Color Blind

Color Blind

  Lalla Squeglia

  Copyright © Lalla Squeglia,

  2011

  Cover Artwork Copyright © by Lalla Squeglia

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Chapter One

  “Boy? You home?”

  The teenager sighed and ran his hands through his hair. His back still hurt from last night’s beating, and he probably had another one in store for being late.

  “It’s me.”

  “Come here.”

  He went into the living room. His father was removing a needle from his upper arm. He looked up and asked, “Know what this is?”

  “Heroin?”

  “Yes. Ever tried it?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to?”

  He hesitated. His father wasn’t angry-yet-but he didn’t know which answer would set him off.

  “I guess.”

  His father smiled.

  “Come here. I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  He went to the couch and sat down.

  “Good. Roll your sleeve up…that’s it. Here, you can have this one. I was saving it for myself, but since it’s your first hit and all, I don’t want you preparing it. You’ll fuck it up, like you do with everything else.”

  The boy flinched under the words, but he knew they were true.

  “Just stick the needle in a vein. Don’t matter which.”

  The boy brushed his black hair from his eyes and took the needle. There was a sharp prick.

  “Great. Inject it. Slowly.”

  He did, watching the clear liquid slither into his arm.

  “How long ‘til it works?”

  “A few minutes.”

  They sat in silence, watching a cartoon cat run into a wall. After a few minutes, the boy began feeling good. Drowsy, but better than he ever had in his life. His back no longer ached, and he was almost…happy? Yes, that’s what this was. Better than happy.

  “Feels good, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You got homework?”

  “Can I sit here and watch the rest of this with you, Dad?”

  “Sure.”

  The father tousled his son’s hair. The boy tried not to flinch away, but luckily his father didn’t notice when he did. The boy was fifteen years old, and he was experiencing two firsts. His first high, and his first peaceful memory with his father.

  Chapter Two

  Nancy Hale was sure of two things: that men were assholes, and that she was in desperate need of chocolate. The former was a very justified opinion, brought about by her employer, Dr. Samuel Grey. The latter was a bona fide need, not a craving. There was a half-melted chocolate bar in her purse that would fulfill the need nicely. She ate it, looked at the mountain of paperwork, and breathed a sigh of relief that it was Friday. No work for two whole days. She looked out at the rainy Seattle sidewalk and hoped she could get off early today. She wanted to go home to her junk food and some cartoons and her teddy bear. And maybe a blankie.

  The door opened, nearly imperceptibly, and a young man came in. He had short black hair, ghost-white skin, a fading bruise on his face, and he was tall and skinny. He was dressed in dark, oversized clothes, a black scarf, and gray fingerless gloves. Nancy glanced down at his hands. Despite the gloves, a few red marks were visible. He was a heroin addict, and judging by the looks of him, he’d been one for a long time. She shuddered in spite of herself. No matter how long she worked at the clinic, she would never get used to seeing long-time heroin addict. Nothing against them-they were coming for help, after all-but the sight of them always made her queasy.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I need to make an appointment.” His voice was soft and anxious.

  “Sure thing. I’ll need you to fill these out…then I think I’ve got a slot for next…hang on a minute…yeah, next Thursday. Would that suit you?”

  He nodded and reached for the papers.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure. If you want, you can take those home and bring them back next week. But don’t forget them.”

  “Thanks.”

  He coughed and retreated back towards the door.

  “I need a name.”

  “Cole Martin.”

  It came out as little more than a whisper. Then he was gone, disappearing into the rain outside. Nancy shrugged. Well, the amount of paperwork here should keep her busy. If she was busy, Dr. Grey would leave her alone. Those were the best days, when he left her alone. She reached for the top paper and a fresh pen. It would be a long, boring day. Just the way work should be.

  Chapter Three

  While Nancy was working on paperwork, Cole Martin was at home, coughing and looking for an ice pack for his back. There was a large welt there from the beating the day before. He wondered how much trouble he would be in if he borrowed some of the vodka his father always kept handy. He decided a few sips of vodka were not worth a potentially broken bone. There was no ice pack to be found and he ended up making one out of a plastic baggie and some ice cubes. He took it upstairs and lay down and put it on the welt on his lower back. He thought of the secretary at the little clinic he’d found. Thank God for all those self-help brochures they had at City Hall.

  The secretary had been pretty, he’d admit. His ‘type’, as he would have said in high school. Everybody’s type, probably-strawberry blondes always got the most attention. He pushed her out of his head. There was no need to get all excited over something he couldn’t have. Besides, he had to act normal. If his father noticed something was up, he’d be in trouble. The ice bag was making his shirt wet and he took the shirt off, balled it up, and threw it onto the ever-growing heap by the wall.

  “Cole! Get down here!”

  Cole groaned and picked up a sweatshirt. He tugged it on and shuffled downstairs, coughing.

  “You sick?”

  “Just a cold.”

  Sean Martin raised his eyebrows.

  “You want a shot?”

  He didn’t, but withdrawal was a bitch.

