How do I look? - part 2

by Amy Casseaux

(If you haven't read the 1st part, go to How do I look - part 1)

I screamed... and I pushed.

“One more, Randa! Two, one, NOW!”

I pushed again, feeling like my body was being torn apart. I was reminded of hearing how people were drawn and quartered in the olden days, their bodies ripped apart. I could sympathize.

“Got it!”

“Here.”

“I have him.”

“Okay, this is how you do an assessment. Start with...”

Too many voices to sort out and I was feeling myself go into a kind of shock as the pain lessened. I felt something on my face and behind my ears, then in my nostrils. It was an oxygen cannula. My pelvic region was being massaged to release the placenta. The world seemed to go away.

“Randa? Randa? Stay with me now... Lyla, hold off on the pain meds. Start some fluids and get an icepak. She’s... getting...... shocky-y-y-y-y-y.....”

I floated. I could tell because in my imagination and in my dreams, I can still see. Five months ago, my eyes were removed, but it had already been a while since I had seen anything.

Still, I can see when I dream, and when I go away in my mind. I do that a lot. It’s a way of not dealing with things. Call it denial if you want, I call it defense.

This dream is going to be a bad one. The images of the last day my eyes sent images to my brains. I applied an optical lubricant to my contact lenses, thinking that it was the last time I would have to do so. I had used those special lenses to block vision so that I could pretend to be blind. Pretending to be blind had been getting tiring and I had come to that special place for a miracle cure. An hour later, the man I loved squirted super glue into my eyes, telling me it was optical lubricant. I closed my eyes and never opened them again.

I hate this dream. I can still hear my screams in that cave when I couldn’t open my eyes and take the lenses out. That horrible realization that the game was over and that blindness was a reality. A horrible, horrible reality. A reality that kept getting more and more horrible. I married the man who had blinded me and gone away to make a life with him, only to discover what he had done.

Sam had done it to bind me to him for life, he told me. He never wanted to let me go, and now he never would. We didn’t go to San Francisco for our honeymoon as we had told everyone. Instead he took me to some remote house in the Texas hill country near Austin.

I was forced to take pre-natal vitamins for the baby, I was coerced into exercising. I listened to Lamaze tapes while he told me what to do. Sam had turned from a sweet, caring lover to a controlling despot.

Before he took me to town for groceries or a doctor visit, he’d find some way to give me the herbs that took my voice away, that made it impossible to speak or to scream or to ask for help. That was how he did it. How he kept me prisoner for almost a month. The herbs made my vocal cords numb and made my tongue quiver. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make sounds that were recognizable as speech. Every one thought I was deaf and blind. No one spoke to me, no one tried to listen to me.

What finally made it unbearable was when he said that he hoped for a girl - a blind girl. He wanted to raise a blind girl, just like her mother.

I take responsibility for being blind. Sam’s actions notwithstanding, I did this to myself. I won’t allow it to happen to someone who can’t fight back.

One evening, I got up to go to the bathroom. Well, I was doing a lot of that. I had the run of the house because all the doors were locked and because the most I could have done was go outside and get lost. That night, I realized that the baby would arrive in a day or two, possibly sooner. I was filled with anxiety about what Sam might do to the baby.

I heard Sam go outside to get some firewood, and I realized that I had to take the chance right then. The sound of the axe told me that I had a minute or two to prepare.

I flushed and cleaned up quickly, then went to the kitchen for a knife. I walked quietly, not knowing if there were windows that might allow Sam to see what I was doing, and not caring. It was now or never. I stood behind the open door, and waited, praying that I got it right on the first try. I wouldn’t get a second one.

The door opened more, swung away and I lunged.

