Oculus (Oculus #1) Read online

  “Anna and I worked together for a long time. Now I work alone. Can I pass?” He opens his mouth, as if to speak, then snaps it shut.

  “Sure enough, we welcome all customers, provided they know the code.” The men on the path behind him keep their hands on their weapons, not relaxing in the slightest.

  “The Black Market has all, The Corp has nothing. Everything from green twist ties to jelly beans.” The code changes, and I hope the one Anna had given me is still valid. New codes are given to customers before they leave the market. The man before me nods, then steps aside and waves me down the path. ‘

  “Welcome Shadow, we are pleased to count you among our customers.” I feel their eyes on me long after I leave the checkpoint behind.

  It takes the better part of an hour to reach the clearing with the barn. Sprawled in a rough semblance of order are all manner of structures. Tents, lean-tos, rough tin shacks and canvas structures lay in rough lines before me. I have never been to The Black Market before, but Anna had told me all about it. The outer ring of stalls sells weaponry, ammunition, and medical gear. The inner ring sells books and technology. You can also get almost any service you can think of, from medical treatment to intimate personal services.

  Three painted ladies spot me walking alone and descend upon me like vultures onto a fresh carcass. They remind me of something I once read about, the mythical Fates, aspects of the same woman. One is young, far too young to be in her current profession. The second is about my age while the third looks to be middle-aged at best. The reeking cloud of their perfume reaches me before they do and I dodge aside, glaring at them to keep their distance. The older one cat-calls after me as I avoid them.

  “We don’t bite fella! Well, not unless you pay extra! Come find us later!” With a shudder, I lose myself among the stalls. My experience with women is spotty at best, but I know well enough to avoid the brothels. Genetic enhancement can only protect me from disease so much.

  The stall I find myself in search of sells books. I need to trade my bulky supplies away, most of which are contraband books, for things that are easier to carry. I hate the thought of being without anything to read. But if I’m right about my mental faculties breaking down, I don’t have the luxury of down time.

  Anna had told me that the best stall was Mirabelle’s, an elderly woman with a love for literature. Asking around, I’m directed to a bright purple tent. As I stride in that direction, a young woman looks up at me in alarm and turns to call back into the tent.

  “Mir! You have a customer!” From within the stall a stately older woman steps into the daylight. White hair frames a wizened and wrinkled face. Clear, blue eyes peak mischievously from behind a lock of hair and the smile she turns on me is the warmest I have ever seen.

  “Welcome, to Mirabelle’s Book Emporium. How can I assist you this fine day?” Somewhat taken aback at her boisterous greeting, I pull the bag from my back.

  “I have some books here that I would like to sell.” Taking the volumes from me, she examines a few of them before fixing me with a stern look.

  “And where, young man, did you come by these books?” Meeting her gaze, I feel a lump form in my throat. The loss of Anna is still raw in my mind. Having to talk about her twice in one day is something I hadn’t considered when I planned my trip here. Swallowing hard, I mentally berate myself for my hesitation and weakness. When I answer her, my voice is level and firm.

  “They were partial payment for work that I did. They were collected by my friend and partner. She died from the virus The Corp sprayed. What will you give me for them?” My abrupt tone seems to put her off balance. She glances down at the books, turning them over in her hands. When she finally speaks, her voice is shaking.

  “Anna…Anna is dead?” Looking at her tear-filled eyes, I can’t even trust myself to answer, so I nod. She wipes her face and bows her head. For a moment, I think she’s going to be sick, and then I hear her say ‘amen’ and realize she was praying. When she looks up, her hand snakes over to pat mine. “Anna was a good friend as well as a steady customer. You must be Sic, she talked about you with pride.”

  I’m not sure why, but that simple sentence steals away a lot of the pain swirling in my chest, at least for a moment. Gesturing to the books, I repeat my earlier question. “So, how much will you give me?

