Free Blind Spot by Terri Persons

face—an intimate gesture—and then pulls his hand away. Perhaps he doesn’t want to wake her. Her eyes snap open anyway. They’re green. Emeralds dotting the white skin. Bernadette finds it impossible to make out any other facial features.
    He glances around the room, his eyes landing on an orange chair in a far corner. He walks around the end of the bed and picks up the chair. It’s weird, this chair. Ugly and institutional. Behind the pumpkin chair is an expanse of pumpkin drapery, and beneath the drapery is a windowsill littered with squares and rectangles. Books? Photos? Greeting cards? He carries the chair to the bed and sits down.
    He reaches toward a piece of furniture parked next to the bed. A small chest of drawers? Doesn’t look like normal bedroom stuff. He retrieves something off the top of the chest. A cup and a spoon. He scoops something out of the cup and holds it out to her. No takers. He’s dropping the spoon inside the cup and putting them back.
    His eyes travel back to the woman. Her body. Something resting on her bed. Beads almost as green as her eyes. A necklace? A gift from him? An open book next to the necklace. He’s lifting something out of the crack of the book. A bookmark? He sets the object on the chest. What’s wrong with that damn chest? Other shapes behind it. Against the wall. Something glowing. What is all that? Electronics of some kind. His eyes go back to the bed. He’s picking up the book and looking at it. Printed words. What are the words? Too small to see. Too dim in the room.
    He’s standing up with the book and carrying it across the room to the window. He’s got the book in one hand while the other is reaching for the drapery cord. The curtains open, and he looks outside. Good boy. What’s outside? Where is he? He’s looking down. The room is up a few stories. Not too high. Where? When? Dark outside, but there are lights. Streetlights. Traffic lights. Office buildings shining with interior lights. A neon sign. FREE PARKING . There’s more to the sign. Part of it is obscured by a low structure in front of the building boasting FREE PARKING . Where is parking a premium? He’s in a city. Which city? Minneapolis? Right here in St. Paul? The killer could be anywhere by now. A city outside the state. The area he sees is unfamiliar to her. No distinctive landmarks. His eyes look up and go to the right of FREE PARKING . Two columns. Skyscrapers? No. Too narrow. Monuments?
    He’s turning away from the window. Bringing the book closer to his eyes. Most of the print is still too small to read. The title or chapter printed at the top of the page is big enough to make out. Numbers. What book has that? Is it some sort of reference book?
    He closes the book. Walking back to her. Setting the book on the chest. He’s walking back to the window. Looking outside. Pivots away from the window. Walking back to the bed. He looks down at his girlfriend. She’s speaking. She stops. Probably listening to him yammer. Her mouth is moving again. Something’s going on. He’s looking at the chest top. Picks up something. A box. Sets it down. He’s searching for something. Feeling his clothing. Pulls out something white. Gotta be a kerchief or a scarf. She takes it.
    He’s looking across the room, against the wall opposite the window. A closed door. Maybe there’s someone knocking. He stares back at the white oval draped in blond. Now he’s looking above her. The wall behind the bed. Is there a mirror? Please, God, let there be a mirror over the bed. A clock. What time is it, lover boy? The numbers are impossible to read. Must be Roman numerals. The “I”s and “V”s and “X”s all running together. The position of the hands. Eight o’clock? No. Nine o’clock. He’s reading something else on the wall. Large words scrawled on a white board. Today is Saturday.
     

     
    Bernadette gasped and reflexively opened her hand. The image washed away. She opened her eyes, lifted her wrist, and