Blind Angel of Wrath (The Blind Sleuth Mysteries 2)

13 Here and now

"There is always a plan B," I reflect, "but there are never any guarantees..." I have just woken up, tied down naked to a blood-drenched bed, hoping that I have slept for a long time.

The silence in my head is oppressive. I suddenly realise that this is going to be the greatest ordeal for me from now on: being deaf. That is, of course, being blind and deaf. Being blind is no problem: it has always been second nature and always will be. But being deaf as well: that is only bearable as long as there is another human being close at hand, someone you can touch and smell... If only I could communicate with Loretta—that is: with Sue. The silence and the loneliness are oppressive.

Still, there is nothing else to be done but to wait. The plan B that I have improvised yesterday entails a long wait: at least 48 hours. When I discovered that I was not manacled to my bed, yesterday morning when I woke up with pierced eardrums, I decided to act immediately on a notion I had been mulling over for a long time. So I banged my right-hand wrist several times against the concrete wall next to my bed. I banged it quite viciously, hoping to get a nice fat hematoma. I happen to be rather prone to bruises, contusions and swellings of all kinds. People who know me well often joke about my porcelain complexion and the fact that I seem to be just as fragile as the real thing in that respect...

Anyway, the idea was that once my wrist had thickened, the Master would no longer be able to tighten the manacle on that side as much as he usually does, the next time he would shackle me again. The hematoma would take up too much space. Then, if he would leave me alone for long enough, I would be able to nurse and massage the bruised wrist until the hematoma receded. Finally I would be able to slip my hand through the opening... Of course I was assuming that the Master would not go back to his usual routine, but that he would be raping only the girl for quite a while. I just couldn't imagine that he would want to rape me instead, and straight away at that!

"It doesn't make any difference, though. Here I am now, the setup is the same..." I can feel my swollen wrist throbbing, the leather strap encloses it snugly like a pressure dressing, which will only help to staunch the internal hemorrhage. It is now a matter of time before the hematoma subsides. And that is precisely why I have forced myself to ingest a solid meal of human blood last night: this could take a few days... Thinking this over, I realize that thirst, not hunger, is going to be the hardest to take. My mouth and throat will get dryer and dryer. Thinking back to my sense of isolation, I long once again for some form of communication with Sue. If I want to shout a message over to the girl, I conclude, I must do it now.

"Yes, I must try, if not for her sake, then at least for my own. It will make me feel less solitary... The silence and the loneliness are really oppressive!"

So, to start with, I test my vocal cords: "Baa... Baaa!" in order to get them under control. When I attempt to utter these baaing noises I don't hear a single sound, of course, but I can feel my voice vibrating in my throat. "Funny," I reflect, "I've never been one to shout much... just from time to time to hail a taxi."

Now I have to think hard about what I want to say to Sue. For one thing, I decide, I'm going to call her Lorry again, because Sue is not a very shoutable name. "So here goes, give those vocal cords a good push!"

"Loorriie!"

"Hold on in there!"

"The Master is dead!"

I just have to assume that I still control my voice and my diction in a way that doesn't require any conscious effort, and that I have just shouted these words at the top of my lungs. After all, during all my yes-no conversations with the girl, Sue appeared to understand me just fine. At least I myself am feeling a little better now that I have taken care of that.