BLIND: A Mastermind Novel (17 page)

“One day, we had a test. The students were all gone for the day and I stayed after to grade the essays. The class did all right, until I got to Justin’s. His test was completely blank. I couldn’t sleep that night, wondering how such a bright kid could simply give up. I hate how cruel life can be at that age for children. My greatest fear was that Justin had heard enough people’s assumptions, and decided to give them exactly what they expected of him—nothing.

“I refused to believe that was all he had in him. The next day I asked him to stay after class. I showed him his paper and tried to remove all assumption from my expression. I asked him to tell me why he didn’t try.”

“What was his excuse?”

Her eyes closed, recalling that moment so clearly. “He said, ‘Ms. Farrow, I haven’t had breakfast. Last night I didn’t eat dinner. Aside from a few chips, I haven’t eaten in days. I’m so hungry, I don’t give a fuck about this test.
’
Some teachers would have penalized him for his language, but I saw his hunger the moment he made the confession.

“I went to my desk, opened my lunch, and gave him my sandwich. He hesitated only a minute before devouring it. I gave him my juice and grapes and went to the vending machine to buy a Tasty Cake for dessert. I told him to come to my room every morning.”

“Did he?”

“Yes, it became customary for us to share breakfast. After breakfast I’d hand him a brown-bagged lunch, just like mine, but with an extra snack since he was a growing boy.”

It was nice, recalling her kind deed. Rewarding. Telling the story made her appreciate herself in a way she sometimes lost sight of in her normal day-to-day life.

Smiling, she explained, “You see, our job is to teach, but students aren’t always prepared to learn. Sometimes we’re the ones who have to learn a new approach. I may not be the best teacher, but I think those moments with Justin made me a damn good one. We learn from example and I think I showed him—an already jaded thirteen-year-old kid—what compassion is. He’s in college now and earned a pretty great scholarship.”

“That’s a lovely story, Ms. Farrow.”

It was one of her favorites.

“Did your team ever learn what you were doing?”

“No. Out of respect for Justin, I kept his situation between us, only letting my principal know so that he could advise the parents about student aide.”

“Interesting. Many times people are motivated to do good deeds because of the impression it leaves.”

“I just wanted to help him. I wasn’t looking to impress anyone.”

“Very nice.”

They continued talking, always with her lingering hope that Mr. Stone would suggest they meet in person, but she lacked the courage to ask when. He’d tell her when he thought it was time and she liked that she could depend on his direction, seeing it was natural for him to lead. 

Pressing for more than he wanted to give would be like asking for flowers. No one wanted flowers they’d asked for. She’d much rather receive such tokens as a true gesture of affection. She only wanted to see him if and when he truly wanted to see her. So when he announced his desire that night, she was slightly shocked and thrilled.

“I think it’s time we take our relationship to the next level, Ms. Farrow.”

Immediately breathless, she agreed, “Okay.”

“I need you to understand a few things first. One, I’m a very private man. Two, this won’t be like any other relationship you’ve had. I intend to give you exactly what you asked for and I plan on doing so on my terms. If you can’t accept that, you need to say so now.”

Her heart raced. “I respect your need for privacy.”

“Can you agree to my terms?”

Shallow breaths filled her lungs. They’d moved ahead so cautiously, yet things also seemed to be moving fast. “You haven’t asked anything too outlandish so far. I guess it depends what your terms are.”

She swallowed, struggling to calmly wait out his reply.

“Next Friday I will have a driver come to your home and pick you up. He’ll have instructions for you. At anytime should you feel uncomfortable, you will only need to say the word and you’ll be safely returned home. I prefer to work with objectives, Ms. Farrow, and my objective is to show you what utter adoration feels like. Is that still what you seek?”

Her voice was a mere rasp, full of longing and curiosity. “Yes.”

“Very good. I’ve decided we shall form a liaison of sorts, fourteen encounters spread over the course of our association. Never at any point will you be expected to tolerate anything outside of your comfort zone, but I do intend to push your limits, Ms. Farrow, in order for you to experience the full degree of desire. Still, everything will be consensual or it will cease immediately.”

Her throat went dry. Already, without even having set eyes on this man, she desired him with an unaccustomed fierceness. “Why fourteen?
”
What happened after that?

Pausing for a moment, he spoke his answer quietly, again jarring her with his eloquent handling of language. “It takes fourteen days for the moon to wax enough for its beauty to be bared to the human eye. In astrology, fourteen is the number representative of temperance, the established quality of self-control needed to clearly resolve inner turmoil. Fourteen lines are in a sonnet. There’s no one reason I chose fourteen, only that it seemed appropriate and suitable.
”

Everything about him was unexpected, and she wanted to see him with a yearning so potent it went beyond her previous definition of need. Swallowing in an attempt to quell her excitement and nerves, she whispered, “Okay.”

“Very good. I won’t be calling you over the next few days.
”
Disappointment immediately flooded her. “If I need to reach you it will be through private message. I want you to take that time to think about where this is going, contemplate your desires, and commit to them. When you come to me I want you to be absolutely sure you’re there of your own free will. Do you understand?”

