Blinded

Chapter 20

Brian sat on the sofa and listened to the radio. He had found a station that was reporting on the big snowstorm that was in the process of pummeling Pittsburgh. It was a good thing that Justin was safe at home and not out on the roads where the number of accidents was growing by the minute. Cynthia had decided to leave after making him a sandwich and some soup. He had eaten the soup while it was hot, but he had little appetite for the sandwich. His stomach was in a knot being left all alone in the loft for the whole night.

Once the weather report was over Brian got up and walked to the windows. He used to like to look out from his perch above the masses, down at the little people on the street, out at storms like the one that was currently raging, or out at the sunshine on a bright day.

He wished he could see the storm. He wished he could see anything. He had been hoping all day for another glimmer of light or a movement of shadows. Unfortunately he had not seen anything except the perpetual darkness that he was all too familiar with. Brian sighed and went to the stereo to turn off the radio. He sat down deciding that he would try to work on his novel.

He found the recorder complete with the new tape that Cynthia had put in for him. She had sent his other tapes off to the transcribing service. They would be returned all typed up in a couple of days. He had asked for a hard copy and also to have it saved to disc so that he could load it on his computer … when he got his sight back. Everything hinged on that. When would that be? Right now would be nice. He sighed as he stared out into the darkness. But apparently it would not be now. Fate seemed to have other plans for him.

Brian thought about what he had last dictated for his novel. He had been concentrating on Jackson's side of the story. Somehow that seemed appropriate while Justin was around. Being without the company of the young man Brian decided he wanted to write about Stryker and how he disposed of the body. He thought about that for a minute. Most writers would find his method of writing very bizarre. He was sure they all wrote in a linear fashion from the beginning to the end. He, on the other hand, wrote whatever caught his imagination at the moment. He would assemble it all later. It was much easier to do that on the computer where he could cut and paste. He could load what was on the transcribed disc and organize everything later… when he could see.

Brian wondered how Stryker would have transported the body of Jackson to that dumpster behind the Liberty Diner. He supposed that fear gave a person extra strength, a huge adrenaline rush. Stryker would need that if he was going to lift Jackson into that dumpster.

Unless … unless he had an accomplice. That sent Brian's mind off in a whole new direction. Who would his accomplice possibly be? Would they both have abused the boy? Would the accomplice be one of Stryker's lovers or a neighbor or another policeman? Jesus, Brian shivered at that thought. No, Stryker would work alone and the adrenaline rush would account for his ability to carry Jackson's body and throw it in the dumpster.

Brian pushed the 'record' button and started.

Stryker dragged the nude body of Jackson to the edge of the bed. He struggled to put the boy's clothes back on not wanting any remnants of the boy to remain in his house. When he finally accomplished that he squatted slightly and pulled the boy onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. He staggered slightly as he righted his load. Slowly he made his way towards the garage. If he could get the kid into the trunk he would be able to drive the body away from his home, away from any possible connection with him.

As he slammed the trunk shut, Stryker blinked wishing that was the last time he would have to look at the dead, cold body he had just carried out. But he would have to do that once more when he found a place to dispose of it. Stryker leaned against the back of his car trying to get his breath back. The kid was heavier than he looked and it had taken a lot out of Stryker carrying him from the bedroom to the garage. Thank God he had a door from the house into the garage, and he didn't have to carry the body outside where someone could have seen him.

Stryker pushed the button to open the garage door. He climbed into the driver's seat and started the car. He wished he had a plan of what he was going to do with the body, but he didn't. He just knew that he had to get it out of his house.

He put the car in reverse and started to back down the driveway.

Brian shut off the recorder. He played back what he had dictated. It sounded plausible. Maybe he needed to make Stryker struggle a little more with the body. He sat lost in thought when he thought he heard something from outside the loft door. He sat up and turned towards the door, his ears straining for any repetition of the sound. He heard nothing.

He was sure the door was locked. That was the last thing he had done when Cynthia left. He sat in silence listening, waiting. He wondered what time it was. He had eaten his sandwich long after Cynthia left. He hadn't really wanted it, but she had gone to all the trouble of making it, and she would return in the morning to chew him out if she found it uneaten. Then he had listened to the radio for a while, finally finding news about the storm. He wasn't sure what station or what time that had been. And then he had worked on his book. He wondered if it was midnight yet.

There it was again, some kind of scraping noise against the loft door. Was somebody trying to get in? Brian recoiled in fear. This was his worst nightmare, being alone and blind and having someone break in. He listened intently concentrating all of his attention on the door. His legs came up and he wrapped his arms around them curling into a sitting fetal position.

There was the noise again. He was sure he heard it this time. It was all he could do to stop himself from whimpering out loud. He waited. What else could he do? He didn't think anyone could get in. They would go away eventually. They had to. He reached for the phone thinking that he could dial 911 if he needed to. He had set it on the sofa after he talked to Justin. Where the fuck was it? He felt all around, but to no avail. He couldn't find it.

And then he heard the loft door being pulled back. Someone was coming in.

"Justin?" he said hopefully.

"Afraid not!" a strange voice said.

"Who … who are you?" Brian demanded trying to sound brave and powerful. "How did you get in?"

"I have my ways," the voice replied.

"What do you want?"

"Get up!"

"What?"

"Stand the fuck up!" Brian hoped his shaking legs would support him as he stood up. "Start walking."