  “Anna did say you were a man of few words. Give me a moment to go through them and I’ll get you a total.” While she works, I scan the crowd around us. The girl who had been helping her moved off to another stall and is having an animated conversation with a man there. He’s older, with white hair, and is watching my interaction with Mirabelle with far too much interest for my liking. Catching sight of me watching them, he gives me a nod, then takes the girl by the arm and leads her away through the crowd. Mirabelle sets down a book with a thump, drawing my attention back to her.

  “Well, I don’t recommend you carrying these around in a bag like you have been, but they all are still in pretty good condition. Tell you what, I can trade you all new titles if you like. Or would you prefer gold?” Part of me wants to look through the stacks of books behind her in the tent, but I know I’m not going to have the time to read.

  Having a place to call home, even when we had to move every so often, had allowed us to store things. When I went out on assignments Anna was able to keep an eye on anything I left behind. With Anna gone it’s better to travel light. “Gold.” I answer her and she nods.

  “I thought as much,” Mirabelle replies. Pulling a lockbox out of the tent she unlocks it. Counting out twenty bars, she places them on the counter before me. I do a quick calculation in my head and realize there’s a problem. The amount is almost double the value of the books I’m selling.

  “It’s too much,” I say shortly. I didn’t need anyone’s charity, or sympathy. I could earn my own damn way without one of Anna’s old friends thinking she needed to give me a hand out. Mirabelle looked at my face and sighed.

  “It’s not too much. Anna and I had an accounting of everything. She had me keep back a reserve, just in case things ever slowed down. She wanted to make sure you always had something to read so you wouldn’t drive her crazy.” She gave me a sad smile and nudged the gold to me. “Take it, and put it away before anyone sees. You don’t want people trying to rob you for it as soon as you leave here.”

  Searching her eyes and examining her body language I don’t see any deception in what she has said. Pocketing the gold, I turn to leave. Her hand snakes over again and tugs at my sleeve.

  “Wait, Sic.” It’s her use of my name that stops me more than anything else. Other than Anna, I haven’t known that anyone else knew my name. “Did she suffer?” I look down, that damn lump forming in my throat again, and then shake my head.

  “No,” I rasp. Embarrassment floods through me at my inability to keep it together when it comes to the subject of Anna. “It was peaceful at the end.” Gently, I remove her hand from my sleeve, then turn and walk into the crowd.

  “Wait,” she says quietly. Turning back to her, I meet her tear-filled gaze. “Anna asked me to give you something for her if anything ever happened…please, wait here for just a moment.” She disappears inside the tent, and for a moment I consider leaving. The thought of a gift from Anna is what keeps me in place. When Mirabelle returns she’s holding a leather-bound book in her hand. As she passes it to me my breath catches in my throat. Embossed on the cover in gold leaf is the title, The Count of Monte Cristo.

  “Moral wounds have this peculiarity-they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.” The quote spills from my lips before I even have time to think. My hand strokes the fine leather cover, wondering at what cryptic message Anna has sent me from beyond the grave. She knew of my love of this book. The story of imprisonment, betrayal and vengeance speaks to a part of my soul. Yet, in the end the man finds love and a semblance of peace out in the world in anonymity.


  “Open it,” Mirabelle says gently. Looking up at her in confusion for a moment I nonetheless comply with her command. The book falls open at the very quote that I had just uttered, marked by a sealed envelope. Pulling out the envelope I see Sicarius embossed on the front.

  Looking at the letter I suddenly feel raw and exposed, vulnerable. Tucking it back in place, I close the book with a solid thump. Opening my pack, I carefully place it inside. I glance up, feeling the weight of Mirabelle’s gaze upon me. “Thank you for this.” Not trusting myself to hold my emotions any longer, I move quickly away into the crowd.

