Blindspots Read online

  "That's what I thought too, up until Alexa showed up eight years ago. So yes, she's in charge. She's blind, but before you ask any stupid questions about why we can't just sneak past her, believe me, she has better senses than the rest of us. And her goons – others like that WWF type you mentioned, Jake – they back her up. They're her eyes and her muscle."

  Jake asked, "So what does she want with us? And why can I see Monica – and this big guy here?" Glancing at Nestor, Jake was surprised to see he seemed distracted, as if he had somewhere else to be, or something else to do.

  Gabriel shook his head. "I thought I'd have the answers by now, but I've got nothing but more questions. I've followed this condition, Prosopagnosia, for decades, and I've never seen anything like the reaction you two have experienced. It's like you have selective sight, selective recognition. It shouldn't be possible because the sections of the brain involved with facial pattern recognition don't work that way. It would be like someone who's color-blind being able to see just that one red stop sign on Main Street, and no others. It doesn't make any sense."

  "But Alexa Pearl," Nestor said, lowering his voice and speaking reverently, as if in church. "It must make sense to her."

  "I'm sure it does. And I'd venture to say your arrival is exactly what she came here for, what she's been preparing for all these years."

  "Well," said Jake. "That just takes the creepiness factor up a notch."

  "I don't know," Nestor said. "Maybe we should keep an open mind."

  Jake gave Nestor a look, but then snapped his head back to Gabriel. "Wait – I had a thought. You said it's like we're experiencing 'selective sight'?"

  "Yes," Gabriel said. "It's not a technical term, mind you, just something that I think fits."

  "Well, what if it's the other way around? What if it's really 'selective blindness'?"

  Nestor blinked at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  Jake's heart quickened. Here he was, in the midst of strangers, telling a professional how to do his job. "I find whenever I'm stuck with some problem, I try flipping it. Looking at something from the opposite perspective changes the whole thing and gives you new insights. It's one of the ways I coped with this face blindness thing."

  "So," Gabriel said, the words coming quickly, "you're suggesting that instead of the miracle being that you two can see each other, the real mystery is the fact that you're blind when it comes to everyone else?"

  Nestor grumbled, "Isn't that the same damn thing?"

  "No," said Gabriel. "I think I see where he's going with this."

  Jake smiled. "Thanks, man. Just trying to help."

  Gabriel rubbed his temples. "Selective face-blindness. There's actually nothing physically wrong with your ability to see others, but for some reason your brain is blocking out everyone's faces – except for a certain few." He scratched his head, and for a moment Jake thought he might have fallen asleep or put himself in a trance, but then he perked up. "But why – and how could the brain have been reprogrammed with such specific instructions?"

  Jake reached for his coffee and took a deep gulp. As the silence dragged, he finally said, "So, where does this leave us?"

  "Nowhere," Nestor said. "This is stupid. Let's go get this Monica woman, and see what she knows."

  "Not yet," Gabriel said.

  Nestor's face darkened. "Why not?

  "Because," Gabriel said, "I believe she's in danger. You all are. I don't think Alexa's interest in you is professional, by any means."

  Jake sighed. "If my recent bad luck is any indication, I'm betting you're right. I didn't have time to tell you this before, Nestor, but I'm scared more than a little shitless right now. Some weird crap happened to me on the way up here. Stuff that had me thinking someone really wanted me to get here. And fast."

  Gabriel looked at him strangely. "What do you mean?"

  "Let's just say I was running from some people, and they should've caught me, but I made it."

  "I thought," Nestor said, "that you usually have bad luck?"

  "Exactly. I never should have made it here. Not without help. What about you, amigo? Anything weird happen on your journey?"

  Nestor stared at him coldly before shaking his head. "Other than the snowstorm, piece of cake."

  "Okay, okay." Gabriel sighed. "This has only made me more suspicious, and certain that I have to get all of you to safety. And that means out of this institute."

  "But the snowstorm!" Nestor protested. "We shouldn't go anywhere."

