Blinded (15 page)

You pick up the pace and finally get to a flat surface.

He is stopped, talking on his cell phone or checking it for messages.

You start walking faster, trying to get out of here.

You turn around once, twice, one more time, but the man is nowhere to be seen.

On the street, you breathe in fresh morning air and exhale and wait to see if the stranger is still following you.

Nothing. For several minutes, you’re alone on a corner of a street in New York.

Your heart is pounding. Your ankle aching. And your gut trembling.

Yet you still keep walking.

You’re afraid of leaving this night not knowing if this strange woman you’ve met is in danger.

T
HERE
’
S SOMETHING YOU WANT
and something you need. Something you’ve wanted and needed for a while. Yet you’ve never been able to articulate it, never even been able to acknowledge its gnawing little presence. It’s an assurance. A validation. A meaning and a hope and something else, something more, something.

Every day there is a list waiting for you. Names and faces and voices all wanting and needing an answer. There are the clients and the numbers and the contacts and the calls. There are the deals and the deeds and the deadlines and the decisions. And sometimes you want—you need—a break.

The hard-nosed men and women in today’s business world deal with this daily, and some can’t take it. Some remain medicated one way or the other. Others you know say they rely
on God. It makes you feel worse because sometimes you try— God knows you try—but it doesn’t seem like enough.

God’s been very silent for a while.

Maybe I’ve been silent back
.

It’s morning and this busy city suddenly seems deserted. You hear the sound of your shoes hitting the pavement, feel the weight of each step. Your feet hurt, strained from walking and running all night.

There needs to be a change. Something in you needs to change. Maybe this job and this life but perhaps it doesn’t have to be so dramatic. Maybe you can start in the small areas of your life. Small steps.

Maybe you need to celebrate what you have instead of wanting what you don’t have
.

Your mother’s smile and sweet innocence come to mind in the darkness of the city street. You remember when she used to know you, when she wasn’t battling this crippling and cruel disease. When she loved and protected you even though you couldn’t protect her.

You can’t save her. No matter what you do, you can’t do a thing for her
.

The thought makes you angry and you know whom your anger is directed toward.

Why are you doing this to me? Why?

You’re about ready to have another one-way conversation when you hear somebody behind you.

You turn around.

It’s the guy from the train. The well-dressed Asian guy. He’s on the sidewalk walking toward you.

Without thinking about it, you grasp the handgun and point it at him. You walk toward him and see his expression of shock and surprise.

“What do you want?” you shout out.

“Nothing.”

“What are you doing then?”

“It’s okay. Really. It’s okay. I was just making sure—”

“Making sure what?” you shout as you wave the gun at his head.

“Making sure where you’re going.”

“I’m having a bad night and I swear at this point I don’t care if I use this thing.”

“Look, it’s fine, it’s okay. Seriously. I’m not going to do anything. I work for Jana. For her parents.”

“What?”

“I’m just making sure Jana is okay.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“I was supposed to keep tabs on you.”

“Why?”

The gun in your hand seems like a play toy. You’re playing cops and robbers.

Which one are you?

“I just do what I’m asked to do.”

“Where is Jana?”

“I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. Please. Put down the gun.”

“Then stop following me.”

“Okay, fine. No problem.”

The guy sounds weak and desperate and you feel sorry for him.

I understand what you’re feeling
.

“Is Jana home?”

“I told you, I don’t know.”

“Are you from that club?”

“What do you mean?”

The guy looks confused and itching to run away.

“Just take off. And tell whoever you’re working for to leave me alone. I swear.”

He nods and starts to back away.

“Go on,” you shout out.

He sprints away and you find it odd to see a guy in dress slacks and dress shoes sprinting down a New York street.

What next?

One more stop. Jana’s apartment. Or Jasmine’s.

One more opportunity to see if she’s okay.

You have to make sure she’s okay.

You can do that one thing.

You owe it to her. You don’t even know why, but you do.

You look at the gun in your hand, and the picture seems
odd. You feel like you did back at the clubs, like a stranger, an imposter trying to play out someone else’s life.

You’re not going to use that
.

But you stick it in your jeans just to have it.

Just in case … Just in case.

T
HE WORLD IS WAKING UP
. Part of you just wants to close your eyes and rest. But your body feels electric and you’re out of breath as you enter the building. There is a different doorman now, but you go up to him and tell him your business.

“I’m here to see Jana Shreve.”

He nods and puts the call in. After a second, he waves you onto the elevator.

You wait at the door, the shiny ceramic tile showing your reflection. The metal doors open and you walk into the small elevator.

You press floor eight.

God help me help me through this protect me Lord
.

Does God listen to the prayers of an idiot? Of a deliberate
sinner? Of someone walking the wrong path and knowingly going on?

We all walk the wrong path
.

The elevator is quiet and the doors soon open.

Your legs are heavy, your ankle throbbing. You find the door you’re looking for and knock.

Who knows what’s behind the door.

