Photo by Baston

My apologies for not posting over the last several days. I was under deadline with my latest novel, EYES TO SEE, and every spare second went to getting it finalized and turned in. Since it was EYES that kept me from you, my readers, I thought it only fair that I share a little bit of it.

So, without further ado, here are the opening paragraphs of EYES TO SEE. (I’ll be back with a regular blog post in the next day or so…)

CHAPTER ONE

Now

I gave up my eyes in order to see more clearly.

That was many years ago and I don’t miss them all that much, except perhaps on days like this. The rain started late in the afternoon and by the time I stepped outside it had become a steady downpour, making the pavement slick beneath my feet and washing out the smells I normally use to help orient myself whenever I leave home. Thankfully the car service was punctual and moments later I was safely ensconced in the rear seat and headed across town to the address I’d been given.

I leaned back and tried to calm my nerves. Stanton’s phone call had jolted me out of some much needed sleep.

“I need you on the Hill,” he said, in his usual annoyed tone, and rattled off an address. I knew better than to argue. He had me cold and I knew he’d squeeze me for every ounce he could get. Being called out in the middle of the night was a minor inconvenience compared to what he could do to the shattered remnants of my life. Thing was, it hadn’t happened for a while and I wondered what it was going to be this time. Wondered just how bad it was going to get before the night was through.

Beacon Hill lies just north of Boston Common and it is the city’s most upscale neighborhood. Founded in the late 1790s, it still retains much of its original character, with brick-lined sidewalks, perpetually burning gas lamps, and narrow streets that often change direction without notice. It was built with old money and old money still maintains it. Even the slightest changes to its mix of Victorian, Federal, and Colonial Revival architecture are strictly regulated and there is enough social and political power floating about that uniformed police officers can often be found guarding parking spaces. The Hill is only a short physical distance from where I lived in Dorchester, but in every other sense, the two neighborhoods were worlds apart.

The sudden onslaught of cobblestones beneath the tires let me know when we turned onto Seventh. Three more blocks and we’d be there. It was time to put my game face on. A few minutes later the car pulled to the right and came to a stop, engine idling. I heard the driver shift in his seat, his shirt rustling against the faux leather. “This it?” the man asked.

His question told me all I needed to know about his powers of observation. Removing my sunglasses, I leaned forward so the he couldn’t help but get a good look.

“How the hell should I know?” I replied.

His sudden intake of breath and the muttered curse that followed let me know he’d seen the ruin of my face.

Maybe it was my tone, but I suspect it was more likely the sight of my damaged eyes that caused him to quickly stammer out an apology and assure me that this was, indeed, the right place. I didn’t blame him. With Whisper’s help I’d caught a glimpse of my eyes once, wide empty pools of bone-white set in a scar-ravaged face, and even knowing what to expect, I found the sight unnerving.

Still, the man should learn to pay a bit more attention to his customers. In a city like this, a little awareness might be enough to keep him alive if things suddenly got ugly one night. And I wasn’t talking about some chump with a gun trying to relieve him of the night’s fares. That was child’s play. There were things walking the city streets that were far more dangerous than any human thug could ever hope to be. Of course, I couldn’t tell the cabbie that, so I was left to act the asshole and hope he learned the lesson despite the lack of explanation.

Reaching into my coat pocket, I searched through the various folded bills until I found one in the shape of a triangle, indicating it was a twenty. I dropped it through the slot and didn’t bother to wait for my change.

Once out of the cab I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, getting my bearings. The rain diffused the sound around me so that it seemed to be coming through gossamer curtains, but I could still hear the casual conversation of the officers standing watch at the door of the brownstone nearby. I withdrew the collapsible cane I carried in the pocket of my coat, extended it, and made my way toward them.

I didn’t like using the cane. Just because I’d lost my eyes didn’t mean I’d lost my sight. I had my ways of seeing things, after all. But watching a blind man move unerringly down a busy city street was not something the average Normal would understand and I didn’t like to call any more attention to myself than necessary. So I did what was expected, used the cane and moved with that distinct lack of physical confidence that marked the sightless, all of which served to keep my secrets safe.