Blinded (11 page)

Y
OU OPEN YOUR MOUTH
and your tongue licks your lips and then what you discover to be the tile floor of Jasmine’s bathroom. Your hand goes instantly for the back of your head, where you feel a knot the size of a golf ball. For a moment you just lie there, unable to move, unable to see. The light is still on and you eventually manage to move your body and your head and everything up.

A wave of nausea pulses through you. You fight it and gain control and open your eyes.

Nothing. You look in toward the bedroom and see no one. You listen but don’t hear anything.

Your hand continues to rub down the knot. You look at your watch but have no idea how long you were out.

For a second you think of something and then reach for your wallet in your back pocket. It’s still there.

You try to recall what happened. Amanda showing you the room, taking off her shoes on the edge of the bed. You going to the bathroom, then …

The image in your mind is of Riley. But you don’t know this for sure. You can barely remember what the guy looks like. And the closet was pitch black.

You could see the outline of a figure in there. That was it.

In your mind you curse and you use your arms to help you get up. For a moment you stand against the bathroom counter, then the wave of nausea presses through you again.

You find that toilet you were looking for and throw up everything in your stomach. It’s quick and for a moment you’re resting your head against the bowl and feeling the tears in your eyes and the grit in your mouth.

Praying to the ceramic gods, as they said in college
.

You get back to your feet and rinse your mouth and wash your face with cold water and then take a soft black towel and rub down your face and your forehead.

The man facing you in the mirror looks scared and tired and out of his mind.

What are you doing here, Michael? Tell me that. What are you thinking? Are you really out of your mind?

You walk out of the bathroom slowly, waiting to hear anything or see anything. But there is nothing.

Everything is in its place. Nobody is there. Not Amanda, no one.

You go into the living room and sit on the couch and decide to finish the remnants of your beer to get rid of the gross taste in your mouth.

I gotta go back to my hotel and leave this insanity behind
.

There is a high-pitched ring and you jerk and cover your head before you realize it’s the phone.

You look for it and find the cordless phone in the kitchen.

It rings four times and then clicks off. Two seconds later, it starts ringing again.

This time you pick it up. You don’t say a word.

“Hello? Hello?”

You recognize Jana’s voice.

“Jasmine,” you say.

“Michael? Is that—how did you—what are you doing there?”

“Your friend let me in.”

“Who?”

“Amanda.”

“Is she there—what are you guys—”

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

She sounds out of breath and panicked. Your head hurts too bad to pick up the pace.

“Where are you?”

“I’m still at Exit. I just got a call—Riley said he’s coming to hurt me—did he—what happened?”

“Someone just knocked me unconscious.”

There is a pause and you wonder what she’s doing on the other end. There is faint music and crowd noise in the background.

“You have to leave. Just leave me alone and go away.”

“Jasmine …”

“No—Michael, you have to stay out of this. I mean—I don’t know what I was thinking. Listen to me, my name isn’t even Jasmine.”

“I know. It’s Jana.”

“Yes. And this—this was a bad night. Just hear me out—”

“No, you hear me out,” you say, the adrenaline kicking in, the anger suddenly coursing all throughout. “If this Riley did this to me, then he might be coming to do something to you.”

“It’s not your concern.”

“You made it my concern,” you say.

“Michael—”

“Just stay there, okay? Stay around people, okay?”

“What are you going to do?”

That’s a good question. What
are
you going to do?

“I’m going to come and get you.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. Let’s figure that out, okay?”

“I just—Amanda just called me—”

“Don’t trust Amanda,” you say.

“What?”

“Just—just be careful, okay? I mean, I have no idea what’s going on. I just—my head is killing me. I’ll be there in a few minutes and then we can get out of there and go somewhere.”

“I’m sorry, Michael,” she says, almost starting to cry.

“It’s okay. Really, it’s okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Just, just be careful and stay out in the open around people and avoid Riley.”

You hang up the phone and then look around one more time.

You can turn around and go back
.

You open the fridge and take out a Gatorade to drink and get rid of the foul taste in your mouth.

You have your second or third or fourth wind. You’re heading to get Jasmine.

Nothing else to think about.

T
HE NIGHT BURNS OUTSIDE
as the cab passes through it. You feel a chill even though your window is only slightly cracked. The streets don’t know you and you don’t know them. A strange man in a strange land.

What am I doing here?

And you can’t fully answer that question.

