Blindness (36 page)

Within minutes, I see the lights flashing
behind me, and I know everyone’s here. I feel Brian pulling at my
shoulders, urging me off of the ground, away from him. But I can’t
leave his side. I won’t.

“
Charlie, you have to let them work,” he
says, finally lifting me from under my arms. I drag my feet,
reluctantly.

I watch from outside, standing next to
Brian, my arm tucked in his for support, while the paramedics work
on Mac. I see bag after bag come out from the fire truck and watch
as officers swarm the area, pull tape from the camera, talk to the
clerk. I’ve seen it all so many times, usually well after the
tragedy, while my dad worked a scene.

“
I saw him,” I say, my voice flat and
lifeless. I know in that instant Mac is gone—he’s left me. I can
tell, because my fire is gone, too.

“
Charlie, we need to know what you saw. I
know it’s hard, and now’s not the time…” Brian starts, but I turn
to him, letting the tears drip endlessly down my chin.

“
He’s gone. Mac’s gone. He shot him…in the
head, Brian. But I saw it…” I swallow hard, and I start to
hyperventilate, so I lean forward, holding my hands on my knees. “I
saw the entire thing. I saw his face,” I say, “and I’ll never
forget it.”

Chapter
18: Welcome to Louisville

Trevor only bought two seats to Louisville,
but Cody wasn’t going to let me be there alone, so he drove, all
through the night and part of the morning. We got to Caroline’s
late. I warned Trevor, but I don’t think anything could have done
justice to the craziness he found inside her house—inside Mac’s old
house.

The rows of boxes, newspapers, old letters,
magazines, soda cartons—you name it, if it’s made of paper,
Caroline’s saved it and turned it into a building block for the
maze she now lives in. The smell is worse than when I left. She
says she doesn’t have any cats, but I’ve seen at least two since we
arrived late last night.

We slept in my old room, Trevor on a sleeping
bag on the floor, and me in my small childhood bed. Though, I
really didn’t sleep at all. Instead, I stared out my window, at the
stars outside, and did my best to talk to Mac silently.

When Cody called me this morning, I told
Trevor I was meeting him for breakfast, and he insisted he come as
well. For the last hour, the three of us have been sitting in the
same booth at the Sunday Diner, drinking refill after refill of
coffee while I wait for my phone to ring.

Caroline isn’t coming out of the house today.
She said the ozone report made her nervous. I don’t fight it any
more; I know my aunt needs help, but I don’t know where to begin.
I’m not sure I’ll even survive the next hour of things before me,
so who am I to judge her and how she copes.

I can’t look at either of them—Trevor keeps
bouncing his gaze nervously between Cody and me, and Cody refuses
to look up from his cup of coffee. I can feel him only a few feet
away from me, and it’s almost like we’re touching. I want to reach
out and hold his hand, but he’s purposely sitting as far away from
me in the booth as he can—out of respect for Trevor.

The table shakes with the nervous bouncing of
Trevor’s knee, and I question quietly the fifth cup of coffee he
pours. When he downs it, he smacks his cup down loudly on the table
and starts to slide from his seat.

“Fuck this, man,” Trevor says, like a volcano
erupting. I wince, embarrassed from the looks we’ve gotten from his
little outburst.

“Trevor,” I whisper to him, hoping he’ll find
his decorum.

“Sorry, Charlotte…or, I’m sorry, is it
Charlie now? Or is that just for
him?”
Trevor says, bite to
his tone.

I look into his eyes, trying to let my regret
show. Not that I would change my mind, but I just wish I could have
settled all of this sooner, confessed how I felt, been upfront
before anything happened with Cody.

“Just…just don’t, okay?” he says, flipping
open his wallet to pull out a couple bucks to throw on the
table.

My phone buzzes, and I jump in my seat.

“Hello?” I ask, recognizing the 502 area
code, but somehow frightened of it.

“Hey, Charlie,” Brian says, his voice heavy,
older, and tired. “We’re ready for you, if you can come in?”

I tap my spoon on the table in front of my
cup, biting my tongue. I
have
to do this, but I don’t
want
to. I’m scared—no matter how irrational I know it is.
I’m frightened that the suspect,
this man
, is going to be
the
man. I’m also afraid he’s not.

