A Blind Eye (15 page)

He hugged her tightly then lowered her onto the doorstep. He kissed her forehead in a rather platonic way and said, “I've been so worried.”

I swung the door wide. “Do you want to come in?”

“Thanks.” He stepped into the house.

One of the cops from the surveillance car stood on the sidewalk and called, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. He's her friend from England.” I closed the door and ushered Scarlett and Simon into the family room.

Scarlett sat next to Simon on the couch, where we'd just been kissing. I took a seat in the extra chair.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

Simon leaned back and draped his arms across the cushions, crossing his legs. “I got a phone call from an American police officer asking me about Scarlett. If I knew her. If she'd gone missing.”

It had to be Detective Parker. He's the only one who knew the whole story. He'd definitely taken me more seriously than I'd thought if he'd called overseas to follow up on Scarlett's situation. Parker must have told Simon she was with me. So he had come to get her.

Simon went on. “I told him I'd been going crazy trying to find her.” He ruffled Scarlett's hair. “Never thought she'd be in America though.”

“Didn't you go to the police in London?” I asked.

“Course. They were on the search as well. But she had vanished. I'm not sure they were convinced she didn't just take off on her own.”

Right. Because so many blind girls set off to make their way with only the clothes on their backs, no friends, and no money. Did they really think she'd just jump on the subway and head out?

“I can't believe you're here,” Scarlett said.

“I'm just glad you're safe. You have no idea how scared I've been.” His arm dropped from the back of the couch to her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. Another friendly gesture. Maybe Simon really was nothing more than a nice guy helping out a homeless blind girl. Then he said, “I'm sorry to rush, but we have a plane to catch. We need to leave.”

It was a sucker punch to the gut. “So soon?” In only three days, Scarlett had wormed her way into my life so completely that the thought of her leaving left a lump in my throat. We'd just established that she'd stay a little longer. I wasn't ready to let her go.

Scarlett frowned. I hoped that meant she was disappointed too. She'd been so excited to see Simon I'd almost expected her to jump up and run for the door, towing him along behind her.

“What time do we have to leave?” she asked, flipping open the glass cover of her watch.

“Wow, brilliant,” Simon said. “Where did you get it?”

“Christian bought it for me. And this.” She picked up the Braille book that still lay on the floor, set aside during our moment of distraction.

“Nice,” he said. “But look at the time. Scarlett, we'd better go.”

“Can I take my stuff?” she asked me.

“Of course. What would I do with it?”

She put her glasses on and left the room, taking her book and a large portion of my happiness with her. Her soft footsteps padded up the stairs.

Simon looked at me, and his eyes got a little moist. “Thanks for taking care of her. The police officer told me you had some trouble. I can never repay you for your kindness to her.” He wiped an eye. “She seems happy.”

I nodded. I should be chatting with Simon. Small talk. But my brain was scrambled trying to remember what I'd done with my life before she got here. “Well . . . she's pretty cool. It was nice to get to know her.” We sat in silence a little longer. “Uh, Scarlett talked about you quite a bit,” I said then quickly added, “in a good way.”

He smiled and nodded.

“We tried to call you. A lot. Maybe your phone was turned off?”

He pulled out a little cell phone from his breast pocket and flipped it open. “Is that so? I didn't get any messages. But this mobile's been giving me trouble.” He laughed at it like it was an adorable, disobedient child. “It doesn't work outside the UK anyway.”

“So is there a number I can reach her at? I might want to call and say hi sometime.”

“Of course. Ring her anytime.” He rattled off a long number, and I entered it into my contacts. He said it was the number to the flat. I guess Scarlett didn't have a phone of her own.

Simon leaned forward and spoke quietly, I assumed so Scarlett wouldn't hear. “I know you're worried about her. But I want you to know, I've taken extra precautions to keep her safe. I installed a new lock on the door, and I've taken next week off work, just to make sure things settle down properly. The London police know what happened; they're on the lookout. It won't happen again.”

