Color Blind (41 page)

“I do, but…”

“There are other lights behind you, in the dining room. The switch is just on the wall, to your left. It won’t be much light. Just enough. See those shell-like forms, that’s all, there are small lights inside them, but it will be enough to see.”

“I can see.”

“But I can’t. How will I know if what you say is right?” Kate was putting it together. The words. The colors. The paintings. Everything a test for him. A challenge to see the colors. She’d play the game.

“Okay. For a minute. Just to show you.”

“Grrrrrrrrreat,” said Kate.

“Don’t make fun of Tony.”

“I wasn’t. I thought Tony would like that.”

“You never know with Tony.”

The switch was six feet from where he stood. Maybe enough time when he went for it, for Kate to make her move, get the gun.

He jagged to the side, hit the lights, and leaped back fast, knife stopping only inches from Nola, who tried to pull back, strangled noises emanating from her throat. Not nearly enough time.

Arcs of soft light fanned out of the crescent-shaped sconces, washing the walls and the room in a diffused glow, blurring edges, paintings merging with furniture, shadows holding on to their secrets, but Kate could see him clearly now, handsome, baby-faced, shaggy brownish-blond hair falling into large sad eyes. A boy, she thought. Just a boy. How is it possible that this person, this young man, this smooth-cheeked boy was responsible for so much pain, capable of such horror?

“You’ll show me now—how I cured you. It can be a game.”

“I’m tired of games.” His boyish face seemed to grow older for a minute.
Old men and their games. Pants down. Face in a pillow. Atta boy. Feels good, doesn’t it. Pain.
“Help me. Somebody. Please. Help!”

“I’ll help you,” said Kate. “Please. Let me.”

His eyelids fluttered, more blinking. “You did already. You rescued me.
Do you really want to hurt
—
Gr
rrrrrrrrrreat
—
Double your pleasure
—
It’s Casey Kasem with the American Top Forty
—
Wolfman Jack here
—” His mind, splintering. “No! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” The knife was swinging, nipping at Nola’s blouse.

Oh, God.
“Listen to me. Listen.” Kate was trying to make contact, took a step closer. She could take him now. Maybe. But if he panicked, Nola was a goner. “Talk to me. Tell me how I saved you.”

He closed his eyes a moment, and Kate made a move to her bag, fingers inching in.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” She showed him her empty hand. “Nothing.”
Damn. Have to keep him talking.

“Look at me,” he said.

“I am.”

“It was
me
. Don’t you remember?
Look
.”

“No, I—What do you want me to see?”

“I want you to see
me
. Then. That time.” His eyes, a moment ago twitching, lost in some mental chaos, were now so sad.

“I see you, but…”Kate tried to imagine what it was he wanted from her.

“You
saved
me. Why can’t you remember?” He sounded close to tears.

“I’m trying to remember, but…”

“Think!”

Kate’s mind was scrambling, but she had no idea what it was he wanted from her, what he wanted her to remember. Was he simply rambling? “Yes, I’m thinking. But help me out. I need help too.”

“Why do you need help?”

Kate thought a moment. “Because, like you, I’m sad. Very, very sad. My husband is dead. They killed him. Hurt him. Hurt
me
. And all I want to do is cry. All the time.”

“I’m sorry you’re sad.”

“Me too. Now tell me what it is you want me to remember.
Please
.”

“That man. He’s the one. One of many. Snake. Drake. Fake. Bake. Stake. Lake.
Snake
.” His eyes blinked violently, then stopped, and he seemed to become perfectly lucid. “The man, remember? The one she sold me to. He had us tied up. And he took pictures, and he touched me—me and that other boy.”

Oh my God.
What he’d been trying to let her know, those faces drawn in the borders of his last painting, with tape across their mouths.
Of course.
She had seen it but not understood. But now she did. Long Island City. She and Liz on the stakeout for that child pornographer, Malcolm Gormely. She could taste the sugary Dunkin’ Donuts on her tongue, feel the sweat on her palms as they waited, and remembered what she had thought when they found those poor kids, Denny Klingman and the other boy, bound and gagged, naked and shivering, that she would kill the guy, if she could, and almost did, the beating she’d given Gormely after Liz had taken the kids to the station.