“Charlie?” Brian says, and I can tell he’s
worried. He’s afraid I’m going to chicken out.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’ll be there in ten
minutes,” I say, hanging up on him without a goodbye. I’m short
with him, and I feel awful about it, but talking to Brian hurts.
I’ve talked to him every six months for the last three years,
always rehashing my story, what I saw, anything new I remember. I
know he’s just doing his job. I know he’s more dedicated to finding
Mac’s killer than most—Brian and Mac were best friends, and
partners. But talking to him makes everything inside hurt, and I
guess I’m just growing tired of hurting, and then fighting to bury
it back down.

Trevor hasn’t left, and I know it’s because
he heard Brian call. I’m glad he’s still here. He knows the law,
and he understands everything I’m about to do, go through, say and
see—and there’s something comforting in that. But what I want more
than anything, right now, is to crawl up in Cody’s lap and hide,
hide for hours.

“It’s time,” I say, sliding out and walking
up front to pay our bill.

“I’ll drive,” Cody says, his fingers grazing
my shoulder and arms as he walks by, and for just a few seconds I
forget it all and feel good.

The parking lot is full of weeds and
cracks—it’s not the best part of town. But it’s the place Mac and I
ate, so I wanted to come here. It seemed fitting before I went in
to send his killer behind bars for what I hoped would be
forever.

Trevor rented a car from the airport, and I
can tell he’s a little nervous about leaving it here unattended.
“I’ll just follow you guys,” he says, mumbling to himself as he
walks away. I know he’s loath to leave Cody and me alone, but I’m
so grateful for these few minutes I have with him.

We get in the truck, and I buckle my belt and
reach over to touch his leg, right where I saw his scar. I lay my
hand flat on it, letting it fall heavy onto him, and he looks at
it, sucking in his bottom lip, before he puts his hand on top and
strings his fingers through mine, locking us together. He brings my
hand up to his mouth and kisses the palm.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie,” he says, and I know
he is. Cody may be the only other person on earth who can
understand what I’m feeling right now. We both lost our fathers—our
idols, the molds for these adults we’ve become.

I take a deep breath and hold it in, closing
my eyes and searching for my bravery.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admit, my
throat shaking with my fear.

“You can. And I’ll be right here,” Cody says,
squeezing my hand tightly.

Trevor’s honking behind us now, his arm
rested along the wheel, and his face disgusted. I scoot a few
inches away from Cody so Trevor sees the distance between us from
his view through our back window, but I keep his hand in mine, my
grip tight.

The drive to the precinct is short, and we’re
inside asking the front security officer for Brian. I’m a little
surprised when he rounds the corner—his hair is white, and his
belly is fat. I haven’t seen him in a little over three years, but
he seems a decade older. His smile warms the closer he gets to me,
and I can’t help but feel a little joy in seeing him.

“Kiddo,” he says, his usual toothpick hanging
from the corner of his mouth, dusting the bottom of his thick
mustache.

I fold into his arms naturally, hugging him
tightly and holding on.

“You can do this,” he whispers in my ear, and
I squeeze him a little tighter, not sure that I can.

“I hope so,” I say, my throat closing as my
nerves creep up on me.

I pull away from him, but keep my arm wrapped
around his back while I stand at his side. “Brian, this is Trevor
and Cody…” I say, trailing off a little unnaturally, not sure what
to call either of them at this point. I realize at that moment
Trevor’s ring is still tucked in my pocket.

“We’re here to offer our support,” Cody says,
stepping in to shake Brian’s hand. I see Trevor stiffen defensively
when Cody speaks, and he’s reaching his hand in now, too.

“Yes, sir. I’m a clerk at federal court in
Washington, so please let me know if there’s anything I can do…to
help Charlie,” he says, trying to show off his credentials. I
shrink a little, embarrassed for him when I see how amused Brian is
by him. Trevor’s so out of his element in Louisville—Brian’s from a
camp of guys who take care of business by shooting cans out behind
old man Wheeler’s barn. But he’s nice to Trevor, smiling and
thanking him for his assistance before turning to me and rolling
his eyes.

