Oculus (Oculus #1) (10 page)

Looking at the letter I suddenly feel raw and exposed, vulnerable. Tucking it back in place, I close the book with a solid thump. Opening my pack, I carefully place it inside. I glance up, feeling the weight of Mirabelle’s gaze upon me. “Thank you for this.” Not trusting myself to hold my emotions any longer, I move quickly away into the crowd.

Once I’m away from Mirabelle’s, my embarrassment turns to anger. Like a security blanket, the red hot emotion burns away the pain leaving clarity behind. I’m here to make purchases, not to reminisce about my dead…Anna. My irritation must be apparent because the next few stalls I stop in handle my transactions without any small talk. I unload everything but a portable HAM radio, a hand crank charger to keep it juiced up, a pack of dry food and what I normally carry in my pack. In the end, I have my additional burdens down to those items and a good amount of gold.

After the last transaction, I decide to return to Mirabelle’s to get the password for the next market. As much as I don’t want to talk any more about Anna, she already trusts me, and it will save me the time of having to prove myself to anyone else. As I near, I see her talking to the white-haired man that had been watching me earlier. Mirabelle brings him over with her and makes introductions.

“Sic, this is John Baton. John, this is Anna’s associate, Sic.” He holds out his hand and I shake it reflexively. His grip is stronger than I would have assumed for someone his age and he meets my gaze boldly as we shake hands in greeting.

“Sic,” he says warmly. “I’ve been a friend of Anna’s for quite a few years. I was sorry to hear about her passing. How are you holding up?”

The question takes me off guard and I respond before I think about it. “What kind of inane question is that?” Mirabelle gasps and John looks as if I’ve slapped him for a moment before he nods, looking somber.

“Yes, it is an inane thing to say. People have a programmed response to surprise and grief that doesn’t always make a lot of sense. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He pauses, seeming to consider his next words carefully. “I was wondering if you and I might have a quick conversation.”

I glance over at Mirabelle who gives me what I can only imagine is supposed to be a look of encouragement. “Mirabelle. I need the new passcodes.” She nods and gestures to John.

“He can give you the next two codes we are using. If not, come back after you are done talking and I’ll give them to you.” John motions to the path before him, and feeling a bit railroaded, I start walking.

Leading me to the edge of the barn, he opens a wooden door in the wall. Once we step inside he takes me to a small area with tables. A woman comes over and John orders a tea with lemon. When he raises his eyebrows at me in askance, I shrug.

“Make it two. Thank you.” The woman nods and walks away, John watches her hips sway as she departs. Turning to me, he smiles in a conspiratorial way. “Ah, the beauty of the female form.” When I don’t react, his smile slips a bit before he continues in his overly cheerful tone. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to speak with you. Well, to be honest, I wanted to know if you would be willing to do a job. I had hoped to broker it through Anna, but… since you are here.”

It takes the better part of ten minutes to get all the information out of him that I need. The job is two sectors to the south, deep inside a transitional zone. Corp security is tight in the area which means the job pays triple. His reasons are unimportant. The target is unimportant, some mid-level bureaucrat on a power trip. Even the pay is meaningless, though I don’t share that with him while I negotiate for more money. What matters is getting a job, and figuring out how to do everything on my own.

Once I have all the information I need, which includes the passcodes for the next three Markets, I leave the area in a random direction. Once I’m beyond the perimeter I circle around, making sure that anyone following me will lose the trail. It has been a long day, but I decide to start towards the job location. The sooner I get to the area, the faster I can finish the job.

I find running is a bit more difficult with a second pack. Even with the added weight though, the run helps me work out most of the anxiety I have built up during the day. I set a faster pace since I’m only planning on travelling for a few hours. The miles fly by and any concerns of pursuit evaporate. Unless they’re on a dirt bike, it’s doubtful anyone can keep up with me at this speed.

I stop for the night near a stream where I can clean off. Hanging my clothes for the night, I build a fire to help them dry. I pushed myself hard during the run, so I fall asleep quickly after I eat. I hate to admit it, but I look forward to sleeping more than anything else. When I close my eyes, I can see her.

She’s laughing when she sees me. Her green eyes, a lighter shade of color than Anna’s, sparkle in the light shining from above. Reaching for me she begins to run her fingers over my skin. The feeling electrifies my body, sending my pulse racing. Tentatively, I look down into her eyes, expecting to find fear or judgment there. Instead, I find tenderness, understanding…and fire.

