The Catcher in the Eye (America's Next Top Assistant Mystery Book 1) (19 page)

… So, it was true…

I thought, feeling
Tommy Lee smashing drum in every cell of my body.

Recalling the old
saying that goes “seeing is believing” which is supposed to mean that only
physical or concrete evidence is convincing, I
really
thought this
saying was true.

Take swimming. You
may learn a lot about swimming techniques by watching YouTube videos and
reading books, but you don’t get hands-on experience of stroking the wet, cold,
clear to creamy, soft ‘n’ hard, sometimes-mass-and-sometimes-fluid material called
“water” unless you physically jump into it and at least try to move in it.

The same thing can
be said about sex as well, but it would be best if we can save that particular
topic for future discussion, I guess. 

Anyway, now I
truly knew the quote about what happens when you get zapped was true.

People say it
hurts like hell. What I can tell from my experience is it feels much worse than
hell. Being burnt and then frozen over in hell gives you a more appropriate idea.

First, you feel the
electric jolt and your body gets all tensed up and the muscles get locked. As
the electric juice goes through your entire body, you start to feel warm and
fuzzy, then it gets oh-so-hot like someone has pushed you into an oven burning
with flames and the blood in your body was swapped with Tabasco. After that,
you lose your consciousness, feeling soft and mellow and dead inside, floating
in a lake of Jell-O.

Just like being
reincarnated to a jellied-eel.

Oh, don’t forget
that all of the above events happened within the timeline of a moment.

I tried to wiggle
my fingers for fear that I might not have fingers to wiggle anymore. I was
feeling like a pile of ash. Good thing I could feel my fingers and they were
sort of moving, even though I had this funny sensations in my limbs. Then
again, I wasn’t all that sure about my latest milestone because my eyes had
been kept shut. And I was not ready to open my eyes and face the reality.

I sniffed in the
air in an attempt to estimate how
burnt
I was. It didn’t smell all that
smoky. Just a tad bit dusty and a slight stench of alcohol and some other
chemical. Another good sign that my olfactory sense was still operating. Also,
it didn’t smell like I had wet my undergarments. Even better. Albeit I carried
an extra pair of stockings as they taught me in finishing school, I didn’t
usually carry an extra pair of panties. Urinary incontinence haven’t hit me yet.
Thank you very much.

Hmm…
I
thought.
Do I have an iron bladder, or what?
Indeed, considering that I
was being zapped, I was feeling okay. Actually, I was feeling good. No, make it
better. Yes, I felt healthier. Is it possible to be zapped and feel better than
before getting zapped?

As my head cooled
down and the reasonable part of me had returned, the skepticism started
campaigning against the confidence that I was trying to find the
eyeball-snatching serial murderer on my own, got a call from Karen who was
thought to be killed by the murderer, going to a shop called
Rhapsody in
Pink
where I saw a gross painting with gazillion eyeballs and being
zapped
while talking to my employer over the phone. Oh, did I mention I’m employed by
a huge guy who likes to cross-dress in women’s clothes? Skepticism surely had a
point. By replaying a series of events that was supposed to have been happened,
it felt outlandish. Considering that I was an ordinary person with an ordinary
upbringing, it must have been all a bad, sick, nightmarish dream. That explained
everything. I knew it.

“…Great…this is
great…” I mumbled with a sigh of relief, chuckling at my silly self. Add that
62 trillion out of 68 trillion cells have stopped vibrating like
“Paaaaaaartayyyy!”
to the list of reasons I was relieved.

I was convinced
that I had a weird, wild, and outlandish dream—

—Sorta
nightmarish, but nothing to worry about—

“I’m glad you like
it here, Kelly.”

Until I heard Alan,
the back-zapping lunatic interject.

I opened an eye. Then
another. I groaned. Shut the eyes again, then blinked several times.

Holy crap…
was what I thought.

It sure was
nightmarish, but I wasn’t having a nightmare. Nightmarish, but everything was
happening in reality. And everything was happening to me.

Whether or not to
be happy, I wasn’t sure.

Good thing my eyes
could still see things and it seemed like I was relatively unscathed except for
some minor inconveniences like being stuck in a room with a décor that doesn’t
exactly match my taste. Then again, everything else, I mean
everything else
was
not something you want to see with your own eyes.

