The Blind Spot

by Michael Robertson

The sweetness of the kiss soured. If only she could tell him. Marcie clicked the cloaking device and left his room.

  Frankie’s coat hung on the peg by the front door, the top pocket bulging with something. He and Sal’s mum talked to one another in the kitchen. Marcie opened the pocket.

  Three gold bolts. The evidence she needed! Although how would Sal take it? Also, turning Frankie over, while important to the Blind Spot, probably wouldn’t end this war. She still needed to convince the city that Frankie acted alone.

  Marcie removed the bolts from Frankie’s pocket and snuck out the front door. It wouldn’t take him long to know they’d been stolen.

  The afternoon had turned darker and colder. Snow fell in large flakes. Sal had told Marcie a long time ago that their alarm only sounded if someone entered their front yard, not when they left it. She took three long strides and jumped the locked gate. She hit the ground running, bursting into a sprint towards the Eye’s workshop. They didn’t have much time left. Calling Frankie out as a rat was only a small part of what needed to be done.

  Chapter 56

  Evening closed in, the lights from the city outside reflecting off the settled snow coating the ground. A dull ache throbbed at the base of Nick’s back from where he’d been sat at the breakfast bar. His depression had fused him to the stool. The colours on the Wellbeing app were reversed. The red writing had turned yellow and the yellow background turned red. A subtle change, it sent a shiver snaking through him. Did he really want to enter this world?

  Straightening where he sat, Nick smiled. He could do this. And when he came out the other side, he’d be a hero. Karla would know what he’d done to save her, and he’d have the evidence he needed to take Bruce to the authorities and expose the fucking snake. The city would reward him, he’d end this stupid threat of war, and he’d get his love back.

  Unlike the Wellbeing app, which loaded instantly, the Pandora hack took a few seconds to change screens. Hardly surprising when it came to life and revealed Nick had eighty-eight notifications. All of them were from the past twenty-four hours. But he could take it. Especially if it meant getting Karla out of that awful situation.

  When Nick flicked through the menus, it showed Bruce as the main contributor. Karla next on the list, Adam came in third, Jane fourth, and then Stuart in fifth. Surprisingly, Graham didn’t appear anywhere on the list. If he’d had to bet on anyone slagging him off, it would have been that little rat.

  Nick needed evidence to pin the attacks on Bruce. Now he had the sheet of paper with his writing on, he just needed to find the clues in what he said. Clues Karla might not pick up on because she wouldn’t be looking for them.

  Best to start gently, Nick pressed Adam’s icon, his friend’s smiling profile picture filling the screen. A different image from when he’d last checked, but with his new job, it made sense that he would have cleaned up his social media profiles.

  Moments before pressing play, Nick paused. But he didn’t need to worry. He and Adam were mates. The Pandora hack pulled up everything someone said about you, good, bad, or indifferent. The lack of lifts over the past day suggested he’d get indifferent at best. He’d take that. And of course Adam would mention him. He’d just started a new job, the last place he’d worked would be bound to come up in conversation. God knew Nick would have spoken a lot about the funniest man he’d ever met if he switched companies. He smiled, nodded to himself, and pressed the screen.

  “My old boss?” Adam said and Nick’s heart lifted. “He was okay.” The statement drove pain through his chest. He pressed his hand against his left pec and drew a deep breath as he waited for the next recording to come through.

  “Truth be told, he was a bit desperate. Spent all day blowing smoke up people’s arses so they’d mention him more to Wellbeing. It got tedious sending him lifts every night. And hard. There were only so many nice things I could say about him.” A snigger, he added, “And that list didn’t even get me through one day. I just replaced his name for the lifts I sent to my real friends. I’m sure I might have even sent him one or two copied from my girlfriend. Hopefully I never told him I wanted to fuck him.” A woman laughed in the background.

  Nick’s quickening breaths rode to the edge of hyperventilation, and he paused the app. “Wow.” Did Adam really think that of him? After all this time believing they were friends. But fuck Adam. Karla needed him. He was doing this for her.