Pulling her to me, I feel my pain being erased as if the touch of her skin brings with it a healing balm. Hungrily, I draw her lips to mine, reveling in the taste of her tongue. Sweet, like candy. Allowing the dream to take me, I slip away from my world of pain, and into the fantasy that is her.

O
NE OF THE CRUELEST TRUTHS
about being blind is that my options are limited.

With everything.

Always
.

I can’t see my hair and decide how
I
think it looks best. Or what color
I
think suits me nicely. Hattie and my father’s opinions are transplanted as my own. I play the reluctant surrogate to their judgment about things that directly affect me. I have to. I just go with the flow of things because what else can I do? I can’t feel, or smell or taste or hear red versus purple and I can’t say that short hair makes me look more mature than my long hair does. So I take their word for it when they advise me on just about everything in my dark world.

It’s probably the single most frustrating part of my existence. I never let on how much not having options bothers me. I try not to anyway. I know that their role in assisting me can’t be very enjoyable and my handicap is no fault of theirs.

Lack of options or even the ability to form the most basic of opinions is chiefly responsible for me even weighing Ingram’s offer.

Offer is probably an inaccurate way to view it. What he had done and said was flat out solicitation and I feel every bit preyed upon, but here I am in my bedroom considering taking the deal.

I can’t say for certain what he wants but I can say for certain that I’m willing to barter a bit of my dignity in order to gain a measure of pride. If I tell Hattie that she’ll tell me that I’m splitting hairs that are about to be singed off by the devil himself. I choose to spare myself from her or my father’s opinion on the matter.

This is my future I’m considering. The only opinions that matter belong to me. Red versus purple belongs to them. I’ll give them that. I have
no choice
but to give them that. But what I do with my life and my body for that matter is entirely up to me.

If I’m going to make anything of myself professionally it’s going to have to be done this way. I need a way in. Exceptions will have to be made and I’m not naïve enough to think that those exceptions don’t come with a price tag. I’m in no way interested in anything sick or twisted, though. If Ingram wants something from me, I’ll at least find out what it is. A shot at independence is worth that much.

I dismiss my inner ramblings and jab a finger on the button near my bedroom door.

“Call Hattie Brighton.”

“Calling. Hattie. Brighton,” the speaker drones monotonously.

“Hey, you!”

“Hey. Are you busy?”

“No. Not really. Just getting ready to go hang with Cade. Wanna come with?”

“Nah. Thanks though. I have a question and then I’ll leave you to it.”

“What’s up?”

“Do you know Chief Ingram?”

“Ugh! Yes. Why?”

“Why do you say it that way?”

“Oh because he’s a grade-A jerk.”

“Yeah. He seems that way. Is he just a womanizer or…”

“Well you know how rumors are, but yeah. I’ve heard he is pushy and keeps plenty of women around. Stuff like that.”

“I see. What does he look like?” I ask knowing Hattie will relay a useful description in the way that she has done for me for many years.

“He’s handsome I guess… if you ignore how ugly his personality makes him. He’s tall. Light hair. Blonde-Gold-ish. Think lemons… or stomach acid. He has gray eyes. Thunderstorm. Pocket lint. He’s okay. Now explain to me why you’re asking me this.”

“He offered to help me get a position in the security department.”

“For what in return?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar. Dillon Ingram is many things but magnanimous isn’t one of them. Spill,” she demands.

“I’m serious. I guess he owes… my dad a favor. You know how that goes. So… I think I may check it out. I have to. It’s this or nothing. I don’t have choices like you do, Hattie.” I hate lying to my best friend but even she can’t understand my willingness to consider Chief Ingram’s offer.

“I know. Just promise me that you will be careful. Keep your distance if you can. He’s trouble and I’m pretty sure he carries diseases like rabies.”

“Okay. I promise. Meet you at your house in the morning?”

“You got it.”

I end the call and sit on my bed wondering how I’ll convince my father to give his blessing for me to go to work for Chief Ingram. In truth, I don’t need his blessing or permission at all. I’m a grown woman. I can do what I want but I’m well aware that living under his roof comes with certain ramifications and one of those is keeping him informed on what I’m up to. If I could live on my own, I would, but again… red versus purple.