For starter, I was
in a depressing, dimly-lit basement without even a window. The selection of
furniture was very limited. The cold n’ wet-looking, grey concrete floor was
devoid of carpets or floorings. There was a shabby, metal table covered with a
various depths of scratch marks. A pair of metal chairs stood by the table. Alan
was sitting on one of the chairs. He had changed into black fleece shirt and a
pair of tight black jeans. My purse sat on the table, along with a candlestick
with three lit candles, a half-full bottle of Moet et Chandon, and a glass with
liquid and whitish balls that looked like pale green olives inside.

And a sharp butcher
knife. Even though there was not much cooking taking place in the room.

The second problem
was that I was all alone with Alan, who was holding another glass of liquid and
pale green olives. Only difference was the number of olives in his glass was
just two, instead of more in the other glass. He was sipping bubbly drink from
the glass. He looked pretty calm and composed. Note that I was also immobile, as
in literally and physically. I was firmly duct taped to another metal chair
with my hands tied behind the back of the chair. I’m afraid that had about explained
the funny feelings in my hands and fingers.

And for the third
and the most terrifying thing was, I had just recognized that each of those olives
had a brownish, round spot bearing a resemblance to the brown of the eye. As my
eyes had adjusted, I saw each olive indeed had a brownish spot that remarkably
resembled with an iris and a pupil rather than pimiento stuffing gone stale.

“Wh-what is that?”
I stuttered, my gaze fixed at the glass in his hand.

“Oh, this?” he
raised the glass. “It’s champagne. Imported from France. Wanna drink some?” He
told me as if he was talking to one of his customers, and tilted his head to one
side. As he moved, the wild locks of his red hair bounced.

“I-I-I…I don’t
think so…” Shaking the head, I fidgeted with my words.

“Why not?” he furrowed
the eyebrows as if
I
was the one being irrational.

Cussing, crying
and screaming like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum was oh-so-tempting, but instead,
I took a deep breath. I had sorta, kinda managed to calm my nerves.

“Well, first off, I
can’t hold a glass with my hands tied up behind like this.”

“Then I’ll help
you,” he took a step toward me, the glass in one hand. As if he was going to
feed me the liquid.

“No!” I almost
shrieked, but I managed to add. “Actually, my stomach is not ready for bubbly. And
I would very much appreciate it if you’d kindly cut the duct tape which is tying
my hands right now?” I desperately tried my best to play it nice and smooth in
a vain hope that he may change his mind and let me go.

“Hmm,” he
shrugged. “It depends on if you promise to be a darling and let me take your
eyeballs out of you without a fight.”

“You’re just kidding,
right?” I asked hopefully.

“Well, well, well,”
he made a tsk-tsk sound. “What kind of an idiot kidnaps a semi-celebrity like
you just for fun? No one, I say. It catches too much unwanted attention. I took
you here with an absolute determination to have your eyeballs removed.”

Flabbergasted, I
searched for any sign that he was just cracking a sick joke. After a couple of
moments, I came to a conclusion that he was dead serious.

A total head case.
Seriously, positively and undeniably.

I was anxious to
know whatever had happened to Karen, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Call
me chickenshit, but I was completely lacking courage to face the reality.

“Well,” I said,
partly because I couldn’t come up with any better things to say. “For your
information, I’m nobody.” Then I added, “I presume those things in your bubbly
glasses are eyeballs and you’re Eyeball Snatcher?”

“Come on,” he let
out an exasperated sigh. “I’ve never called, much less introduced myself with
that name. It’s just a silly nickname the stupid media started to use on me. They’ve
got no originality, if I may say so. Not to mention treating a total stranger
like some kind of a petty thief is rude.”

