Blind Spot. Nancy Bush

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      Darlene walked to the television and pressed the button for the power switch. She changed the channel until she found a game show and Gibby, who felt pressure building, beat at his own head. “There,” Darlene said.

      “Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” Gibby screamed.

      Darlene came back in a flash, leaning into his right ear. “If you want the TV on, you have to be quiet.”

      “Nooo!”

      “Yes.”

      “I don’t want the TV. I don’t care about the damn TV.” He threw a hand in his companion’s direction. “She wants the TV. I don’t give a damn.”

      “She doesn’t care about the TV,” Darlene said. “She doesn’t know whether it’s on or not.”

      “She does! She said so.”

      “She doesn’t speak.”

      “She does! She does!”

      “Gibby, if you don’t calm down, you’re going back to your room.”

      He grabbed onto his chair and started rocking. “No!”

      “It’s up to you. TV time. Or back to your room.”

      “She wants the TV. She does. She said so.”

      Darlene motioned to Greg, and Gibby knew he was going to be hauled away from his new friend. He gazed at his blond friend wildly. She gazed back at him. Her eyes were blue, blue, blue.

      “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

      “I’ll be back! I’ll be back!” Greg and one of the other big guys who yanked Gibby around whenever he got upset walked toward him, but Gibby shot out of his chair. “Okay. I’ll go. Okay. I’ll go.”

      Darlene folded her arms and gazed at him in that mean way. Gibby shuffled off toward his room but glanced back just before he turned the corner. The blond woman’s eyes were sending out blue laser beams. She was saying something, wasn’t she?

      “I’ll miss you,” Gibby yelled at her. “You’re my friend!”

      She didn’t respond, but then Darlene got in the way and he couldn’t see the laser beams any longer. Darlene was looking down at her hard, like she thought she was lying or something. She always thought Gibby was lying to her but he never was.

      Help me…. Tasha thought again, but the words floated away slowly. She could see the words. They were black. Right in the air in front of her. But they were leaving, and after a while she couldn’t see them anymore. Couldn’t remember what they’d said. She wanted to reach out a hand and grab them, but her hands were tied with leather thongs.

      Time passed…it grew darker. They moved her to her room, fed her, left her alone.

      But they always kept her tied. She had to get away. She had to escape.

      When? How?

      They were coming. She could hear the death knell of their footsteps.

      Coming for her.

      Coming for her.

      She tried to scream. The scream was in her throat but it was caught there. As caught as she was by them. She heard their steps on the floorboards and smelled the scent of seawater.

      The ocean…so near and yet so far.

      She had to get away. Get away. Get away….

      Somewhere outside her world, a woman’s voice: “Look at her. Get Dr. Norris.”

      “You mean Dr. Freeson?” a man’s voice questioned.

      “Norris! I don’t give a damn about Freeson!”

      “I’ll go.” A younger woman.

      “Hurry,” the first woman urged. “I think she’s coming out of it.”

      Chapter 3

      The coroner’s office was painted green and smelled of antiseptic with a faint underlying metallic scent that Lang recognized as blood. An autopsy was taking place in an adjoining room, and as Lang watched, the door to that room opened and the medical examiner stepped through in bloodstained scrubs. Seeing Lang, he brushed by and growled, “Who are you? You’re in the wrong place.”

      “I came to see the body that was found at the rest stop.”

      He was tall and stooped and had a tendency to glare. He glared at Lang, who returned his gaze blandly. “On whose authority?”

      “Sheriff Nunce,” Lang lied. He hadn’t heard back from Nunce yet. The man was on vacation and Lang, surprising even himself, had been bitten by the need to do something and had moved forward as if he were the homicide detective assigned to the case.

      “Nunce didn’t call me.”

      Lang shrugged. “Yeah, well. I’m Detective Langdon Stone. Portland P.D. We’re helping County on this one.”

      “Winslow County,” the man said suspiciously. “Not Multnomah.”

      “They’re short on manpower,” Lang went on, freewheeling. “Call Nunce and check it out.”

      “I don’t have time to entertain you or the sheriff.” He pushed through another door, Lang right on his heels.

      “Show me the body and I’ll leave you alone.”

      “When Nunce calls me, then we’ll talk.”

      “You want it that way? Sure, I’ll just sit down over here.” Lang grabbed a rolling stool with a Naugahyde top and plopped down on it. He glanced at a tray of utensils sitting on the counter and reached a hand in to pull up a scalpel.

      “Pain in the ass,” the doctor snarled, then threw up one hand in a gesture for Lang to follow. Lang jumped up and strode to catch up with the man, who turned right and pushed through swinging doors into another green room, this one with a bank of stainless steel drawers, the kind that held bodies. Lang unconsciously held his breath against the odor of death, though there was none. He’d seen his share of dead bodies but it always gave him a moment’s pause; his own particular need for solemnity and the passing of a human spirit.

      The drawer ran back with a loud rattle, evidence of his guide’s impatience. Inside was a young man with dark hair, olive skin, and a body slashed and stabbed with knife wounds. An autopsy had been performed to determine cause of death, and the Y of the incision stood out against his sallow pallor.

      “Stab wound to the heart did it,” the doctor told him dispassionately. “Not the first wound, but it was the C.O.D.”

      Cause of death.

      “Anything else?” Lang asked.

      “No СКАЧАТЬ