I know I connected because Sam shouted in pain, but I must have come in under the firewood because he dropped it all and I lost the grip on the knife. Wood hit my foot and I yelped and we all went to the floor. My hands were sticky wet as I tried to find Sam and the knife. His back was to me and I rolled him over, making him cry out. He screamed in pain and hit me in the face, hard, but I groped around and managed to find the knife in his belly. I pulled it out... and then I plunged it back in - over and over. Sam deflected one blow with his hands, but nothing more after that.

Once I was sure he was dead, I plunged the knife into his eyesockets. An empty victory, but I was willing to settle for it. My hands and my night gown were slick and I knew I was a mess, but I didn’t care. I just sat there and cried.

When I finally came to my senses, I got up and went to the shower. I rinsed and washed and scrubbed as best as I could. As I toweled myself dry, I thought: what next?

I knew he had a cell phone because I’d heard him make calls on it. The problem was, I had no idea where he kept it. Either he kept it on him or he hid it. I knew I had to search his body to be sure he didn’t have it on him. If that failed, I had to search the house from top to bottom.

Wait. He made those calls mostly from the bedroom, or after going to the bedroom. Try there first. I walked to the bedroom and ran my hands along the wall to my right. As high as I could reach, to as low as I could reach and then back high. I covered the wall, then found the dresser. I emptied each drawer, then I scoured the wall again. Sam was sneaky, he might well have mounted it up high where I might not find it. I used my cane to search above where I could reach. Not in the night stand, not under the mattress. I went back to the dresser and probed around underneath it. Nothing.

It wasn’t under the bed either. I checked the rest of the walls and that left the armoire. I tore it apart and was about to give up when I had a thought. I reached up to the top, above the crown molding and felt around.

Found it!

I dialed 911 and when the operator came on, I said, “I need help!”

“Okay. Do you need ambulance, fire, or police?”

“Police. I’ve been abducted. I’m being held somewhere and I don’t know where I am.”

“Are you safe?”

Relative question, relative answer. “For the moment.”

“Hold on. I’ll connect you to the police.”

A click and then. “Deputy Harris. How can I help you?”

I told him what I’d told the operator.  “Okay, ma’am. Where is your abductor?”

“In hell. I killed him.”

Silence. “Okay, are you in any danger at the moment?”

Sweet Jesus, but the universe has lousy timing. I felt a twinge and ..... ugh!

“No, my water just broke.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes, and just to make things really interesting, I’m also blind. I have no idea where we are, except that it’s between twenty and thirty minutes from Dripping Springs and the road is very hilly, like a roller coaster. The house is about a minute from the road and there’s a gate.”

“Do you know your abductor’s name?”

“Yes, Sam Brooks.“

I could hear keys clicking on a keyboard and people whispering. “Ma’am, do you have cable, city water, or electrical power?”

“Satellite and a well, but yes, we have electric.”

“Okay, just a moment while we check on that. Do you know whether you are north or west of Dripping Springs?”

”No, just that it’s hilly.”

“Are there any red lights or stop signs? Do you turn?”

“No to both.”

“Okay, we have an idea where to start looking. You said that it’s three minutes from the road to the house, was it smooth or could you hear gravel?”

“Gravel.”

“Was the gate electric?”

“No. He had to get out to open and close it.”

“Okay, have you...”

The phone beeped and died. The battery was dead.

Oh, Shit.

I tried hard not to panic. I actually said, “Don’t panic, Randa.”

I call myself Miranda Welles even though I was born Pamela Carter. That’s too complicated to explain right now. When I spoke to myself, I began speaking back.

“Why shouldn’t we panic?”

“Because we don’t have time.”

“We’re blind, pregnant, and about to give birth, it’s time to panic, girl.”

“Okay, let’s panic.” I screamed as loud as I could. When I was done, I was still blind, pregnant, and about to give birth - plus my throat hurt. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. Think, Randa, think!

One minute (roughly) to the main road at a slow speed - the road was less than a mile away probably. I could hear cars at night if the woods were quiet and the car was not. Let’s head for the road, Randa!