  "I know, but the roads are clearing." Gabriel glanced at the ice-crusted windows and the drifts piled high. "We might have an opportunity to get out, find a safe site nearby, and then I can come back with inspectors and officials and--"

  "Wait, wait!" Nestor stood up. "I'm not sure about you guys, but I came here because I thought I could be cured. I came because of that woman, Monica. And nothing else matters. I came for a cure, and I'm not leaving until I find it. Or at least, until I talk to Monica and anyone else whose face I can see."

  Jake nodded. "Sorry, Doc – I kind of agree with Nestor. But I'm also sure we need to be on our guard."

  "Please," Gabriel pleaded. "Think this through. Something happened to you, something… maybe in your past. Something Alexa knows about."

  Jake twirled a sugar packet in his fingers. "You saying she did this to us?"

  "No. But only because that's not possible. She's only twenty-nine, and you've all had this condition your entire lives, correct?"

  Both nodded.

  "Unless," Jake said, "maybe we do have this Prosopagnosia, but somewhere along the line someone came along and implanted a little – I don't know – recognition program, a microchip or something programmed with each others' faces, and –"

  Gabriel was shaking his head. "Can't work that way."

  "Why not?" Jake asked. "Maybe Alexa's got some new technology you don't know about. Some experimental shit."

  "But how did she find all of you?"

  Jake tried to reason it out, but came up blank.

  "You didn't exactly broadcast your condition,” Gabriel continued, “And if she wanted test subjects, she's had access to more than enough, right here."

  Jake was silent. His eyes met Nestor's for a second, then they both looked away. "Wait a minute," Gabriel said finally, rubbing his hands through his hair. "This is absolutely crazy, but I want to test something." He took out a business card from inside his coat pocket, held it in front of his face. Then flipped it, and set it down between Jake and Nestor. The reaction was like a lightning bolt. Jake backed away and nearly leapt from his chair as he stared at the Daedalus insignia: an hourglass superimposed over the castle façade.

  And Gabriel whistled. "Jesus."

  "That goddamned thing," Jake whispered. "All my life, as long as I can remember, just seeing one of those things freaked me out. Especially in that movie…"

  "What movie?" Nestor asked.

  Jake trembled and said: "It had red sand. In my nightmares, it's always red sand in an hourglass."

  "You say it was red?" Gabriel rubbed his eyes like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. "It's not possible. But…"

  "What movie?" Nestor asked again.

  Gabriel stared at them all for a long moment. "The Wizard of Oz."

  Nestor blinked at him, then at Jake, who said: "I'm guessing you're not much of a movie buff?"

  Gabriel stood, rubbing his chin. "My father… He made connections in the film industry and treated a lot of old-time producers. He bought the set prop."

  Jake scratched his head. "He bought the hourglass? Why?"

  "He was a fanatic, a collector. A colleague and friend of Frank Baum early on. They were both into the occult, members of the Theosophical Society."

  "The what?"

  Gabriel waved a hand. "Mystical nonsense. Secret knowledge, magical energies. Latent powers in every human being, spiritual progression – that sort of thing. Baum actually worked a lot of these beliefs into this books. Oz itsel
f is short for the Egyptian god, Osiris. Many of the quests the characters went on were symbolic, and--"

  "Get to the point," Nestor snapped.

  Gabriel sat back, scratching his chin. "Maybe someone else is using the same thing, the same technique now." He glanced up. "Using it on you."

  "You lost me again, Doc."

  "My father used the hourglass in his sessions. Used it as other hypnotists might use a candle, or a stopwatch. He thought it held a universal attraction for some deep level of our subconscious. The whole 'sands as a measure of life and time' kind of thing." Gabriel took a breath. "By using such an aid, theoretically, he could access deeper levels of the patient's awareness and spirituality."

  "How deep?" Nestor asked.

  Gabriel said nothing, looking at the two of them. Finally he lowered his head. "I need to verify something. Give me a little time to make sure you're not in danger. You've waited this long, please just lay low and don't do anything rash."

  Nestor grumbled. "I'm not waiting any longer. I can take care of myself."