"Where … where are we going?" Brian asked in an unsteady voice.

"Shut up and walk."

"But I can't see."

"I know. Walk!"

Brian began to move forward reaching out with his foot to see if anything was in his way. He knew how to get around the loft but his brain didn't seem to be functioning very well at the moment, and he didn't know where the fuck this guy wanted him to go. After a few tentative steps, he stopped.

"Keep moving. Turn to the right."

Brian did as directed. He could feel the man behind him. He stopped once again. "I … I don't know where I'm going," Brian said trying to keep the fear out of his voice.

"I do. Move."

Brian continued to walk slowly forward.

"Turn left," the voice ordered. Brian took a few more steps. "Now right." Again Brian slowly followed the instructions. He thought maybe he was outside the loft. The floor felt different on his bare feet. "Climb the stairs."

"Stairs?" Brian asked. "But all that's up there is the roof."

"Smart fellow. That's your fucking problem. Too smart! Climb!"

Brian felt for the wall and used it to help guide his feet up the stairs. What was this guy going to do with him? There was a fucking blizzard outside and he had no shoes, and no coat. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He would freeze to death up there. And then it hit him. This guy was going to kill him. He continued to climb trying to think what to do. He was going to die.

"Why are you doing this?" Brian asked with a shaky voice.

"Shut up!"

"If you're going to kill me what difference does it make if you tell me why?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out yet?"

"Not as smart as I thought, but you've come way too close."

"Too close to what? What the fuck are you talking about?" Brian demanded.

"Shut up. We're almost there."

Brian knew he was running out of time. What could he do? Once he was out on that roof he was at the mercy of the elements … and this man. He wondered if he would be pushed from the rooftop or left there to freeze. It didn't much matter. He'd be dead either way. One would be fast and one slow. He tried to pick one. Maybe freezing was preferable. He remembered reading that you got sleepy and when you drifted off you just never woke up. That would be all right. Besides he didn't like the idea of being a deformed puddle on the curb of Tremont Street. He shivered with fear.

"Stop," the man commanded. Brian halted and waited. He could feel the man beside him and the blast of cold air told him that the door to the roof was now open. Brian knew this would be the only chance he might have to save himself. He reached for the man and when he made contact with his body, he shoved as hard as he could trying to push the man down the stairs. He prayed the guy would trip on the steps and fall to his death. He felt the man grab hold of him and for a split second Brian thought they both were going to go flying down the stairs.

Suddenly the man seemed to right himself and Brian knew his plan had failed. Brian felt himself being shoved unceremoniously out into the snowstorm. His feet did not make the last step and he sprawled awkwardly into the snow on the roof.

"Get up!" the man commanded.

Brian stayed still. He wasn't going to help this guy kill him. He felt a hand grab his hair and yank it with enough force that Brian thought he would be bald in that spot. He had no choice but to rise with the extreme pain in his scalp. He stood shakily feeling the wind whistle around him and the snow cover his face. He was trembling violently. He wasn't sure if it was from the cold or the fear.

"Walk," the man ordered.

"Wh … Where?" Brian stammered.

"Doesn't matter, just move."

Brian took a few steps. He had no idea how close he was to the edge of the roof. "Please!" he gasped.

"Shut up and keep walking."

Brian took a few more steps and then his leg hit something. It had to be the short wall that surrounded the roof. He had reached the end.

"Now jump!"

"I … I can't," Brian pleaded.

"Jump! Now!"

Brian turned around and looked up to the heavens. He never prayed. He had given that up when he had stopped being an altar boy. But at that moment it seemed like the right thing to do. It had to be the last remnant of the good Catholic upbringing he had received. He raised his foot.

"What the fuck is going on out here?" a voice yelled into the storm.

Brian felt a hand shove him and then there was the sound of running feet. Brian teetered on the edge trying to regain his balance. His raised foot hit the top of the wall and it stopped his forward momentum. That was probably what saved him from going over the edge. Suddenly arms came around him and pulled him back from the brink. He leaned into the embrace and let the tears come. Someone had saved him.

"Let's get you inside," the voice said. Brian felt himself being half dragged half carried back into the building and down the stairs. He was numb from the cold and from fear and from relief. He let himself be led. He was relieved to have someone make all the decisions for him.

Brian was shivering uncontrollably. He heard his savior tell him to climb the steps up to the bedroom. He felt his clothes being removed. He did not protest. Arms led him to the shower and shoved him in under the warm water. He stood unmoving letting the warm water pour over him. Gradually he could feel the warmth seep into his system. He could feel some of the numbness ebb away. He heard the shower door open and someone led him out drying him off tenderly. He was led to the bed and he sank into the sheets feeling the duvet come up and cover him. He felt it being tucked in around his body. He relished the warmth and safety.

"Brian," a voice said. "You're all right now. I'm here and I'll protect you."

Brian closed his eyes. He felt his savior pull him over against his body and he knew he was clasped in the man's embrace. It felt so good. His head fell against the strong chest and he let himself drift.

He had survived. He was so sure he was going to die up there on that roof, but somehow with the help of this man he had cheated death. He was still alive and now he was warm and safe.

He felt the man rock him gently in his arms. It felt so good, so soothing.

"Brian, remember that I'm here. I won't let anybody hurt you."

With that, utter exhaustion overtook Brian. He felt reality slip away and he slept safe and sound in the arms of this man who loved him.