A Blind Eye (23 page)

“Where's Scarlett?” I asked.

“Upstairs. She's fine.” She waved a hand as if kidnapping Scarlett and subjecting her to some twisted medical procedure was just another day at the office.

At least they hadn't killed her yet. “What are you going to do with her?”

Dr. Wyden's eyes sparked with excitement, and she licked her lips. “I'm testing something on her. Something that will change the lives of sightless people around the world.”

“You mean change the life of your daughter.” She didn't fool me. That's what this had been about all along.

A steeliness entered her voice. “So you did learn something when you destroyed my office and ruined my clinic.” She came closer, standing right in front of me so I had to crane my neck to see her face. I didn't appreciate the nostril view. Simon stood by the door, stoic, with a gun in his hand.

She squatted down to eye level. “But you're wrong. Can't you see? This goes far beyond my Mags.” Her eyes glowed. “Thanks to Scarlett's genius friend, I've developed a new device. Simon's been keeping an eye on Katie for a while, as the IT technician at Shepherd Hill. After Katie created her auditory amplifier, it didn't take much for Simon to convince her to turn her talents on an innovation to help her best friend.” She tossed Simon an adoring look.

“With a little input from Katie”—Dr. Wyden stood up and started pacing the room as if all this was too awesome to tell standing still—“I've developed a nanocamera that connects directly to the optic nerve, bypassing the retina altogether. It inserts into the pupil, allowing color vision in a resolution close to normal. Unfortunately, the optic nerve is very sensitive. Too little stimulation and nothing happens. Too much and, well, poof.” She lifted a hand and made an exploding gesture by her head. “The brain is fried. It's a very delicate balance.”

How many people had she tested this on? Had it ever worked? Scarlett was never going to survive. Not that Jenny was my standard of optic knowledge, but based on what she'd said, this could never happen. The nerves to the brain could not be repaired.

“Can't you test it on animals? Dogs or something?” I asked. Her Frankenstein methods didn't seem quite in line with current FDA standards.

She sighed heavily and shook her head. “We tried. But when we repeated the experiment on a human, the data didn't transfer. We had to start over.” She seemed genuinely disappointed.

“You're psychotic.” All this so her daughter could see? Did Maggie know her mother was killing people to restore her vision?

“Christian, try to understand. This project will bring sight to millions.” She swept her hands wide to encompass the whole world, and her eyes burned with the promise of victory. “Picture it. The end of blindness. A scourge that has plagued the earth since the beginning of time. Unfortunately, miracles through science require some sacrifices. Scarlett is proud to help in such a generous cause, don't you think?”

This was insane. Wyden really believed that she was some kind of crusader. That her perverted work on innocent people was justified. She walked back to Simon, stood beside him, and smiled as if there was no way I could argue against such a noble undertaking.

“Makes sense,” I said, grasping at straws to buy time. “Scarlett probably is happy to help. Why not just let me go?”

Simon shook his head. “So you can run to your police friend? I think not. Unfortunately, when you hooked up with Scarlett, you sort of sealed your fate. Can't have you blathering about our work to everyone now, can we?”

I stared at him. “Is that why you want me? So I won't tell someone that you're murderers?”

“Hey,” Simon said. I didn't think he knew much about guns. He held it awkwardly in his hand, and as he spoke, he swung it carelessly in all directions. He must have noticed me watching it because he let his arm fall to his side, aiming the gun at the floor. “We didn't
murder
anyone. Any kind of medical procedure involves risks.”

“What about Jenny? And the waitress?” I asked.

He waved the gun in dismissal, forgetting his previous attempt to keep it still. “
That
,” he said with emphasis, “was Connor.”

Dr. Wyden jumped to her husband's defense. “Connor was crazy. We hired him to help us with Scarlett's abduc—” She glanced at the floor. “Transportation. He got a little carried away.”

Sure. If you call shooting two innocent people
a little carried away.
Not to mention attacking Scarlett in the Lloyd Center and chasing me from school in the middle of class.

“He was out of control,” Simon said. “I'm not sorry he's gone.”