  "No," Gabriel said quietly. "I don't think you can. Please, I think you should stay together. Resist any treatments or drugs not approved by me directly. If anyone argues, send them to me."

  Nestor shrugged. "I still want to meet Monica. Where is she?"

  "She's…" Gabriel glanced at each of them, then looked around and lowered his voice. "In a supply room in my office. I'll take you to her, but later. I need to talk to her first. I'm going to try something that may help reveal what the three of you share."

  Jake asked, "What are you going to do, play twenty questions? Charades?"

  "No. Hypnotic regression."

  Nestor laughed and shook his head. "No way you're hypnotizing me."

  "Don't worry, it's not like what you might have heard. Honestly, it's a technique I usually frown upon. My father used it improperly, but in his day it was a new and potentially groundbreaking treatment. Now we know its limitations – susceptibility, false memories, all those kinds of things."

  "But it can help people?" Jake asked.

  "Yes, it can. For certain ailments. Psychological conditions, addiction. A properly-trained hypnotist can get a patient in a suggestive state and open up the possibility of behavioral change."

  "But nothing drastic?" Jake asked. "Like making someone believes he's a spider-monkey or an opera singer?"

  "As I said, depending on patient susceptibility, there are varying levels of potential."

  Jake leaned back, frowning, thinking. "What about something really radical? Like can a hypnotist suggest that someone kill himself? Put a gun to his head?"

  Gabriel stopped short of a laugh. "No, definitely not. Although, maybe…" His voice drifted. "…she could have the patient believing himself to be somewhere else, taking a walk when he's really out on the roof…"

  Gabriel backed away in his chair, looking deathly ill. Jake stood and thought about reaching out to steady him. "You all right?"

  "Yes, yes." He looked at them again. "Listen, remember what I said. Stick together. Go and check at the front desk for the latest weather details, and tell them I sent you to see if a car can get in or out."

  "You calling the cops?" Nestor asked.

  Gabriel shook his head as he turned to leave. "No, not until I learn more."

  "When can we see Monica?" Jake asked. "Shouldn't we all be together?"

  "Soon," Gabriel fired back. "Stay in sight of each other, stay with a crowd, and I'll return as soon as I can."

  When he had gone, Jake glanced at the food line. He turned to Nestor. "You hungry, dude? I'm famished, and I don't want these other nut jobs eating my share."

  Without waiting for a response, he headed to the line; but when he glanced back, Nestor was still seated in the same pose, watching Gabriel leave.

  20.

  Daedalus

  Kaitlin Abrams walked in the front door at eight-thirty. Indra's driver had dropped her off after following a plow through to the end of the road, into the circle around the Daedalus Institute's main doors. Kaitlin thought it looked like a scene from a natural disaster movie. A pickup truck had been snowed in right in front of the doors, and some men were digging it out, just as others were trying to shovel out their own cars and scrape off windows. Two snow blowers were going, clearing the entrance as the winds continued to buffet them and hurl barbs of ice at anyone who dared try to leave the building.

  Before entering, she gaped at the icicle-draped rooftops, the towers and frozen ramparts. It didn't look real – more like an architect's grand dream rejected out of sheer difficulty, tossed into a snow bank and left to the elements. But whatever it was, Daedalus resonated with Kaitlin. She knew it. She could picture its interior: winding staircases and ornate wood-carved banisters, a stained-glass dome above the lobby, marble floors and hooded lamps; she could feel the oak railings, smell the musty curtains. Daedalus was lodged in her spirit, a splinter burrowed deep then sealed in behind layers of flesh, muscle and skin.

  "Been here before?" Indra had asked, back in the car.

  "No. Yes. I don't know – I don't remember, it's not possible, but--" Kaitlin leaned forward and stared, taking everything in – the walls and edges gleaming with blue-silver ice, the blankets of snow piled high around the base, the frothy winds stirring up cyclones that roared and smashed against the walls; the windows blinking in the clouded dawn. She shivered and when she stepped outside, she almost turned right around and got back in. She didn't want to do this, not alone.