  Once I’m away from Mirabelle’s, my embarrassment turns to anger. Like a security blanket, the red hot emotion burns away the pain leaving clarity behind. I’m here to make purchases, not to reminisce about my dead…Anna. My irritation must be apparent because the next few stalls I stop in handle my transactions without any small talk. I unload everything but a portable HAM radio, a hand crank charger to keep it juiced up, a pack of dry food and what I normally carry in my pack. In the end, I have my additional burdens down to those items and a good amount of gold.

  After the last transaction, I decide to return to Mirabelle’s to get the password for the next market. As much as I don’t want to talk any more about Anna, she already trusts me, and it will save me the time of having to prove myself to anyone else. As I near, I see her talking to the white-haired man that had been watching me earlier. Mirabelle brings him over with her and makes introductions.

  “Sic, this is John Baton. John, this is Anna’s associate, Sic.” He holds out his hand and I shake it reflexively. His grip is stronger than I would have assumed for someone his age and he meets my gaze boldly as we shake hands in greeting.

  “Sic,” he says warmly. “I’ve been a friend of Anna’s for quite a few years. I was sorry to hear about her passing. How are you holding up?”

  The question takes me off guard and I respond before I think about it. “What kind of inane question is that?” Mirabelle gasps and John looks as if I’ve slapped him for a moment before he nods, looking somber.

  “Yes, it is an inane thing to say. People have a programmed response to surprise and grief that doesn’t always make a lot of sense. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He pauses, seeming to consider his next words carefully. “I was wondering if you and I might have a quick conversation.”

  I glance over at Mirabelle who gives me what I can only imagine is supposed to be a look of encouragement. “Mirabelle. I need the new passcodes.” She nods and gestures to John.

  “He can give you the next two codes we are using. If not, come back after you are done talking and I’ll give them to you.” John motions to the path before him, and feeling a bit railroaded, I start walking.

  Leading me to the edge of the barn, he opens a wooden door in the wall. Once we step inside he takes me to a small area with tables. A woman comes over and John orders a tea with lemon. When he raises his eyebrows at me in askance, I shrug.

  “Make it two. Thank you.” The woman nods and walks away, John watches her hips sway as she departs. Turning to me, he smiles in a conspiratorial way. “Ah, the beauty of the female form.” When I don’t react, his smile slips a bit before he continues in his overly cheerful tone. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to speak with you. Well, to be honest, I wanted to know if you would be willing to do a job. I had hoped to broker it through Anna, but… since you are here.”

  It takes the better part of ten minutes to get all the information out of him that I need. The job is two sectors to the south, deep inside a transitional zone. Corp security is tight in the area which means the job pays triple. His reasons are unimportant. The target is unimportant, some mid-level bureaucrat on a power trip. Even the pay is meaningless, though I don’t share that with him while I negotiate for more money. What matters is getting a job, and figuring out how to do everything on my own.

  Once I have all the information I need, which includes the passcodes for the next three Markets, I leave the area in a random direction. Once I’m beyond the perimeter I circle around, making sure that anyone following me will lose the trail. It has been a long day, but I decide to start towards the job location. The sooner I get to the area, the faster I can finish the job.

  I find running is a bit more difficult with a second pack. Even with the added weight though, the run helps me work out most of the anxiety I have built up during the day. I set a faster pace since I’m only planning on travelling for a few hours. The miles fly by and any concerns of pursuit evaporate. Unless they’re on a dirt bike, it’s doubtful anyone can keep up with me at this speed.

  I stop for the night near a stream where I can clean off. Hanging my clothes for the night, I build a fire to help them dry. I pushed myself hard during the run, so I fall asleep quickly after I eat. I hate to admit it, but I look forward to sleeping more than anything else. When I close my eyes, I can see her.

  She’s laughing when she sees me. Her green eyes, a lighter shade of color than Anna’s, sparkle in the light shining from above. Reaching for me she begins to run her fingers over my skin. The feeling electrifies my body, sending my pulse racing. Tentatively, I look down into her eyes, expecting to find fear or judgment there. Instead, I find tenderness, understanding…and fire.