“When I saw you and remembered, I knew you would save me all over again. And you did. I’m cured now.” His whole body trembled a moment. “But how could you let her take me again? Sara Jane, you know. My…m-mo-mother—motherfucker, cocksucker! She took me to Snake. But I took care of her—and the ones like her.”

The whore, just a kid herself. His mother, whom he had murdered. And the other victims, the hookers, like her.

Kate tried to reconstruct the young woman’s image, his mother, but could not. “It was a mistake,” she said. “That she took you. I didn’t want it to be, and I would never have allowed it, but—it happened. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“Yes.”

“Everybody’s always sorry.
Who’s sorry now—sorry,
wrong number.
Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” His face was contorting, hand wavering, butcher knife shaking above Nola’s pregnant belly, the tip tearing her blouse.

The girl emitted a strangled moan, and Kate made eye contact with her, tried to telegraph that it would be okay—though she didn’t know if it would be. She had to get to her gun.

“She sold me. Sold me. More than once. To Snake. To others. Give it to me, that’s right, so big, so strong, shut up shut up.
Today’s weather will be partly cloudy with…where’s the beef?
Shut up shut up shut up…”

He seemed to be falling apart in front of her eyes, his brain splitting into fragments. But he would stab Nola if she blew it. Kate’s eyes fell on the vial of Ambien beside the counter where she’d left it the other night. But how could she possibly get him to take it?

“It was horrible, I know. You were just a child.” Kate pictured him perfectly. The pretty little boy with the pouty lips who did not cry when they rescued him. How many more like him were out there? “Please. Let me help you.”

“Help you, help me. Help me. Help me. Help me.”

Kate went for the gun. She had to try.

But he instantly came back to the moment. “Stop! What are you doing? You want to hurt me!”

“No, I—I—” Kate let her hand drop from the bag. “You said I saved you, remember? I took you away from that man. You know that. And you said I saved you again. How did I do that?”

“The miracle. Miracle Whip.
I can’t believe it’s not butter!
Butter shutter whatter mutter. Mutter. Mother. Motherfucker! Baby sucker! Baby fucker!” His blinking eyes were rolling up, the whites gleaming, and his hands were quavering on the knife as if he might drop it.

The gun.
Could she get it now or would he snap back into reality? She didn’t know what to do, the knife looked ready to take a plunge. “Jasper. Jasper.” Kate said his name softly and it seemed to pull him back, and he focused on her. “Listen to me. We have to figure this out. You and me. Together. Okay? Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.” His face muscles convulsed along with his eye tics. Was she losing him again?

“Tell me about the miracle.”

“It’s all fine now. Everything is…restored.” He smiled and the spasms abated and even his eyes stopped blinking and for a moment his face was like the face of the little boy in that Long Island City house of horrors. “I knew if I saw you, talked to you, it would be okay, that it would stay forever, the miracle. And it has. I can see everything. Perfectly.”

“That’s wonderful. I’m so pleased. You see there’s no need for this. You don’t have to hurt anyone to see anymore.”

“Maybe…”He glanced over the room, eyes blinking again. “All the paintings, the rug. So beautiful. All the color. I’ll show you.” He used the butcher knife as a pointer. “There. In that painting. The top is all green, pine green. Right?”

Dead wrong. It was a deep blue. But did he want her to lie, or tell the truth? Kate had no idea.

“And there…” He aimed the knife at the rug. “Lots of colors, magenta and fuchsia and, oh yeah, a whole lot of laser lemon.”

The rug was a mix of tan and gray.

“And your eyes.” He smiled at her. “Your beautiful blue eyes. They are blue, right?”

Kate didn’t know what she should say, opted for a noncommittal, “Uh-huh.”

“You’re not lying to me, are you? Please, don’t lie. Not you.” He steadied the knife directly over Nola’s heart.

Kate swallowed a gasp. “No. I won’t lie to you. Ever. You don’t have to do that. Please.”

“That’s good.” He smiled at her across Nola’s swollen belly, and waited.

“I’ll only tell you the truth, Jasper.” Kate took a breath. “My eyes are green.”

“They’re blue.”

