the sound of your voice. That helped me create an image in my mind, but I have that now,” he said, moving behind the table he’d set up there, then reaching back to the melamine-covered shelf behind him.

  He moved his hands carefully, feeling his way, then grabbed hold of a plastic-covered object and turned, easing it down onto the table, still covered.

  Leigh Ann leaned forward in the chair, straining to get a glimpse of what was beneath the black cover, but she couldn’t even determine its shape.

  “Help yourself to another shot from the bottle anytime you want,” he said.

  “Thanks, but I’m good. I’m still nursing this one,” she said.

  “There’s something else in your voice,” he said, then after mulling it over, added, “Leigh Ann, are you uncomfortable staying here alone with me?”

  “No, but I’m worried about you. I’ve pulled you into a huge mess and I don’t know how to get you out.”

  “I don’t want out. When I’ve got too much time to think about myself, it pulls me down,” he said, intensity giving his words an edge. “Helping you … pushes back the darkness.”

  She sat up a little straighter. “That darkness isn’t something you can outrun by proving you can take care of yourself, is it?”

  “No,” he answered.

  In the subsequent silence, Leigh Ann watched his focus shift to the sculpture. He’d uncovered it, but she couldn’t make sense of the object, which was still undefined, at least in her eyes.

  He was a lot more interesting to look at anyway. Concentration was etched on his features. As her gaze rested on him, she wished she could have brought something positive into his life, not just danger.

  “You’re safe here. Are you upset?”

  “Why would you think that? I haven’t made a sound,” she said, her voice unsteady.

  “You also haven’t said a word. That’s not like you.”

  She wiped her tears away with the back of her hand, then stood and reached for the box of tissues at one end of the table. “I’m just angry. When I started all this with the box from the attic, I told myself it was the right thing to do, that I had to settle the past before I could put it behind me. Now I realize that what was really driving me was pride. I wanted to prove to myself that I was tough enough to face up to whatever Kurt had done, and deal with it.”

  He covered the figure, gently put it back on the shelf, and felt his way around the perimeter of the table, stepping close to her. “We all make mistakes. We’re human,” he said, taking her hands in his.

  “I made some stupid moves. Now I’ve exposed everyone around me to danger and turned everything into a giant mess.”

  “Progress doesn’t always travel in a straight line. You’ll find some answers, then maybe lose ground when you uncover more questions. Eventually you’ll move forward again. That’s the way things go,” he said, pulling her into his arms and stroking her hair tenderly.

  She nuzzled into him, her face buried into the hollow of his neck. His strong arms felt so good all she wanted was to surrender. She’d always dreamed of a man who’d brave the fires of hell for her, whose courage was matched by a steadfast heart. Melvin was all that and more. Yet something told her to hold back. “Nothing is ever simple is it?” she responded, walking back into the living room.

  He followed, found her hand again, and led her to his couch. They sat down together, leaned back against the cushions, then he pulled her toward him, her back against his chest, his arms around her. “You’re amazing, Leigh Ann. What first drew me to you was the sound of your voice. Just beyond that pleasant friendliness was caution. You’d pull back instantly the second things went from personable to personal. That’s when I knew there was a lot more to you than what you allowed people to see.”

  “When I started working at the trading post, I was scared to death of failing—of being told I wasn’t good enough.”

  “I understand exactly how you felt. It was that way for me, too, at one time. I wondered if I really was a good sculptor, or if people were buying my art out of sympathy because I was blind. That doubt forced me to work harder and reach deeper to bring my sculpture to life.”

  “How could you ever have doubted your skill? Your work touches everyone, and amazingly enough, each person sees something different in your creations.”

  “For a long time I doubted everything, me most of all,” he said. “The worst part was hearing pity in people’s voices.”

  She shifted around in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, and looked up at him. “I’ve been there, and you’re right, it does get under your skin. Everyone knew Kurt had been fooling around—everyone, that is, except me.”

  “The past makes us who we are, but it doesn’t determine what we’ll become,” he said. “Of course that’s a lesson that takes a while to learn. For a long time I was hurting, life had screwed me, and I wanted to lash out at someone or something. Since I couldn’t, I took it out on myself.”

  Still leaning against him, she reached for his hand and wound her fingers through his. Maybe this was part of his secret, what was keeping him awake at night. “So you drank to make it stop eating at you.”

  “Something like that. My memories of the accident never stopped haunting me. My failure…” He grew quiet.

  “I don’t understand. You were hit by a drunk driver. How did you fail?”

  “Not how—who.” He sat up straighter and as she shifted, he stood and stepped away.

  “Talk to me, Melvin. Let me help,” she said, going to his side and placing her hand on his arm.

  “You can’t. No one can.”

  She led him back to the couch, but they remained standing. “Yo
u’ve told me about the importance of balance in any relationship. If you help me, yet refuse to accept my help, you’re undermining our friendship.”

  He nodded slowly. “You’re right. To walk in beauty, harmony and balance are needed.” He considered it for several moments. “It’s also possible that talking this through with someone like you, who’ll at least keep an open mind, may help. Uncle John’s advice is to just step away and let go of the past, but I can’t.”

  He began to pace again. “I can’t sit down to talk about this. I’ve got to move.”

  “Then go ahead,” she said, returning to the couch and giving him the space he needed. Her heart was beating overtime now. Melvin was finally opening up to her, and that could change everything between them, for good and bad.

  “The night of the accident the driver behind me was all over the road,” he said, “so I gave him as much room as possible, hoping he’d pass me and be done with it. When he cut in front and hit me, my truck flew off the highway and into the irrigation canal. So did he. I lucked out—my truck landed right side up. His car was upside down. The impact knocked me out at first, but the cold water rushing in shocked me awake. I managed to kick the air bag away, climbed out the open window, and made it to the cab roof.

  “My head was bloody and hurt. When I realized that the current was pushing my pickup toward his car, I was sure I’d get thrown into the wreckage and get pinned underneath.”

  “What about the other driver?”

  “Never saw him,” Melvin said and shook his head. “But on the opposite bank there was a girl, maybe nine or ten. She was up to her knees in the water, reaching out and calling to me. I was getting ready to jump off the roof of my pickup when it hit something under the water and threw me in the current. I hit my head again and got sucked under. I must have blacked out after that, because I can’t remember anything else until I woke up in the hospital.

  “The sheriff’s deputy told me they pulled me out of one of those siphons on a side canal,” he concluded in whisper.

  “What happened to the little girl? I don’t remember ever hearing about her until now.”