A beautiful face and a stunning body and golden hair and haunting eyes and you’re lost. Just like that.

It wasn’t that simple
.

There’s more to the story. A weakness deep down. Something you try to keep in check and in balance but that sometimes gets to you and sometimes overpowers you.

The world tempts you.

The world wants you.

And sometimes, sometimes, you dip your foot into it. Nobody has to know and nobody has to care.

God knows
.

And you know this and sometimes you want him not to look and not to care. Sometimes you need to run far away from him so he might not see. A distant city with another name and the late hours of the night and how will he care? What can you do to make him notice?

He knows and he cares
.

And so what? What are you going to do? Nothing. Right? Nothing at all.

A compromise here and a concession there. Being a man in today’s world is a hard thing. Being a man of faith in today’s world is downright impossible. Being pure and being faithful and being holy. How?

There is a way, Mike, there is only one way
.

And you remain true. But sometimes in some places you occasionally let yourself go.

Jasmine
.

It was just a name and a number. And you had to call and had to try and had to go down this road.

The cab turns a corner and heads down a street surrounded by industrial buildings. You wonder if you’re in the right section of town.

You think of the conversation you had with Lisa awhile
ago about the Internet. About some of the links she found. About some of the pages she came across.

It’s simple and easy and anonymous and you went there just like you called that number and for a while there was no consequence. But there was hurt and there was admission.

What if Jasmine or Jana or J had come right out with what you wanted? What you secretly hoped?

I want you Michael and I want you tonight and there are no consequences and no costs and no guilt and no strings. Free love and that’s all
.

But everything has a price and a string attached to it. If not down here then certainly up there.

I’m trying to get away from you God because I haven’t heard a lot from you lately
.

Being busy isn’t an excuse and you know that.

The driver stops in front of one of those unmarked unnamed buildings and calls out the address.

“Want to stick around to make sure I got the right place?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

You give him a twenty and tell him to keep the change. Surely this isn’t the right place.

The gray-black walls seem to go for half a block. But out of nowhere you see a door with a man standing next to it. This has been a night full of guys guarding things. People and places. The guy isn’t huge but he looks mean and just waits for you to say something.

“I’m here with J Shreve.”

He looks at you as if you’re not following the dress code. Maybe the name isn’t good enough to get in. Maybe you need to say something else.

But he opens the steel door and lets out the pounding music and you enter yet another club and feel the heat and are lost in a dark hallway that has pulsing red lights at the end that glow and shadow a small sign on the wall that reads EXIT.

One more choice, Mike. One more chance. One more opportunity to exit this, all of this
.

But you turn and walk into the massive club and know that the night is far from done and that you’re not free and that you can’t exit this that you’re much too far in and that you have to play this out.

W
HEN YOU
’
RE A KID
, you dream of rescuing the damsel in distress.

The prince always comes and rescues her.

In those stories, and those dreams, the princess always has long blonde hair. Does she have long legs too?

When you sit behind a desk and work on a computer all day dealing with figures and spreadsheets and financials, you have zero adventure and romance in your life.

Does that justify your being here at this time of night?

In some ways, it does. At least to yourself. You’re not a bad guy and you’re not doing a bad thing.

What happens if you find Jasmine? Then what?

The thrill of this, all of this, is part of what keeps you going. When was the last time you had passion in your life? Adventure? Romance?

Romance isn’t a weekend getaway in Chicago.

Adventure isn’t spending ten bucks at the movie theatre to see the latest action flick.

And passion isn’t imagining what life would be like if you had this or did that or felt this or lived that.

Right now, you’re in the middle of adventure and romance and passion.

You have no idea how this night is going to end. But you’re doing a good thing, making sure Jasmine is okay.

You have good motivations.

They are fine motivations.

You need to find her and make sure she gets home safely.

And then …

And then, there will be choices to make.

You are a good man and you will do what’s right.

The prince always does what’s right.

Right?

A
FISHBOWL OF MOVING BODIES
and bare arms and glowing foreheads and glassy eyes surrounds you. Lights flicker and pulsate and each time you see a different image, a different contortion of figures. You’re invisible and the others that surround you are oblivious. You can feel the bass and the beat in your soul as your breathe in the murky air created by smoke machines and sweat.

You feel your phone vibrate and you open it up.

It’s Jasmine’s phone number. By now it’s as familiar as anyone else’s in your phone.