  “Please.”

  “Make it yourself.”

  Sean shoved a bag at Cole and went into the other room.

  Well, no beating. That’s always a good sign.

  Cole went into the kitchen, found his favorite spoon, and started prepping his shot.

  Chapter Four

  Nancy triple-checked the lock on her apartment before going to bed that night. Even though she knew it was locked, she did not sleep well. Every little noise had her sitting up in bed and eventually she took her blanket and her teddy bear to the couch to watch TV. She wanted to call her father, but he would be asleep. Besides, she didn’t want him to think that she was going crazy. A bipedal cat ran across the screen and Nancy smiled a little. She’d always liked cartoons, especially these days. They brought her back to her childhood. She missed being a little girl. Even her teenage years had been good. Parties, the occasional weed, heavy metal music in the background.

  Nancy suddenly decided she wanted a shower. She never felt clean anymore, even though her skin was cracked from the frequent washings.

  Thanks, Dr. Grey. she thought, scrubbing her arms with a pumice stone. Anger and pumice stones didn’t mix and she cut her arm.

  “Ow
. Dammit.”

  She finished her shower, still feeling unclean even though her skin was pruny from the water. The cut wasn’t bad and she didn’t bother with a bandage. She still did not feel clean, but the hot water was almost gone. She made herself a vodka and coffee and went back to her cartoons. Her bear was still on the couch-why wouldn’t it be?-staring at her with sparkling eyes. It looked like it knew something. Maybe it did. Who knew what went on in the minds of teddy bears? Now she was thinking like a crazy person-teddy bears didn’t think. But hers always looked wiser than others. She hugged it and felt a little better. Its fur patches felt soft against her skin. A red dog stopped and said something she didn’t catch. She wasn’t really watching, but the sounds were soothing. She closed her eyes and listened. It didn’t take long for her to sleep. For once, she did not have nightmares.

  Chapter Five

  Cole looked at his reflection. It didn’t look good. He didn’t look healthy-too thin, too pale, and a bruise was refusing to fade from his face. He had a story for it, in case somebody asked. He always had stories.

  Hell, he thought, I should become a writer.

  The reflection cracked a smile. Cole tugged his gloves on. He knew they only called attention to himself, but he didn’t care anymore. He was tired of having people point to his hands and ask if he needed help. Or, more likely, take a few steps back, as if his addiction was contagious. He’d gotten used to the stares and the mothers pulling their children away from him on the few occasions he went outside.

  “Rehab today.” he said aloud. His reflection frowned at him. “You’re not helping.” he told it.

  I must be nuts, talking to the mirror.

  He picked up the razor and tested its blade on his finger. It was dull. He’d have to go with the noose, then. He’d do it tonight, when his father was asleep and he wouldn’t be disturbed. Besides, he wanted to see the city one more time. He grabbed the car keys and bolted out the door and prayed that his father wouldn’t get home early.

  Chapter Six

  Nancy had forgotten about Cole until he materialized in front of her. He scared her.

  “Sorry.”

  He was taller up close-she had to crane to look at his face. The sight made her wince-his skin was stretched tight and there was a dark bruise on his eye.

  “Cole, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s me.”

  “Do you want some ice?”

  “For what…oh. No.”

  He stepped back from her.

  “You’re early. You’ll have to hang out in here for about fifteen minutes…do you need a cough drop?”

  He was coughing, but he managed to shake his head.

  “Allergies.”

  “Try a mint.”

  “Thanks.”

  He took three and curled into a seat. If he was trying to hide, he wasn’t doing a good job. His black sweater stuck out against the yellow chair. She didn’t mention it. He gave her the creeps. Something wasn’t right about him.

  Well, she thought, something’s not right about me, either.

  She opened a file on the computer and started typing.

  “Nancy?”

  How did he…name tag.

  “Yes?”

  “How long do these appointments usually take?”

  “It varies from person to person. If you’re in a rush, tell Dr. Grey and he’ll keep that in mind.”

  She hoped her voice was steadier than she thought when she said Dr. Grey’s name. If it wasn’t, Cole made no sign that he noticed.

  “Thank you.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  She wanted to ask him again if he wanted ice, but she didn’t. It wasn’t any of her business. He looked depressed, though. Withdrawal did that sometimes. Normally she wouldn’t have pitied someone like him, but he was in here getting help. And something about him just screamed, ‘Pity me, please!’

  She ignored him and started typing up a file based on the paperwork he’d given her. The next time she glanced up, he was asleep in the chair. She’d wake him up eventually. He had five minutes before Dr. Grey would be ready for him. She shot a look towards the back room to make sure he wasn’t coming out any time soon. He wasn’t-why would he?-and she turned back to making a file for Cole. She doubted that he would last very long. Either he’d give up or overdose. Most likely the latter.

  Chapter Seven

  Cole didn’t even get around to knotting a noose. His scarf, worn down from use, was beginning to unravel. There was no way it would support him. He balled it up and threw it behind him, followed by his shirt and gloves. He wanted to puke. He hadn’t taken his full shot and it was showing.