  Once he’d deleted the rest of Adam’s messages, Nick pressed Jane’s icon.

  “I swear we’re going to find him swinging from the loft hatch. We’ll only notice when he doesn’t come to work. Even then it’ll probably take a few days. It’ll be another few before anyone cares. Karla had a lucky escape. I feel sorry for the person who has to deal with that mess of a man in the future.”

  Nick turned his phone off and shoved it aside. It scooted along the work surface. He caught it before it fell to the floor. He deleted all of Jane’s messages.

  Stuart next, Nick deleted the messages before he could listen to them. Even when they spoke face-to-face at the moment, Stuart had the hump with him.

  Now he’d listened to or deleted everyone else, Nick stared at Karla’s and Bruce’s names. Like taking bitter medicine, he squirmed on his stool to get more comfortable and pressed Bruce’s profile. His breaths came heavier than before.

  The panting on the recording matched Nick’s own respiration, although they were clearly having more fun. So quiet in his kitchen, the large empty space amplified the sound. But he had to listen to this for Karla’s sake.

  “Tell me I’m better than him,” Bruce said.

  Because Karla spoke about Nick too, their entire conversation had been recorded for the app.

  “Of course you’re better than him. Bigger too. Why should I need to tell you that? Isn’t it obvious? Fucking him was like fucking an overgrown slug.”

  The pair of them laughed, the slap of their flesh cracking through Nick’s kitchen. The start of tears burned his eyes and his stomach churned. But he continued to listen to their cries of pleasure. He’d do anything to save Karla.

  The recording finally ended, but not before both of them at least pretended to orgasm. Bruce’s next one came through. “No, I don’t feel bad for him. Not after him coming over here like that. What’s he expect to achieve? That you’ll go running back to him?”

  “But we’re using him as a proxy.”

  “Only as a precaution.”

  “I’d feel terrible if this mess all came down on him. All he’s done in this is been a gullible fool. I mean, he was there for me when I needed a spineless sap to make me feel better about life. That has to count for something.”

  “It won’t come back to him. It’s going to land on them. After all, they’re doing it. They’re the terrorists.”

  Karla knew. And why were they talking about it so openly?

  Quiet on the app, but the sound of a pen scratched against paper as one of them wrote something down. Bruce then said, “The Blind Spot are clearly doing the attacks. You don’t need to investigate anyone to prove that. And when they go to war, every digital trail and record will be wiped from existence by their hackers. The client will be happy, and we’ll be rich.”

  Who was Bruce working for?

  “And if they don’t go to war and do investigate?”

  “Everything leads back to him. On top of that, he’s been sighted at the first two attacks.”

  “He could become an obsolete,” Karla said, then after a pause, “I suppose the ripples from that won’t spread very far. If anyone can be turned without it being a tragedy, it’s Nick.”

  “Exactly. Why waste an asset to this society by putting all this shit on someone useful when we have someone like him?”

  Nick’s cheeks turned damp with his tears and he shook his head. They were in it together and they’d fitted him up. Bruce, his friend, the genius programmer, had constructed a digital trail leading back to him. He’d said it himself. They’d used Nick as a proxy.
“Why?” he said to his phone. “Why would you do that to me? What have I done to deserve this?” And worst of all, Karla was in on it. But why? To what end?

  It all seemed clear now; he’d lost Karla for good, and if he told the city what he knew, the evidence would lead back to him. He’d be turned into an obsolete for sure.

  Nick turned his phone off. He’d heard enough. Near silence in his house, the vehicles flew through the ever-darkening sky outside. The large clock on the wall ticked. A countdown to war. Or worse. And maybe they were right. Society wouldn’t miss him. Maybe Jane had gotten it spot on. Maybe it would be better if he just checked out.

  Chapter 57

  When Marcie burst into the Eye’s workshop, the hacker kept his focus on the computer he’d been working at and said, “You’ve got to stop rushing in like this. One day I might freak out and set off a booby trap.”

