Page 22 of Searching Blind

“No. No, that can’t be.” Lucy’s hand slipped from his, and he heard the rustle of her movements as she leaned over Maya. “We need to try CPR.”

“I’m sorry.” He reached out but found only air. “She’s cold. She’s been gone for a while.”

“She’s dead?” Joel said faintly.

“It was a long shot,” Bea muttered and then cleared her throat. “We all knew it when we dug her out from under that tree.”

“No tree did this,” Ethan said gruffly. “Unless trees have started carrying knives. She was stabbed.”

“What?” Lucy demanded. “Show me.”

There was a flurry of movement, a cacophony of voices, curses, exclamations of surprise. Sawyer stood in the middle of it all, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He thought he’d come to terms with his blindness. He’d thought all the years of therapy and soul-searching hikes had helped him adapt, reclaim his independence, and find peace with his limitations. But in this moment, he felt the stark edges of his disability—unable to see the blood on his hands, unable to see Maya’s lifeless body, and worst of all, unable to see the danger before it struck.

What if it were Lucy lying cold on that cot? He wouldn’t have been able to stop it. Wouldn’t have been able to protect her any more than he’d been able to protect Maya.

A light flickered on, and finally Sawyer could see the usual blobs of colors and shadows. The vise around his chest loosened and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Who the fuck stabbed her in my house?” Ethan’s boots thumped loudly on the wooden floorboards as he paced. Sawyer followed his movement, catching glimpses of a bushy head of hair and a bushier beard. He looked like a growling bear disturbed from its hibernation.

Another figure moved to the center of the room and held up his hands. Sawyer got an impression of a younger man, mid-to-late twenties, tall and fit, with a white bandage wrapped around his head, but then the guy stopped moving and disappeared back into the blur before he could make out any more details. That had to be Grant, he decided, which was confirmed when the guy spoke:

“She was fine when I checked on her before we all went to sleep. I think she was going to pull through.”

“An accident,” Joel whispered. “It has to be, right? Just some kind of…”

“Accident?” Ethan scoffed. “Kid, you don’t accidentally stab someone in their sleep.”

“Which of you bastards did it?” Bea’s voice was quiet, yet it somehow filled the room and silenced everyone else. “And why? Why would you kill her? She was helpless.”

Lucy’s breath hitched, and Sawyer could hear her choking back a sob. An alarming surge of emotion threatened to overtake him, but he forced it down and tapped his cane on the floor to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, we need to stay calm,” he said, trying to bring back some order in the chaotic room. “Let’s all?—”

Joel spoke over him, his voice cracking with fear: “One of you did it. One of you killed her.”

“Damn it all to hell,” Ethan spat, his footfalls abruptly halting. “Get out. All of you.” He paused. “‘Cept the kid. He’s the only one I know for sure didn’t do this. I’ll protect him until help arrives, but the rest of you aren’t welcome here anymore.”

“Joel stays, I stay,” Chuck said, and there was genuine concern behind the bluster. “I’m his father, and there’s no fucking way I’m leaving him here alone with you.”

The guy was a grade-A asshole, but he truly cared about his son, and for that, at least, Sawyer had to give him a modicum of respect.

“No one’s leaving,” Lucy said. “It’s dark outside, it’s storming, and if one of us is a murderer—if,” she stressed when someone made a grumble of protest, “then we’re safer as a group. One person can’t take us all on.”

“Wasn’t safer for Maya,” Chuck muttered.

And there went that tiny bit of respect right out the window. Sawyer glowered in his direction. “You know, you’re always so fast with a snarky comment, but I never hear you offering any solutions.”

“At least I’m not pretending to be the goddamn hero in all this. What are you gonna do when we catch the guy, Sawyer? Whack him with your stick? Sic that doe-eyed dog on him? Why don’t you sit down and shut up and let the normal people handle this?”

Normal.

Sawyer kept his back straight, refusing to let the word hurt him. When he woke up in the hospital in Germany and realized he’d never be normal again, he’d succumbed to a bitterness so potent, it had threatened to ruin him. But he wasn’t that broken soldier anymore. He’d found his worth again, first in Zelda and then in Redwood Coast Rescue. And he would not let this angry little man take that away from him.

Zelda growled, a low rumble that echoed through the room.

Sawyer tilted his head and smirked. “Zelda doesn’t like your tone, Chuck.”

“No one does,” Bea said.

Chuck moved then, backing up a step, allowing Sawyer to zero in on his location. He took a confident step forward without help from the cane and stared at the man. He knew people found the pale blue of his eyes intimidating, and used to use it to his advantage. At one time, all it took for a wayward Marine to fall back into line was a hard stare from Staff Sergeant Murphy.

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