I hadn't forgotten that she was taken from Simon's apartment in the first place. But with Connor and Deepthroat chasing us around Portland, London definitely felt safer than here. How many times could a couple of kidnappers fly back and forth across the Atlantic toting stolen blind girls?

“That's great,” I said.

More silence.

He checked his watch and then scooted to the edge of the couch. “Maybe I should go help?”

“No.” I stood up. This would give me a chance to say good-bye in private. “You make yourself at home. I'll go check on her.”

I jogged up the stairs and opened a hall closet. I found a carry-on with wheels and headed into Scarlett's room. She sat on her bed with her head in her hands.

“What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” She stood and walked to the chest of drawers, feeling around until she found the handle and then pulled it open.

“Here's a suitcase for you.” I put it on the bed and unzipped it, flipping the top open. “I think it will hold all your stuff without being bigger than you are.” I chuckled, but she didn't respond. Usually, jokes about her small stature got a little rise out of her. Not this time.

“Thanks.” She turned around, holding a pair of brand-new mangled jeans.

I placed her free hand on the suitcase. She put the jeans in before turning back for something else.

I stepped in front of her and put my hands on her shoulders. “Hey. Talk to me. What's up? I'd thought you'd be glad to go home. You seemed happy enough to see Simon.”

“I am happy to see Simon. And I do miss home.”

“But?”

“But I'm also sad to leave.”

Sad to leave me or sad to leave my money? I'd seen it even before Gloria. It's not like we were the richest family in Portland. There were bucket loads of people with more wealth than us. But Dad could retire now and still be set—very well set—for the rest of his life. That kind of lifestyle is attractive to some women. I didn't think Scarlett was one of them. But after what she said in the kitchen, I wasn't sure. More than one girl at school had tried to attach herself to me because of money.

“Why?” I asked.

She side-stepped around me and placed her folded
Mind the Gap
T-shirt into the suitcase. She held out her hand, an indication that she wanted an exact location of the person she was with. I took it and moved closer.

“Don't you know?” she whispered.

It
was
for me. She didn't want to leave me. I grinned and pulled her in close.
Stay
, I wanted to say.
Stay with me.
But I couldn't. She needed to go home. I'd tried to help her and keep her safe, but I'd made more fumbles than saves.

Connor and Deepthroat would come back. Of that I was sure. This was our last night of police protection. And then what? How many times could we wiggle out from under their net?

“I know.” I stroked her soft, pink hair. “I'll miss you too. But I can't protect you. You need to be with someone who knows what they're doing. How many times have I almost gotten you killed? You need someone who can keep you safe.” And Simon seemed capable enough.

She put her arms around me and hugged me tight. Her body shook as she tried to hold back the tears. She failed, breaking down and sobbing.

“Please don't cry. You have no idea how hard it is for me to watch you cry.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“Look, I'll make a deal with you. If you stop crying, I promise I'll visit. I'll come to you in England. Over Christmas break. You can take me to all the cool places. Deal?”

She took off her sunglasses and wiped her red eyes. For the second time, I saw something in them. They were dark and wide. Not terrified like before, when she'd dreamed her own death. This time I glimpsed sadness or maybe worry. Something more than a temporary good-bye.

“Scarlett. What aren't you telling me?”

“I had another dream.”

I shook my head. I hated her dreams. They were beyond nightmares. But I didn't remember her crying out since she's seen her own demise the night before last. I'd been with her ever since. What could be worse than what she'd already seen?

“Remember the night at the cabin when I woke up to go to the loo?”

“You mean when you woke up screaming?” I'd assumed it was another Katie dream, but she'd never told me.

“Christian, I dreamed about you.”

I felt the warmth drain from my face. Sucker punch number two. “What did you dream?” I asked, my voice flat and vacant. Based on her other dreams, I was pretty sure I already knew the bottom line.