  But finally, hefting her travel bag over her shoulder, hugging her purse with her new identification, she waved goodbye and started walking, head down.

  Indra's car turned slowly. Kaitlin stopped, scarf around her face, while the plow passed around the circle, and then she was left wobbling in the wind before the looming structure and its lofty, spear-tipped icicles arching precariously toward her.

  #

  Inside, her tension drained as she admitted herself with little excitement. It seemed that the nurses and orderlies had more urgent things to worry about; some of them had been here for two days now, unable to get home to their families. Other patients were sitting in the lounge, an attractive common room with soft lights, a plush carpet and several cozy couches around a gas fireplace. Some were reading day-old newspapers or playing chess, others were vainly trying their cell phones.

  A receptionist took Kaitlin's information perfunctorily, as if, with a rush of applicants recently, this had become second nature. She was given a number and a room and told that it was one of the last three they had available. They were being forced to turn away new callers for the moment.

  Heeding Indra's warning, Kaitlin kept her wool hat to keep up her disguise. If one of the other 'special four' happened to catch a glimpse, her cover was blown.

  Before taking her up to her room, the orderly – a big bald man with an odd tattoo on his neck, showed her the cafeteria. "After you settle in, come back here and grab something to eat before they close up. Lunch is at--"

  But Kaitlin had tuned him out. Her legs had gone weak, she trembled and almost toppled, then started to lurch forward before pulling herself back.

  No – don't give yourself away.

  She gaped at the table near the right wall, where two men sat eating breakfast and having coffee. She had a clear view of them, and could see their pure, perfectly-visible faces.

  The bigger, older man she only glanced at, taking in his features before studying the younger one. The one with long, stringy hair; he was laughing, and when he turned suddenly, Kaitlin had a horrifying moment where she thought he sensed her and had turned to see, but he only bent down to pick up a dropped fork.

  In that moment she recognized Jake Griffith with a bolt of searing white energy that roared from her eyes straight down to her toes. It felt as if her body was paralyzed but her mind wildly alert.

  First Monica, then Indra – and now these two. Four of the Six. Who were they? What the hell was happening to her? And
why was her reaction so much stronger with Jake than the others? She clenched her hands into fists and dug her nails into her flesh. Think of something else.

  She started humming her hit tune, Baby, baby. What's the score? Good old Pinkeye.

  "You all right, miss?" The orderly gripped her shoulders. She looked up and in the swirling ripples of his face, the unblinking eyes were roaming the crowd, seeking.

  Kaitlin stepped away slightly from the table she had been looking at. "I just… the smell of all this food is making me queasy. Haven't eaten in a while and--"

  "Then go and eat, and then come get one of us to take you upstairs."

  "That… that's okay," she said. "I'd really rather get changed first. The drive here was nerve-wracking, and I feel like I must have sweat out a couple liters."

  The man stared at her, and Kaitlin felt as if his shifting features would somehow form into a devilish visage, an inquisitor's glaring, accusing eyes, and she'd wither and admit her true name and why she was here.

  But she somehow formed a smile, pulled away and headed for the door. In the window she saw his reflection, saw him still glancing around until he found the table with the two men she had recognized. His head spun back to her, brow furrowed.

  He knows, she thought. Or at least, suspects.

  She pushed her way outside and started walking briskly to the stairs. He came after her. Long, determined strides.

  "Critchwell!"

  Kaitlin looked over her shoulder. The big man had stopped, and a young nurse ran up to him. "We're needed upstairs."

  "But--"

  "Get someone else to take this one to her room. Alexa's asking for us."

  Critchwell's eyes darted back to Kaitlin, narrowed, then nodded. "Let's go." He waved to another orderly, a portly man with a splotchy face, and called him over. "Brian here will take you up to four-eleven."

  "Thanks," Kaitlin said, bowing her head as Critchwell and the nurse ran by. For some reason, curiosity made her steal a glance at the nurse's neck. And there, just under the collar, the same tattoo as Critchwell's: a segmented snake with red eyes, eating its own tail.