Free Vision by Lisa Amowitz

the edge, stumbling to his feet on the cobblestones.
    I’m going to be sick .
    He felt his way to the far side of the Dumpster, where he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the pavement.
    He couldn’t go back inside the Graxton Grill. They’d think he’d lost his mind. Max would fire him on the spot.
    But he had to tell someone what he’d seen.
    He needed to find the back door to the Woods Café. Edging along the cool bricks of the alley walls, he counted doors. If he was right, the Woods Café’s was the sixth one down.
    By the time Bobby got there, his vision had returned in smeary patches of light and dark, enough to make out the distinctive mustard color of the café’s back door. He was shaking, his shirt soaked through with cold sweat, the grisly memory of the body with the slit throat seared into his brain.
    He was going to be sick. Again.
    He turned the knob. The door opened and he fell inward, hitting the linoleum hard.
    Bobby fought to get to his feet. Fought to find his voice, but it all slipped away from him down a tunnel of darkness and silence.

    He came to, sprawled on the leather couch in Jerry Woods’s office, a crowd of indistinct faces peering down at him. It could have been ten people huddled around him, or it could have been two for all he knew. For a moment, he wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there in the first place, until it all came crashing back in horrifying detail.
    Bobby blinked to clear his vision, but everything was fuzzy, like looking through a steamy shower door.
    “What the hell happened, Bobby?” Jerry Woods’s deep, reassuring voice boomed.
    “A body,” Bobby gasped. “There was a body in the Dumpster.”
    “What?” Now it was Coco’s voice.
    Then came the sound of rushing feet. More voices.
    “Is he here?” Max Friend asked calmly. Shit. This was it. He was going to lose his job.
    “What’s wrong with his eye?” he heard Coco say. Sounds were weaving in and out, distorted, rubbery. Bobby tried to stand, but couldn’t.
    “I found a body in the Dumpster,” he muttered, his stomach clenching with nausea again.
    “Shock. He’s in shock,” said Jerry. Bodies shifted around the room. Lights flickered, but nothing came into focus.
    “What the hell are you talking about?” Max Friend asked impatiently. “One minute he was at work. The next minute he’s gone.”
    Gabe’s throaty voice cut in. “He hit his head yesterday, but he refused to go to the hospital. Maybe he’s having a delayed reaction.”
    “Stubborn ass,” Jerry muttered. “Is this true, Bobby?”
    Bobby shivered, his teeth chattering. The idea of Gabe seeing him like this made him feel even sicker. “Yeah, but I’m telling all of you that there’s a dead body in the Dumpster. Shouldn’t someone go and check it out?”
    Sheriff Barclay’s gruff voice chimed in. “I’ll go out and have a look. Someone oughta take the kid to the emergency room. Look at him, he’s in a bad way.”
    “No! Just take me home. Please. I’m just sick from what I saw. It was— oh , God .”
    He felt the seat sink beside him. The smell of musk. Her. He buried his head in his hands. “Please go, Gabe. You don’t want to be here. You don’t want to know about what I saw out there.”
    “It’s okay, Bobby Robert. Someone get a cold cloth, okay?”
    The room tilted and rocked. Lights blazed and dimmed.
    “Shock’ll do that to a person,” said Jerry. “Sheriff Barclay’s gonna go out to have a look, Bobby-boy.”
    Someone had wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. He felt ridiculous. Helpless. But he knew if he stood, he’d fall to his knees.
    “Uh, Bobby,” Max Friend said from somewhere nearby, “what do you say you get that head injury checked out? Take a few days off to get better.”
    “I’ll take a day off, Mr. Friend. I promise I’ll come back Wednesday.” He hoped his desperation wasn’t too obvious. He also hoped nobody noticed he could barely see.
    “Take two, Bobby. And bring me a