Dr. Wyden shook her head and spoke to Simon like I wasn't in the room. “We could have used him in a trial.”

Simon nodded, and they considered each other for a moment. I watched some kind of unspoken conversation pass between them, then they both turned and looked at me.

“Good idea,” he said.

My skin prickled. Now they wanted to operate on me? “But I'm not blind.”

She laughed. “We can fix that so easily.” She left the room.

Simon turned back to me. “Thanks again for taking such good care of Scarlett. I really think she's going to be the breakthrough.” Then he shrugged. “But I thought that about the last one too.” He followed Wyden out the door, his face thoughtful.

So Scarlett's dreams would all come true. If we were talking about most people's dreams, that would be a happy thought. But it wasn't with her dreams. For Scarlett and me, it meant death. Scarlett on the operating table. And me, here in this room. Regardless of Wyden's schemes to experiment on me, I had Scarlett's dream to tell me I would avoid the surgical knife. The two dead bodies behind me and Simon's gun were enough to convince me that this was the scene of my death. Soon, I would be the one lying on the floor with my blood staining the tiles.

I strained my hands against the silver tape, twisting and pulling. They didn't give.
Dad, call for help
! I pleaded in my mind. He'd probably gone to bed. Gloria wouldn't be home from Bunco for hours.

I had left my father—twice in the last few days—with the intention of never seeing him again. But as I sat taped to a chair with permanent separation in my very near future, I knew I'd been lying to myself all along.

I'd always wanted to see him again. I'd just wanted him to suffer like I'd suffered. Then maybe he'd realize he cared about me. I craved his attention now as much as I did the day I swallowed the bottle of pills. Earlier this evening, I'd thought he was finally ready to try. But I hadn't let him, and now it was too late. I groaned, remembering what I'd said to him in his office. I wished I could take back my words. Tell him how I felt.

If he really did want a second chance, my death would torment him the rest of his life. What would he do? Turn on Gloria? That wasn't what I wanted, but I grinned anyway then shook my head. I could live with Gloria, if I got a chance to live.

I had to change fate. Undo Scarlett's dream. I was in control of my own destiny, and it would not end here. Neither would Scarlett's. I worked on the duct tape again, twisting and pulling to loosen the bonds.

I lowered my head to bite the tape, but I couldn't reach it. I scanned the room for anything I could use. A cabinet with a big vat of something next to it stood against one wall. The vat plus the drain in the middle of the floor and the strong smell of formaldehyde gave me a pretty good idea of what this room was used for.

I scooted toward the cabinet, using the weight of my body to lurch the chair across the floor. I tried to be stealthy, but the clanging of the metal legs sounded like a stampede of linebackers wearing steel cleats. I finally got close enough to open the cupboard door with my teeth. I stared, momentarily transfixed by the bottles and boxes of embalming supplies. Lots of hexaphene—whatever that was—a metal jar of
Leakproof Skin
, a tub of mortician's wax, and an ominous carton with a photo of a spiky-looking mouth guard labeled
Natural Expression Mouth Former.
Yuck. There was one potential profession I could cross off my list.

On the opposite side of the room was a small chest of drawers made of steel. I crossed the room again, sweating with the exertion, even in the freezing temperature. I wore my coat, and a weight in the pocket gave me hope that my dad's gun was still there.

They had to hear me clattering around, but maybe they didn't care. I opened the first drawer. Inside, a tray full of surgical instruments rattled. One was a scalpel with a long, thin blade. Again, with my mouth, and bending at a very uncomfortable angle, I got it out of the drawer, seriously hoping it had been sterilized since its last use. But I wondered, because if they were dead, what was the point of preventing cross-contamination?

I transferred the blade to my hand, twisting it in my fingers until I had it aimed backward at the tape on my wrist. I sawed through, slicing open a few spots on my skin in the attempt. When I got one hand free, it took only seconds to finish the job. I pulled the tape off my wrists—along with a layer of skin—and then undid my feet.

I had to check the bodies. Wyden could have lied about Scarlett's still being alive. I lifted the sheets off their faces, one at a time. The first one was an elderly Asian man. He looked normal—for a dead guy. No dangling eyes or blood seeping out his ears from a fried brain.