  After she’d clicked the button on her cloaking device, Marcie laughed. “You have booby traps?”

  The Eye’s lack of response made her squirm. She currently stood on the hatch leading to the basement. “Anyway,” Marcie said, out of breath from having run all the way from Sal’s house, “don’t tell me you’re not tracking my tag.”

  He remained focused on the computer.

  “Exactly.” She plunged her hand into her pocket and held the gold bolts in his direction. “Look at what I’ve found!”

  The Eye finally lifted his head. “Where did you get them from?”

  “I’ve just been to see Sal.” The reality of it brought her back down to earth. She’d been excited about finding something more to prove her theory on Frankie, but she’d briefly forgotten what it meant. “I told him I loved him today too.”

  As he looked at her, his pale face slack, the Eye exhaled. “And now you’re going to turn his dad over to the top table.”

  “I have to.”

  “I know. I’m sorry, kid. Sometimes the cards we’re dealt don’t leave us with any good options.”

  “I’m going to lose him, aren’t I?”

  The Eye returned to his computer.

  Marcie swallowed against the lump in her throat for a second time. “But before I do that … is it ready?”

  His fingers flew over the keyboard, the rapid tap playing a drum roll through the small space. When the Eye removed a memory stick and handed it to her, she said, “And it has everything on there?”

  “Yep. This is our last chance to stop this war. I’m fairly confident there’s no way they’re walking away from this.”

  “Fairly?”

  “I don’t do guarantees. Look, kid”—the Eye wrung his hands—“I’m sorry you have to go through this and you had to sneak around Sal’s house to get those bolts. Although I have the ability to hack into Frankie’s records to get evidence—”

  “It’s absolutely forbidden. It’s fine, I get it.”

  “There are lines even I won’t cross.”

  “Anyway, your hacking would have helped, but not as much as hard evidence.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Marcie reached out and they held hands for a moment. “I know, but you don’t need to be. Thank you for all of your help. You’ve been amazing. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

  The memory stick in her pinch now, Marcie held it up. “Wish me luck. Time to deliver this so I can come back here to make the boy I love hate me forever.”

  A tight-lipped smile, the Eye nodded.

  Click. Marcie pressed the cloaking device. As much as she needed to put an end to this stupid war, it took her closer to exposing Frankie. Maybe she could see Sal one last time before that happened. A glance at the rose in the corner. It had just two petals left. A heavy sigh, she spun on her heel and left the workshop.

  Chapter 58

  Nick hadn’t moved since listening to Bruce and Karla’s plans for him. He’d sat at the breakfast bar for so long the evening had turned to night, and the only light in the room came from the glow of his phone. Even that small glare burned his already stinging eyes. He flipped the app back to the Wellbeing settings. The writing returned to red and the background yellow. He’d saved nearly two hundred lifts in the app. It took him back to a time when he and Karla were happy.

  Karla’s voice hurt his heart. “Such a kind man. He’s dependable, funny, loving—”

  Nick switched it off. How had he not seen it back then? Not that he ever expected to be sexy, edgy, or a seat-of-your-pants kind of guy, but she’d clearly spelled out what he meant to her: safety. She’d spoken about him like she would a good investment. A dead cert. A banker. Someone who could pick her up when she needed it.

  Think about it for too long and he’d change his mind, so Nick deleted all the saved lifts. The Pandora hack had made them meaningless.

  The first time had been hard, but now he’d pressed it, Nick went back to the black box icon more easily. One tap and the colours reversed. He’d been mentioned eight more times. Bitter medicine, but he pressed play anyway.

  Adam spoke first, bile lifting onto the back of Nick’s tongue. He’d once considered him to be a good friend. “I’ll be so glad to never have to go back to that depressing office,” Adam said. “To not have to blow smoke up Nick’s arse and buy into the bullshit lies he tells himself. That’s the problem with being around someone who won’t accept their truth. They only want you near them if you help feed their illusion. It’s exhausting. If he just accepted he’s a loser, then I’m sure his life would be much easier. At the very least, he’d be able to move forward.”