I follow Brian up a flight of stairs, and we
go down a narrow hall to a small room with the lights off. I know
this room—I’ve been in here before. And every time, I’ve failed. I
haven’t been here since high school, but the chairs are the same.
The posters on the wall, with clever safety messages—all the same.
And I know the protective glass in front of me is the same, too—but
I let Brian explain it all again anyhow, because I like hearing it,
and it calms my nerves.

Another officer comes in to get Trevor and
Cody, to take them into a side office across the hall. I know the
drill—there will be a team of officers in here, along with the
chief, who again, is a longtime friend of Mac’s. The prosecutor’s
office will send someone down, too, just to witness and make notes,
shoring up their case. From this point forward, I know I have to be
careful of my words—and I have to be
sure…
of
everything
!

The men walk in slowly. I start at their
feet—I always do. Jeans, slacks, sweats, all on top of white tennis
shoes. Dirty sweatshirts, jerseys, and sometimes an over-sized
button down—it all feels the same, like I’m replaying this
scenario, over and over. I suck in my top lip and breathe in the
stale air, which almost makes me gag.

I move to their faces; I’ll know if this
entire trip is pointless in seconds. I start at the left and work
my way through them all. The first one is almost comical, his
cheeks round and rosy—I can tell they just grabbed him off the
streets or from the local pub. Number two is about 30 years too
old, and the guy next to him is about 15 years too young.

He’s next.

I can almost sense it before I get to him,
like I’m purposely avoiding looking, like I’m saving him for last.
I swear he can see me through the glass, his eyes forward and
lacking focus, but directed at me. He looks fucking high off his
ass, just like he did the night he shot Mac. The right side of his
face is covered in pockmarks, and his lips are pink and puffy. His
blonde hair is shaved—it was longer then—but I can see the earring,
the same small silver hoop he wore that night. There’s a cross
tattoo on the left side of his neck and marks all over his arms.
His T-shirt drapes on his skinny body, and his jeans are sagging
below his butt, held up by a belt that he has to tie.

My fingers are digging into the wood grain of
the table, and I want to bust through the glass and choke the life
from him, feel him slip away at my hands, make him pay for taking
my father away from me.

“Is there anyone you see that you think might
fit your description, that you think might be the guy you saw at
the convenience store that night?” Brian says, looking up at the
camera to make sure it’s capturing everything, and then looking
around the room at the faces of his fellow officers. They all
know—they’re all on the edge of their seats, just waiting for me to
say it.

“It’s him,” I say, my voice hiccupping as I
start to shake. “Number four; that’s him. I can see it all,
everything from that night. It’s him, Brian. That’s him!”

Brian puts his arm around me, just bracing me
to keep me from shaking more. “Okay, Charlie. I need you to be
sure,” he says, and a woman leans forward and requests the men to
stand to their side. Then she asks numbers two, four and six to
step forward—she wants me to get a better look at him.

He moves close to the glass, and I stand up
and walk around the table, right up to the glass before him—we’re
eye-to-eye, my reflection masking his. “You swear he can’t see me?”
I say, forcing my hands to stay down at my sides, my fists
balling.

“He can’t see you, Charlie. He can’t hear
you, either,” Brian says, giving me permission.

“You mother fucker! I hope you rot in hell!”
I scream, and I actually spit at the window. I feel Brain’s arm
around me again, and he backs me around the table and then leads me
out of the office.

Cody rushes up to me as soon as he sees me,
and I’m quivering, barely able to stand. I tumble to the sofa in
the small office, and Cody runs out into the hall. Trevor is
leaning along the wall opposite of me, his hand covering his mouth,
but his eyes full of sympathy.

“You saw him?” he finally asks, his voice
quiet and calming.

I only nod
yes
, and I keep my eyes
focused on the small ink stain on the carpet in front of me. I
don’t stop nodding, and when Cody comes in, I’m rocking myself back
and forth in my chair.

“Charlie, here…drink this,” he says, pulling
the lid from a bottle of water. I grasp it in both hands and start
chugging—like I’m dehydrated from a walk through the desert. I
finally pull my eyes from the stain to meet Cody’s, and I can see
the water pooling in them. He reaches up to tuck my hair behind my
ear and smiles softly, nodding.