  Pulling her to me, I feel my pain being erased as if the touch of her skin brings with it a healing balm. Hungrily, I draw her lips to mine, reveling in the taste of her tongue. Sweet, like candy. Allowing the dream to take me, I slip away from my world of pain, and into the fantasy that is her.

  ONE OF THE CRUELEST TRUTHS about being blind is that my options are limited.

  With everything.

  Always.

  I can’t see my hair and decide how I think it looks best. Or what color I think suits me nicely. Hattie and my father’s opinions are transplanted as my own. I play the reluctant surrogate to their judgment about things that directly affect me. I have to. I just go with the flow of things because what else can I do? I can’t feel, or smell or taste or hear red versus purple and I can’t say that short hair makes me look more mature than my long hair does. So I take their word for it when they advise me on just about everything in my dark world.

  It’s probably the single most frustrating part of my existence. I never let on how much not having options bothers me. I try not to anyway. I know that their role in assisting me can’t be very enjoyable and my handicap is no fault of theirs.

  Lack of options or even the ability to form the most basic of opinions is chiefly responsible for me even weighing Ingram’s offer.

  Offer is probably an inaccurate way to view it. What he had done and said was flat out solicitation and I feel every bit preyed upon, but here I am in my bedroom considering taking the deal.

  I can’t say for certain what he wants but I can say for certain that I’m willing to barter a bit of my dignity in order to gain a measure of pride. If I tell Hattie that she’ll tell me that I’m splitting hairs that are about to be singed off by the devil himself. I choose to spare myself from her or my father’s opinion on the matter.

  This is my future I’m considering. The only opinions that matter belong to me. Red versus purple belongs to them. I’ll give them that. I have no choice but to give them that. But what I do with my life and my body for that matter is entirely up to me.

  If I’m going to make anything of myself professionally it’s going to have to be done this way. I need a way in. Exceptions will have to be made and I’m not naïve enough to think that those exceptions don’t come with a price tag. I’m in no way interested in anything sick or twisted, though. If Ingram wants something from me, I’ll at least find out what it is. A shot at independence is worth that much.

  I dismiss my inner ramblings and jab a finger on the button near my bedroom door.

  “Call Hattie Brighton.”

  “Calling. Hattie. Brighton,” the speaker drones monotonously.

  “Hey, you!”

  “Hey. Are yo
u busy?”

  “No. Not really. Just getting ready to go hang with Cade. Wanna come with?”

  “Nah. Thanks though. I have a question and then I’ll leave you to it.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Do you know Chief Ingram?”

  “Ugh! Yes. Why?”

  “Why do you say it that way?”

  “Oh because he’s a grade-A jerk.”

  “Yeah. He seems that way. Is he just a womanizer or…”

  “Well you know how rumors are, but yeah. I’ve heard he is pushy and keeps plenty of women around. Stuff like that.”

  “I see. What does he look like?” I ask knowing Hattie will relay a useful description in the way that she has done for me for many years.

  “He’s handsome I guess… if you ignore how ugly his personality makes him. He’s tall. Light hair. Blonde-Gold-ish. Think lemons… or stomach acid. He has gray eyes. Thunderstorm. Pocket lint. He’s okay. Now explain to me why you’re asking me this.”

  “He offered to help me get a position in the security department.”

  “For what in return?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar. Dillon Ingram is many things but magnanimous isn’t one of them. Spill,” she demands.

  “I’m serious. I guess he owes… my dad a favor. You know how that goes. So… I think I may check it out. I have to. It’s this or nothing. I don’t have choices like you do, Hattie.” I hate lying to my best friend but even she can’t understand my willingness to consider Chief Ingram’s offer.

  “I know. Just promise me that you will be careful. Keep your distance if you can. He’s trouble and I’m pretty sure he carries diseases like rabies.”

  “Okay. I promise. Meet you at your house in the morning?”