“I’m sorry. But they’re green.”

“That can’t be.” The veins in his temples were bulging.

Oh, God.
Had she miscalculated? But what choice did she have?

“They
have
to be blue. Don’t you understand? Can’t you see that? They
have
to be!” His eyes were twitching and blinking furiously. “Blue blue sniffing glue. Touch me there, no, there, here, there, everywhere!” The knife was only an inch from Nola’s heart, hovering, ready to dive.

“No, Jasper,
listen
to me.” She had to keep him with her. “I can help you to see that my eyes are green, that the painting is blue, that the rug is tan and gray.”

“Nooooooo!” He raised the knife above Nola’s belly. “You’re wrong. I’ll prove it to you!”

“Stop!” Kate’s heart was racing, and she felt sickness rising in her throat. “Wait. Don’t do that. Look at me. Look at me. I can help you. Listen to me. I saved you once, didn’t I? Let me save you again.” She sought out his twitching eyes. “Let me save you.
Please
.”

“Please squeeze tease. Tease me. Please me. Touch me. Suck me. Fuck me.”

“Jasper.” Kate spoke with quiet authority. “You
must
listen to me. Stop it at once.”

He glanced up at her, mouth slightly open, eyes blinking, but her tone had worked, had brought him back to reality, at least for the moment. “But I have to do this. Don’t you understand? It’s the only way I can see the colors.” He gripped his other hand around the knife, poised, ready. “It’s the only way.”

“No, it isn’t. I know another way.”

“You do?” He was squinting now, skeptical, but Kate knew he wanted to believe her.

“Yes. There, right beside you. Those pills. Do you see them?”

He shifted his blinking glance and saw the vial of Ambien.

“I take them. To see. They help me to see the colors. And I know a lot about color, don’t I?”

He glanced from the pills to Kate. “They tried to give me pills in that place. But I fooled them.”

“Yes, you did. And you were right. But these pills are different. These are special pills.” Kate thought about Mitch Freeman’s description of the drug—a hypnotic—and his words:
You have to believe in it.
“These pills will make you see. I promise.” Kate could see him weighing it, wanting to believe her.

“You take one.” He took one hand off the knife and tossed her the vial.

Could she fight off the effect? She knew a pill would slow her reflexes, maybe even make her hallucinate. But it would do the same for him. At the very least calm him. She pried off the lid. There were four pills left. She had hoped for more, and that she could convince him to take enough to knock him out. Kate placed a pill on her tongue.

“Don’t hide it,” he said. “I did that. I fooled them.
Just for the fun of it!
I need to see you swallow it.”

Kate’s throat was dry and the pill stuck a moment, but she managed it. She tossed the vial back to him, and it landed on the counter just beside Nola.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “The colors are so…amazing.”

“It works so fast?”

“Sometimes. Yes. The more pills you take, the faster it works.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me?”

“I have never lied to you—and never will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“And you won’t hurt me?” Kicks, slaps, hunger, pain, a montage of images playing in his brain.

“No. I will not hurt you.”

“Do you swear?”

He seemed to regress, looked so much like that helpless little boy she had once rescued.

“Yes. They work. You will see color.
Believe
me.”

He pried the top off with one hand just as Kate had done, shook all the pills into his mouth, and swallowed.

Silence. The knife still above Nola’s pregnant belly. Hand gripping it. Knuckles going white.

“Sometimes it takes a few minutes. Trust me.” Kate was holding her breath.

Jasper was still blinking and squinting, muttering bits of jingles and ads and songs.

“Patience,” said Kate.

Minutes like hours. But time for Kate to think, to remember that Brown was number five on her auto-dial—she had programmed him in by the number of letters in his name. Right. Her fingertips moved over the tiny embossed circles, counting them, and she pressed what she hoped was five.

Jasper was still blinking, but in slow motion now. She could see the pills were having an effect. He licked his lips. His head swayed a bit. His muttering had stopped. Shoulders eased. “I see them,” he said. “The colors. The true colors.”

“I knew you would. Look at me. My eyes are green, aren’t they?”

He blinked slowly in her direction. Kate could see he was having some trouble staying awake. “Yes.”