You hear nothing, so you knock again.

And wait.

Then you try the door. It opens without a sound.

You step inside, the floor creaking and causing you to stop for the moment. The lights are all on, as they were when you left the apartment. You see a coat resting over the sofa.

Faint voices come from the bedroom.

What are they doing?

You walk near the kitchen. The voices are casual. You hear a laugh.

So now what?

You take in the apartment you left hours ago. Nothing looks different. But somehow it
feels
different. You no longer look at everything with shades of mystique covering it. You are tired and want to go home and want to make sure Jasmine is okay.

You step into the main room next to the couch.

The talking stops.

You stand there and wait, unsure of what to do or where
to go. You feel the gun at your side but keep it tucked in, secure.

You hear footsteps. You look up and see Riley walking toward you wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

He stops and stares for a second, letting go a loud questioning curse.

“What the—What do you think you’re doing?”

You don’t move and don’t hesitate.

“Where’s Jasmine?”

His head points to the bedroom he just came from.

“Jasmine?” you shout out.

“Who let you in?” Riley asks.

“Where’s Jasmine? And what are you doing here?”

The man laughs. “What do you mean, what am
I
doing here?”

There is a slight cut at the bridge of his nose.

“Jasmine!” you shout again.

Riley points a finger at you and his eyes tighten. “I’ll tell you this one time and one time only. If you don’t get out of here, so help me God, I’m gonna—”

“Mike.”

The tall figure that steps into the room is holding a gun and aiming it at Riley.

“J, what the—”

“Get away from me!” Jasmine says, walking around him to get to you.

The smug grin on Riley’s face is gone, his curly hair messed up. He looks bewildered.

“What are you doing with that, J?” he asks.

Jasmine comes to your side, still holding the gun at Riley. Her eyes are dark and teary. Her hair is up and she’s still in the jeans and camisole top she was wearing earlier.

What were they doing?

A shot of anger courses through you.

Am I jealous?

Her long velvet arms surround you as she hugs you. She keeps the gun pointed at Riley.

“Help me, Michael.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper in her ear, your stomach dropping and tightening. “Give me the gun.”

She smells so good it’s not right for a woman this hot to smell so good
.

You don’t want to let go. You want to feel her silky hair against your cheek, feel her body against yours. But she pulls away.

“Are you okay?”

She shakes her head and shoots a look of disgust Riley’s way. You look at her and see the bruise on her forehead.

“Did he do that?”

She nods, her eyes still on him, her hand holding the small black automatic.

“Do what?” Riley says.

“Shut your face,” Jasmine says.

“Jasmine, give me the gun,” you tell her.

“No.”

“What are you doing, J? Where’d you get that thing?”

“Stay right there,” you tell Riley.

He starts to walk toward you, and Jasmine waves the gun around with reckless abandon.

“I swear, don’t you come near me. Don’t you
touch
me.”

Riley stops and puts a hand out in front of his face.

“Give me that,” you tell Jasmine.

You slowly walk behind her. Her hand is shaking.

Riley curses at both of you, saying she’s not about to use that.

“You just watch me,” Jasmine says.

“Please, give me the gun,” you say. You touch her shoulder, then her arm, then put your hand on the gun.

“It’s okay,” you tell her. “Let’s just—come on—let’s call the cops.”

“No. Not the cops—I can’t. I don’t want my name in the papers.”

“Call the cops for what?”

You finally have the gun in your hand. You keep it pointed at Riley.

“Stay right there,” you bark out, stopping Riley from moving anymore.

Maybe he finally realizes you’re serious. Maybe seeing the
gun in your hands means something else. He puts his arms up at his head level.

“Man, she’s doing a number on your head.”

Jasmine screams out a few curses at him. You have to hold her back from attacking him.

“What are you even babbling on about?” he asks. “We were just about to—you were the one that called me!”

“He’s a liar,” Jasmine tells you. “He’s been after me all night and found me at the club and made me come back here.”

Riley looks at her, confused and a bit amused.

“You’re making this up as you go,” he says.

“Just stay there,” you tell him.

“Man, this is not your concern.”

“You made it my concern.”

“And why’s that?” Riley asks.

“Because you beat up on women,” you say.

Riley’s dark eyes look curious, amused. “Oh, you think I did that?”

“Who else would?”

“I can give you a list, buddy. I’m telling you.” He stops, shaking his head. “Man, you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

“Who else did this?”

“Why don’t you tell your new protector who did that?”

“You did,” Jasmine says, standing right behind you, her hand locked onto your arm.

“You’re mental,” Riley says. “That chick’s a head case. Seriously. You got problems, J. Big problems. I thought you needed me tonight.”

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“She called me! Man, stop pointing that gun in my face.”

“You didn’t happen to be here earlier? Waiting?”

“For what?”

Riley’s doing a great job acting, looking both angry and confused at the same time.

“Waiting for Jasmine. And when she didn’t show up, you knocked me unconscious.”