A Blind Eye Read Online Free PDF Page B

wasn’t raining. I unclipped and tossed off the weathered tarp that kept the bird droppings at bay and unrolled the sleeping bag. It was made for arctic temperatures, and within two minutes of snuggling in, I was already getting hot. I unzipped it a foot or two and tried to relax.
    Images from the day whizzed through my mind like cars passing me on the freeway. Dead grandmas, landladies swinging from the balcony, and my father opening his safe and finding half his money gone. Maybe not half, but I took a lot.
    When I finally slept, I dreamed about a girl with pink hair standing in the middle of a sea of speeding cars. The cars honked and swerved, always missing her at the last second. Then she screamed. I sat up so fast I spun off the hammock and hit the ground.
    I heard the scream again, faint and distant. It took me three ragged breaths to realize where I was and that the scream did not come from my dream but from Scarlett inside the cabin.

Chapter Four
    Christian vs. Mount Hood
    I fought my way out of the sleeping bag, a feat that would have amazed even the Great Houdini. With a heavy swoosh, I threw open the sliding door and took the stairs two at a time. Images of a man up there packing Scarlett into a suitcase raced through my mind.
    When I reached the loft, Scarlett cried out again, jerking her head back and forth. She lay curled on her side, facing away from me. I shook her shoulder. “Scarlett. Wake up.”
    She stilled. Her sunglasses rested at an awkward angle across her face. I envisioned her eyes snapping open under their coverings. If they opened at all.
    She rolled onto her back and moaned. “Where am I?”
    I sat on the edge of the huge bed. “We’re at my cabin, at Mount Hood.”
    â€œChristian?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œNothing. You fell asleep, and I put you in bed.” Did she think I’d been . . . inappropriate? “Then you screamed in your sleep, so I woke you up. Did you have another death dream?”
    She sat up and straightened her glasses. With her head tipped a little to the side, she said, “Feels dark. What time is it?”
    â€œAbout one thirty in the morning. How did you know?”
    She combed her fingers through her hair, flattening down the back with surprising skill. “I can usually tell day and night and find the sun when it’s not cloudy. Or find the source of a very bright light. Mostly by warmth.”
    I guess that made sense. I craved a computer to look up what I should know about blindness. My ignorance shamed me. I had my laptop in my car but no Internet at the cabin.
    â€œIs there a loo?”
    â€œYes,” I said. “We have a bathroom.”
    She let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like mockery. “When I need a bath, I ask for the bathroom. When I need a toilet, I ask for the loo.”
    â€œGot it.” I stood and took her hand, helping her off the bed.
    She hooked her fingers around my arm. “You’re tall, yeah?”
    â€œSix-two. But, then, everyone must be tall from your perspective.”
    â€œHey, easy on the short people.” She released my arm and stepped around to face me. “Can I touch you?”
    I assumed she meant my face, to know what I looked like. At least, that’s what I’d always seen in the movies, and I was pretty much basing everything I knew about vision-impaired people on what Hollywood had taught me.
    â€œHang on,” I said. “Unlike you, I need the lights.” I flipped the switch at the top of the stairs and lit the room.
    I wanted to see her face. Her eyes. Not out of some morbid curiosity, but because people always say that the eyes are the windows to the soul. With her glasses on, I had a hard time reading her. If I looked into her eyes, could I see her soul? “Tell you what. I’ll make you a deal. You can touch me if you take your shades off.”
    â€œDeal.” She removed the glasses and