“In my dream, you were in a cold place. There were other dead bodies around you, at least two, and they were very cold. The bodies were on tables, like the one Katie lay on.”

The operating room. It had to be in the eye clinic, even if that wasn't where Scarlett had been locked up.

“There were shouting voices. I think one might have been the man you call Deepthroat. I heard gunshots, and then you fell to the ground. The floor underneath you pooled with warm blood.” She finished her dream in a whisper. “I felt your heartbeat slow and stop.”

“I get shot?” I sank down onto her bed. How could that happen? She was leaving, and when she drove away with Simon, I wouldn't be involved anymore. Still, my hands were shaking.

“Please don't be mad.”

“I'm not mad.” It wasn't her fault, was it? I didn't know how the dream thing worked. Did she dream it, and so it came true? Or was it already destined to come true, and so she dreamed it? Both of those options left me with little opportunity to determine the outcome of my own fate. Maybe the dreams were just a warning, things that
might
happen if we didn't do something to change them.

I stood up, put her hand on my face, and shook my head. “Scarlett, there's no way that's gonna happen. I'm sending you home with Simon. He has plans to keep you safe. This whole thing is over. I don't think your dreams are as true as you think they are. They're just dreams. Everyone has bad dreams, and they almost never come true.” I had to add the
almost
because some of hers had come horribly true.

She went back to loading her clothes into the suitcase, tears falling freely as she worked.

“Why didn't you tell me before now?” I asked.

She tucked in the last of her stuff—her heavy combat boots—and flipped the top closed. “I was afraid you'd leave me again. I was afraid to be alone.”

Another twist of the knife that stabbed my heart. I'd never forgive myself for leaving her on the highway. No wonder she didn't want to mention a death dream involving me. But now that she was leaving anyway, it didn't matter.

“I admit I was stupid that first day. I was angry at the world. But I hope you know by now that I'd never abandon you like that again. Even if you dreamed about my death a dozen more times.”

“Do you mean that?”

“After all we've been through? Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

“Everyone who's ever watched out for me has left me. Except for Simon.”

“Well, technically, I'm not leaving you; you're leaving me.” I wiped the tears from her face. “And I'm not getting shot either. When you go back to England, this whole thing will be over. So stop worrying.”

She nodded her head.

I put my arms around her and kissed her.

There was a knock on her bedroom door, and Simon walked in. “Are you ready? We should be off.”

He didn't seem shocked to walk in on us kissing, and I wondered if he'd been listening at the door. But he also looked like he didn't care, and that surprised me.

I zipped her suitcase closed and handed it to Simon. “She's ready.” I followed them down the stairs and to the front door.

He shook my hand. “Thanks again. I'll take good care of her.”

Scarlett gave me quick hug. “Don't forget to call and that you promised to come. And say good-bye to your father for me.”

“Yeah, maybe in ten more years he might talk to me again; then I'll be sure to tell him you said good-bye.”

She hooked her hand on Simon's arm, and they started down the walkway. She turned her head and called over her shoulder, “Just remember, football is a game of two halves.”

The door closed. I turned and stared into the empty house. The fridge hummed softly, and the alarm system beeped once, reactivating itself.

She was gone. Just like that. What was I supposed to do without her? Live here with my father and Gloria, alone and miserable? Having someone interested in my life, someone who cared about how I felt and who actually liked being with me made me hate my dad more than ever. It was easier when I didn't know what I was missing.

I went back into the family room and slumped onto the couch. I switched on the TV, losing myself for a few hours in banal sitcoms. Tomorrow was Monday—school. I'd missed Friday, so I'd need to write a note and sign my dad's name. Or I could run away again. But then I'd be cut off and penniless.

Why hadn't I left home years ago? Why had I wasted my life waiting for something that would never happen? I should have called social services myself and asked for a foster family when I was ten years old. Or asked to live with my aunt and uncle in Canada—where I'd been headed when I left three days ago.