She didn’t like the idea of silence between them, but accepted his logic. “Yes.
”
Her chest was tight with anticipation, which would only intensify as the days went on. The time between now and then would be cumbersome and torturous, every minute ticking by at the pace of a year. How would she survive until Friday?

Her mind was already made up. She was going to him, no matter what the risk. This was simply something she had to do.

“And, Ms. Farrow, I expect absolute discretion.”

She could never explain Mr. Stone to her friends. “I promise.”

“My rules, but you have the power to say when you’ve had enough.”

“I understand.”

“I look forward to seeing you Friday, Scarlet.”

“Me too.”

“Goodnight, Ms. Farrow.”

Her stomach flipped with longing to move forward and the reluctance to say goodbye. She wanted the future to be now, but she’d first have to let go of the present in order to get there. That and shave her legs. “Goodnight, Mr. Stone.”

The line went dead. Let the torture of anticipation begin.

Chapter Seven

Sensory

Never in her life had Scarlet suffered such poignant anxiety.  There was nothing, aside from a vortex of suspicion tangled with unprecedented excitement, swirling inside of her.

For days she’d been a ball of nervous energy. When the bell rang marking the end of the last class on Friday, she’d rushed to her car and was so restless to be in the final stretch of the week, she had to mentally force herself to regulate her breathing.

As soon as she got home there was a subtle sense of disappointment. She’d hoped he’d have called or messaged her by now, but there was nothing. Fear that he’d changed his mind was so encompassing she had to pour a glass of wine to calm her nerves.

As a distraction, she carefully went over her outfit for the evening, which she’d painstakingly selected two days prior, and then she took a shower.

There was no way she was sleeping with him. He was a stranger. Still, she took the most meticulous shower of her life.

Once every inch of skin was exfoliated and every unwanted hair removed, she let the last of the hot water soothe her tense muscles. Afterward, she carefully moisturized her body with a subtle apple scented lotion from Stelluna, a place she now frequented. It took every bit of self-control not to continuously check her phone and laptop to see if he’d contacted her. When she almost lost her last shred of restraint, she painted her nails, filling twenty extra minutes in order for the polish to dry.

Onto her second glass of wine, she fanned her hands while sitting on the edge of her bed in a bathrobe. That was when her computer finally chimed.

Her heart jolted as she lunged for the laptop. Shutting her eyes, she drew in a breath of relief as she opened the message.

Good evening, Ms. Farrow. I assume your week went well. If we are still on for tonight, my driver requires your address.

This was it. Fully aware of the personal information she was about to divulge, she waited for her survival instincts to kick in. Nope. Nothing. She was definitely doing this.

I missed you.

She quickly deleted the confession, not wanting to come off too needy, but deleting those ten letters did nothing to alter the truth. She’d missed him like crazy this week. Her fingers quickly typed out a greeting and her address.

My week went very well, although slower than I would have liked ☺

My address is: 33 Rose Court, Floral Vale, PA

Very well, Ms. Farrow. My driver will pick you up in one hour. You may address him as Mr. Pennyworth. I trust him completely, and therefore you may speak freely in his presence. Should you, at any time, wish to return home, Mr. Pennyworth will be at your command. Do you understand?

Mr. Pennyworth. Her brow tightened as the name sounded slightly familiar despite its uncommonness. This was crazy, but she wasn’t backing out now.

Okay.

I will see you soon, Scarlet.

She squealed and rolled onto her back, her hand pressing to her chest as her heart thundered behind her ribs. “Oh my God.
”

Her cheeks pulled tight with a smile as she forced out a deep breath of air. She needed to calm the hell down. Biting her lips she slowly stood, and then flew into overdrive, stripping her robe and dressing. Not wanting to make the wrong impression, she had opted for brown suede boots, fitted dark jeans, and a loose ivory sweater.

At first she’d considered dressing up, but this was
her
and she wanted Mr. Stone to meet the real her so he’d be more likely to divulge things about the real him. She had no idea if that would work, but it was the only plan she had.

There was no quelling her nerves. Moisture gathered on her palms down to the last second. Her stomach turned from jittery energy to painful tightness as the time passed.

She was going to vomit, but that was impossible since she hadn’t been able to swallow a bite of food all day. The only thing in her stomach was wine and her body was burning off the effects too fast for it to matter.

When lights slowly cut down the dark street she gasped. “Oh God.
”

Her fingers trembled as she collected her purse and shut out the lights. Her shoulders knotted with tension. Never before had she wanted something to commence and conclude so much at the same time.

The car was a luxury sedan, black with tinted glass. Mr. Stone definitely wasn’t living in the poorhouse—he’d said as much, but this was proof. Although it could be a renta
l
.

Don’t be cynical!

Stepping onto her porch, she pulled the door shut and locked it. A man—a very large man—stepped from the car and approached the sidewalk. “Ms. Farrow?”

“Yes.”

“You can call me Mr. Pennyworth. I’m here to take you to Mr. Stone.”

Of course she had to pee. She was nervous and whenever she got nervous her bladder turned into a peanut. Her footing turned unsteady under the heady realization that she was putting herself at risk.