  Every word twisted Nick tighter.

  Stuart’s voice came through next. “I might have to fire him if he doesn’t sort it out. He’s detrimental to morale in his current state. I can’t have it. I can put up with him being a creep and a bit of a perv with the women in the office. But now he’s not happy, I’m not sure what he brings other than being a sad weirdo.”

  Nick deleted the next six messages. No point in putting himself through it. The opinions were unanimous. No one liked him. They humoured him like they would a child, but no one actually wanted to be around him. And a creep? Had he really made the women feel uncomfortable at work? Stuart probably felt jealous because Nick got on better with them than he ever could. “It’s called caring, you prick.”

  “I should have been smarter,” Nick then said. “They were only colleagues, after all. I shouldn’t have expected anything more from them.” Maybe Karla and Bruce were right. He’d be an obsolete soon, so what did it matter? No one would miss him. And he could hardly go to the police. Not with all the evidence leading back to him. He knew Bruce better than most. If he wanted to fit someone up, he could. And if they did convict him, would it even stop the war with the Blind Spot? From the way many officials spoke on the matter, this war had to happen sooner or later.

  Nick remained locked on to his phone’s screen. They hadn’t let him in when he last went over there, but maybe he needed to give it one more try. Karla might listen to him if he called her. However deep Bruce had dragged her, he could help her get out.

  Hot beneath his collar, adrenaline flooding his system, Nick brought up Karla’s contact details and pressed the call button.

  The next few seconds seemed to last forever as the phone—set to loudspeaker—rang through his quiet kitchen. He reached to cancel the call twice, but stopped just short.

  Karla answered with a sigh. “Nick, what do you want?”

  “Karla, I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened. Come back to me. I forgive you. We can go on as normal. You don’t need Bruce. You don’t need to get dragged into whatever he’s doing.” Even in his emotional state, Nick had the wherewithal to not mention the terrorist activity aloud. He couldn’t incriminate himself any further.

  When nothing came back at him from the other end of the line, Nick said, “Karla?”

  “I don’t know how to be any clearer. Fuck off, Nick.” Karla hung up.

  The silence in the large and empty room closed in on Nick from all si
des, the suffocating press tangible. No one cared about him. No one loved him.

  Nick stood up so quickly, the stool fell away and slammed down with a thunderbolt crack! He picked his phone up, tightening his grip around it. If he dashed it against the floor, it would take all the bullshit from his life. He could live without a phone. Who needed the Wellbeing app?

  The TV lit up one wall, the glare so bright Nick stumbled backwards. Blinking, he tried to clear his blurred vision.

  The newsreader looked like many of the other female presenters: blonde hair, white skin, red lipstick. It didn’t matter what news she had to share, she did it with a pearly white grin. Except she didn’t. She drew a deep breath and spoke in a sombre tone. “The government has decided enough is enough. They understand the consequences of their decisions and didn’t want to make a rash choice, but this can’t go on any longer. As of this moment, the city is officially at war with the Blind Spot.”

  The city’s mayor—Mayor Trench—appeared on the screen. Just to look at the crow of a woman sent a shudder through Nick. A poorly fitted blue suit, white hair, sallow cheeks. Devoid of empathy. The kind of person who if she wasn’t famous for being a politician, she’d be famous for murdering children. When she spoke, her insipid tone carried a wobble as if she could cry at any moment. Not because she cared, the exact opposite, in fact. Forcing empathy was exhausting work. “We can’t let cyborgs and freaks dictate how we live.” Always uncomfortable in front of the cameras. It seemed like a strange job for someone with so little charisma. “We understand the consequences of this war and understand there will be a process of healing afterwards, but by the time we’ve finished, the Blind Spot will be no more. We’ve tolerated their debauched existence for too long. We’ve lived with their threats hanging over us, and it has to end now!”

  When the news reporter came back on the screen, she’d turned several shades paler and looked like she might vomit. The sight of her sent Nick’s stomach churning again, his palms sweating. They were screwed.