My mind flashed back to my mother's funeral. Her pale face blank and lifeless. My dad had lifted me up in his arms so I could see into the casket. I'd tried to tell him it wasn't her. It didn't look like her. I buried my head in his shoulder and cried while he stroked my back, one of his silent tears falling on my face. The next day, we were strangers.

I reached out to feel the dead man's skin. It was like touching a refrigerated grapefruit.

I slipped the sheet off the second body and jumped back. It was a woman with black holes where her eyes should have been. She looked maybe Gloria's age, and other than the vacant sockets, she seemed undamaged. If I didn't hurry, that would be Scarlett.

The door to the cold room was thick and solid. I pulled it open and stepped into the stairwell. To my left, stairs led up to another door, and straight ahead, there was an elevator. I figured they must use the elevator for transporting bodies up and down from the cold room. I grabbed my dad's gun out of my pocket. I'd never fired one before and was probably no better than Simon. With my luck, I'd shoot my eye out. At least then Wyden wouldn't be able to practice on me.

I crept up the stairs and cracked the door. The hallway was deserted, as was Scarlett's room—her gurney was gone. They must have started the operation next door. Katie and possibly Maggie might also be in there. In Scarlett's dream, Katie was watching, helping. Probably like Scarlett, she didn't have a choice.

I paused with my hand on the knob. What now? Open the door and shoot? I didn't want to kill anyone—except maybe Simon. But how else could I get Scarlett out alive?

I took several quick breaths and gave the handle a silent turn, opening it to a tiny slit and peeking in. Dr. Wyden was bent over some tiny equipment, jabbing at something with a pair of tweezers. Gary stood poised over Scarlett, ready with a needle to hook her up to the IV again. A girl Scarlett's age sat on a folding chair in the corner. She had a frizz of red hair and more freckles than skin. I couldn't see Simon, but I knew he was in there, out of sight, blocked by the door.

When I pulled the door open, Simon was the first to respond. He reached for his gun on the counter behind him. I aimed at his torso, hoping to incapacitate rather than kill. I squeezed the trigger and the explosion cracked the air, my ears ringing with the blast. He slammed back into the counter and fell to the floor.

Gary turned on me, throwing punches. “Run, Scarlett,” I yelled while trying to block him.

“Katie!” Scarlett screamed.

Katie jumped from her chair and started working on the tape that secured Scarlett's hands and legs, slicing through it with a scalpel. I threw myself on Gary, shoving him into the medical equipment that lined the walls. He lost his balance and fell backward.

Katie grabbed Scarlett's hand, and they ran for the door. Wyden cut them off, pointing Simon's gun at Katie. In the midst of all the commotion, I registered Wyden's instincts. She lived with a blind daughter and knew that pointing the gun at Scarlett would do nothing. Katie, however, came to a halt.

Wyden slipped her gun into her lab-coat pocket. She grabbed Katie and Scarlett and towed them from the room. Scarlett struggled against her, trying to jerk her arm out of Wyden's grip. Katie withered. Maybe she'd been with them too long and had already given up.

Gary scrambled off the floor, and I turned my gun on him. “Stop, or I'll shoot.”

He flashed a wild grin. I pulled the trigger. My shot grazed his side but didn't stop him. He came at me again, one fist slamming into my face and the other into my gut. I doubled over, and he cracked something heavy across my back.

I staggered to the side, fighting to aim my gun at him. I fired again, and Gary spun around, hitting the floor face first. He moaned but didn't get up.

“Christian!” Scarlett called.

I ran into the hallway, hunched over from the blow to my back. Wyden was dragging the girls toward the back door and the carport.

“Stop, Wyden. Stop right there.”

She released the terrified girls. I didn't dare shoot with Scarlett and Katie so close. My hesitation gave Wyden time to point her gun at me.

“Run away, Scarlett,” I said. “When you find someone, tell them to take you to my dad.” He liked Scarlett, and he'd look out for her—in case Wyden pulled the trigger first.