Mr. Pennyworth held out a thick white envelope, sealed with a dab of wax. Holy crap. Who was she dealing with? Wax seals were categorized in her mind with
The Tudors
and mysterious characters in fiction.

“Mr. Stone requires you read this before moving any further.”

The chauffeur’s voice was calm and friendly, relieving a tiny bit of her anxiety. Taking the envelope in her trembling hands, she popped the seal. The note was written in dark calligraphy, but not the sort generated from a computer. This was definitely done by hand.

The choice is yours, Ms. Farrow. Should you choose to continue, it will be on my terms and your trust. If you consent, place the mask over your eyes and my chauffeur shall deliver you into my care. I hope to see you soon.

~Mr. Stone

A.R.

“He wants me to wear a blindfold?
”
And what was A.R.?

“I’m afraid so, Ms. Farrow.
”
Mr. Pennyworth held out a strip of lace. It was lovely, delicate, but altogether concerning. Her fingers turned the mask, her gaze examining every detail. Although it was embellished with lace, there was a thick, soft fabric on the inside, assuring she’d be completely blind. Her throat constricted.

“Will I be able to take it off?”

“That’s up to Mr. Stone. I was instructed to proceed only if you agree to wear the blindfold.”

She swallowed. Okay, this was definitely unexpected. “Why?”

“You’d have to ask Mr. Stone.”

She weighed her options. “Can you call him?”

“No, ma’am. You either place the mask over your eyes or I say goodnight.”

Just like that? All or nothing? Stepping back, she quickly paced, wishing she had some sort of leverage. Her sly regard scrutinized the chauffeur. He was enormous, but had a sort of gentle set to his broad shoulders. As if he understood his size could be threatening, he hunched by the slightest degree so not to intimidate her more than he already had.

No one was forcing her. She could say goodnight and this would all be over. Mr. Stone would never contact her again and she’d go on living her uneventful, boring life.

Fuck.

“Would you mind giving me a moment? I forgot something inside.”

“Of course.”

He folded his hands at parade rest and she slowly backpedaled toward the house, trying not to appear too anxious. Her hands shook as she unlocked the door. The second she was inside with the door closed, she dropped her purse on the hall table, and dug out her phone.

Her thumb pressed speed dial and she rushed to the bathroom, quickly unbuttoning her jeans and dropping to the seat.

“Hello?”

“Nicole, listen, I’m in a hurry, but I need to ask you something.”

“Yeah?
”
Her friends voice left Scarlet imagining her sitting at home on an otherwise uneventful night in the world of married life.

“Do I take risks?”

Nicole snorted. “Um, no. Not unless you consider getting your nails done in a color outside of the pink family risky.”

“Do you think I should?”

“I don’t know, Lettie. It depends. I don’t want my best friend to jump out of a plane or anything dangerous, but I think baby stepping out of your bubble wouldn’t hurt matters either. What’s going on? And are you peeing?”

“Yes, sorry. I told you I was in a rush. Okay, here’s the deal. I sort of met someone and I’m wildly attracted to him and he wants me to go back to his place—”

“Is he married?”

“No.”

“Gay?”

“No.”

“Have any noticeable symptoms of STDs?”

“Ew, no!
”
At least she hoped not.

“It’s a fair question. Do you have condoms?”

“I’m not having sex with him!”

“Oh, well, then I guess it’s fine. Who is he?”

“You don’t know him.”

“How’d you meet?”

She hiked up her jeans and wedged the phone between her shoulder and cheek as she washed her hands. “I don’t have time for all of this right now. But listen, if you don’t hear from me by two a.m. call the cops. Come to my house and all the information I have will be there.”

“This is weird, Lettie. What the hell’s going on?”

“I’m taking a risk and doing something for myself. I have to go. Two a.m., got it?”

“Not really. Scarlet—”

She ended the call. Her mind was made up. Dropping the phone back in her purse after silencing the ringer, she made a quick detour into her kitchen and flung open her knife drawer. Scrutinizing her supply, she selected a small but very sharp paring knife and slid it into her purse. She then left a note on the kitchen table.

Mr. Stone. Chauffeur’s name is Mr. Pennyworth. This is the letter I have which may hold possible fingerprints. More info on my laptop GP page. Password: THORLOVESBACON.

She dropped the pen and wiped her hands down her jeans. Creeping to the front window, she dug out her phone and zoomed in on the license plate. The flash reflected off the glass, nearly blinding her, and when her sight came back Mr. Pennyworth was scowling in her general direction. “Shit. I suck at sneaky.”

Go time.

Leaving the house again, she was relieved to find Mr. Pennyworth still waiting. Locking the door, she met him on the sidewalk and smiled nervously.

“Are you ready, Ms. Farrow?”

“Um, one more thing. Since I’m sort of putting my life on the line and all, do you think we could take a selfie, just an act of good will proving you’re not going to drive me to an abandoned warehouse and chop me up into little bits?”

He chuckled. “Sure.”

As he stepped beside her, she held out her phone. “Damn you’re big.”

“Let me.
”
He took the phone and snapped the shot. It all seemed so normal when he handed it back and waited for her to examine it like women often did. “Good?”