  I only shaved off a little! A little bit and I end up sick! Thanks, Dad, thanks a lot.

  He’d borrowed a bucket from downstairs in case he did puke. Hopefully Sean wouldn’t notice it was missing. His stomach flipped and he leaned over to reach for the bucket. He dry-heaved but didn’t vomit.

  “Oh, Jesus.” he groaned. “Being clean is not worth this.”

  He didn’t want to think what it would be like later, when he wasn’t taking any. If he made it that long. Sean would get new razorblades soon and then he could get out of here. Lost in thought, he didn’t notice the door swing open.

  “Why’s this door shut?”

  “Forgot…”

  “And what’s that bucket doing up here?”

  “I don’t feel good.”

  “You take your shot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what the hell’s your problem!”

  Cole pressed tighter against the mattress. Sean had been drinking. It was always the worst when he’d been drinking.

  “Did I say you could have the bucket?”

  “No, but…”

  “Did I say you could shut the door?”

  “I forgot, I’m sorry…”

  “That’s two rules you’ve broken in one night, Cole! Next thing you’ll be telling me is that you went somewhere today! You didn’t do that, did you?”

  “No.”

  Sean shook his head.

  “Steal my bucket, shut the door, then you take a tone…that’s three.” he slurred, holding up three fingers.

  Please pass out drunk, please pass out drunk.

  He didn’t. For a drunk man, he could move fast. Cole didn’t try to run. It was always worse when he did that.

  “Dad?” he whispered, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he could get through to him tonight.

  “Shut up and take it.”

  “Dad, please…”

  He wasn’t quick enough to dodge the fist to his chest. Nothing broke, but breathing was suddenly very hard. It would bruise.

  “Dad, I’m sorry, just please don’t do this tonight!”

  Sean reached for a shirt collar, didn’t find one, and settled for grabbing Cole’s shoulder instead.

  “Please…”

  Cole felt the all-too-familiar sensation of being thrown before hitting the wall. The impact made him cough.

  “Dad, please…”

  His voice was little more than a whimper, but Sean turned and left the room without a word. Cole dragged himself onto his bed and lay still, trying not to move. Everything ached, especially his head. The light hurt. He didn’t want to get up and turn it off. He fell asleep some time later, waking up only when Sean drew a blanket over him and turned off the light.

  “Dad…”

  “Go to sleep, Buddy.”

  He hated that nickname.

  “But…”

  “Go to sleep, Cole.”

  He didn’t miss the edge of anger in his father’s voice.

  “Night, Dad.”

  Sean left. It was only after he was gone that Cole allowed a few tears to escape. He needed to get out of here, one way or another.

  Chapter Eight

  The table was cold. Nancy wa
s crying, unable to look at Dr. Grey. There was the sound of the gun being set down and clothes being removed. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping everything would just go away. There was a sharp pain and a hand clamped over her mouth to keep the scream in. She tried to bite the hand but her mouth did not want to cooperate. Why was this happening? Was it something she did? Why was God turning a blind eye to this?

  Nancy woke up to the phone ringing. She looked at the clock and freaked out.

  Seven forty-five? Shit, how long have I been asleep?

  Long enough to miss most of her first class, anyway. She’d had a lot of absences in that class already, but there was no point in getting up to go now. By the time she showered, dressed, brushed her teeth, and grabbed a granola, class would be over. So she could take her time in the shower. But first…the phone had been ringing. There was a voicemail.

  “Hey, princess, guess you’re at school, call me when you get home and we’ll plan for lunch someday soon, okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy.” she said to the machine.

  She went to the shower and turned the water on hot enough to hurt. She liked it when it was that hot. Then she could feel something besides the sickening numbness that sank all the way down to her bones. Maybe deeper, if that was possible. The only trouble with having the water that hot was that it didn’t last. All too soon, it was cold and she got out and reached for the blow dryer. It was dead. She toweled her hair as best she could and headbanged to the radio to dry it the rest of the way. She was only a minute early to her science class that morning. They got out early and by eleven forty five, Nancy was driving towards her work, feeling sick.

  Chapter Nine

  Nancy did not call her father back. She forgot. She also forgot to set her alarm for the next morning, but her first class was a late-morning one, so it didn’t matter. Unfortunately, her friend Janet was in that class. She liked Janet-somewhat-but she was so very noisy. As of late, Nancy didn’t like noise. Besides, Janet was always nagging on her to ‘Dress nice! You don’t look good in sacks!’ She sat in the back and kept her head down and combed her hair around her face to look invisible. It didn’t help.

  “Nancy! Where have you been?”

  “Here. I’ve just had a sore throat.”

  “Is it contagious?”

  “Not anymore. It was probably just allergies, but you never know…you know the patients we get sometimes come in sick.”

  For some reason, the image of Cole flashed into her head. He was due today. She wondered if he would show up-he’d looked close to death last week. She shoved him out of her head. He had no business being there. Janet had said something.