I took his reply
as affirmative. “Hey, if you’re not a petty thief, you don’t need my eyeballs. You’re
a celebrity whereas I’m just nobody. You know what? Celebrities often throw
parties for charity causes because they have fame and fortune that ordinary
people don’t have and can’t attain. Right? So, when you’re a celebrity and I’m
nobody, it’s
you
who gives me something to help me, not the other way
round. On top of that, come to think of it this way. You’ve got a pair of fully
functioning eyeballs that lets you see things and appreciate all the beauty that
life offers you, right? Generally speaking, having a pair of normal eyeballs is
simply bliss itself. Can you imagine how lucky you are that you’ve got eyes
that can see? I’ve met a blind person before and she had to use this white cane
to check the things around her whenever she goes out because she cannot see
things around her and when you can’t see things on your own, the world is full
of danger and perils. Cyclists are the worst, you know, a stupid cyclist had once
run over her cane, broke the cane and left her in a total darkness.”

Instead of my
freaked-out, dysfunctional brain, my motor-mouth was taking a charge. Okay, I
was truly babbling, but anyone would babble in my shoes.  

“Kelly,” Alan
tilted his head to one side. “I don’t see your point.” And he sounded totally
cool.

“Oh, my point is
quite simple: Don’t take the eyeballs out of me. You need to thank whatever you’re
given right now. Just like thinking your glass is half-full instead of
half-empty. On top of all that, you’ve got eyeballs from other people in
addition to the own set of yours. Do the math and you’d be astonished to find
out that you’ve got enough number of eyeballs good for not just a lifetime but
several lifetimes. Wow! That’s…that’s like awesome, right?”

I tried to make a
light chuckling sound because I wanted to keep the atmosphere as light-hearted
and cheery as possibly possible. Call me vain, but I was desperate. I needed to
talk him out of his obsession so he could change his mind and forget about me. What
I’d managed to produce was a not-so-pretty sound that was best described as
something between a hiccup and a burp.

“Kelly, you don’t
understand.” My abductor shook his head.

“How so?”

“First off, I have
extra pairs of eyeballs not out of greed or perversion, just out of necessity.”

“Oh…for what? Like
eating?”

“No, I’m not a
pervert.” He made a face. “They are proof of my hard work. I understand that
you’re making an extended effort to look as dumb as possible, but I won’t let
you go. What kind of a moron do you think I am? No one with an IQ that is higher
than a turnip lets someone like you go. Considering you’re connected with the
feds, that’s asking for a lot of trouble.”

“Oh, I can keep my
mouth shut and go away. You know, I’ll just go away to a far place, such as
Europe…or Japan. Oh, did I mention I have no tie with the feds?” I said.

“That’s bullshit. Your
boss is an ex-FBI agent who still consults the feds on a regular basis. It
means you’ve got a tie with the feds.”

I thought about
mentioning the current situation with my employer, but didn’t. As much as I
wanted to convince him that yours truly is no threat to him, I wanted to keep
him thinking that my employer cares enough for me as to come to rescue his
assistant and beat the bejeezus out of the capturer.

So I said. “My
mother’s in Edinburgh, Scotland. I always wanted to see old, haunted castles
and everything. I also have relatives in Japan, so maybe I’d go there and see
Japanese koi fishes. Koi fishes at Shukkeien garden in Hiroshima are true
warriors, you know. Can you imagine they’re strong enough to attacking an
alligator snapping turtle en masse and beating the crap out of the monster
turtle? Who said carps are slow and weak?” I gave out a light chuckle.

“That’s
interesting,” Alan said.

“I know. And didja
know Japan has lots and lots to offer when it comes to yummy desserts? My
grandma in Japan once sent us this little jello-like concoction called black
soy yokan from Oita prefecture. Believe me, it was the yummiest dessert I’ve
ever tasted. And I promise to send you those fine sweets from Japan. Hey, I
happen to know many other things you may be interested. We can work things
together, can’t we?”

“I’m afraid not,
Kelly.” my abductor shook his head.

“Yes, we can.” I replied.
Then I repeated, “Yes. We. Can!” As if I was channeling Barack Obama circa
2008. Seriously, we desperately need to do something, anything to keep
presidential candidates from employing one-phrase campaigning tactics.

“Alan, you’ve got
to be honest with yourself. You seriously need to follow your heart. I know you
like me. Being no one, I know I’m not worth taking hostage on the account
nobody pays a big ransom just to have me back. So I’ve had a secret admirer who
goes so much trouble to snatch me. I’m flattered, you know. Then again, killing
me never is an answer. We can be friends. We can do many things together. We
can even become soul mates to each other. You know, we’d never know what’s for
next…”