Stop. I’m naked. Ordinarily that doesn’t matter up here, but I don’t want to be naked right now. I found a night gown and some shoes and Ta-da! my cane. With a rolled up blanket under one arm, I headed for the door.

First obstacle: Sam. His body blocked the door, so I had to move him away from it. It was hard because he was so slick with blood. Finally, I moved him enough to get past.

Think, Randa, think! Sam always loaded me in the truck, then backed up and turned around before driving to the gate. Ergo, the tail gate was facing the road - sort of. It was a place to start. I stepped off the porch, cane in front of me and tried to find the pickup. Ten very tenuous steps later, I found it. Once oriented, I headed down the drive.

Walking on gravel in city shoes is not easy. Doing it with a cane is harder. Doing it with swollen ankles, sore feet, and contractions is harder still.

Step by step, I made my way to the road. The thought occurred to me that thinking about walking a mile was easier than actually walking it, but I had no choice. The baby was coming. Animal sounds came to me from left and right as images filled my brain. Me, giving birth only to have coyotes take the baby.

Stop that, Randa!

I was crying now. I hurt and I was scared, both for myself and for the baby. Using arithmetic to try to calm down, I calculated that the average person walked three miles an hour. I wasn’t making anywhere near that, so let’s say one mile per hour. I’d had one contraction already. By the time another one came, I’d be pretty close to the gate.

I’d taken three less painful steps before it dawned on me that I wasn’t on the driveway any more. Either I had veered (likely) or the driveway curved (no less likely). That painful gravel driveway was my road to safety, so I had to stick with it. Four steps backwards and I was back.

Whew! Pay better attention, Randa. Stop thinking and just walk.

A few minutes later, three things happened simultaneously: I heard a coyote howl, I had another contraction, and I turned an ankle. Then the good thing happened: I found the gate - by falling on it. I untangled myself, stood up and tried to find my cane.

When I found it, I first thought that it had come loose, but then I realized that one of the shafts was broken. Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Okay, Randa, calm down.” I was talking to myself again.

“I don’t want to, I don’t have to, and you can’t make me!”

“Fine. Stay here and cry and let the baby die. The road is a car length or so away. The next car that passes can take us to a hospital.”

“Okay, but I hate this!”

Handhold by handhold, I traced the gate to the left until I found the fence post is attached to. Feeling for the bolt, I found the hinge. I was at the wrong end. Hand by hand I went to the opposite side. Once again, I felt for a bolt or some kind of latch.

What my fingers found was a chain and a padlock. Deep breath, Randa. What now?

I didn’t have to ask if this was God’s punishment for pretending to be blind, for pretending to be Randa instead of myself. For one thing, I knew the answer. For another, it didn’t matter.

Hand by hand, I walked along the fence until I came to a barb. Then with one hand on the top wire, I felt for the one below. Found it. Was it big enough for me to pass through? It had to be.

One leg up and through. Bend at the waist. Shift weight. Pass through. Lift other leg. I was almost done with that last part when the soft dirt my first leg was on gave way. I fell, cut my leg on a barb, screamed in pain, landed with a thud and the only thing that kept me from crying was that I could not breathe!

My night gown was caught on the fence. I fought for traction with both feet, and I began to lose consciousness as the fabric ripped and I rolled down an incline into a ditch. A full ditch, which is why my first gulp of fresh air was half water.

I managed to stand and take a breath before coughing the water out. The fall had spun me, so my orientation was gone. My nightgown had torn, so I was naked. I had no idea where the blanket was. Another contraction came, forcing me to my knees.

Can’t give birth in a ditch, Randa! Pick a direction and climb!

I chose right and crawled on my hands and knees up the incline. Instead of finding wire, I found asphalt. I had made it!

It took a few seconds to get to my feet and stand in the road, but once I was there, I stayed. Was it dark yet? I didn’t know. I hoped that deputies all over the county were scouring every back road. If that was the case, I’d be found. People lived on this road, albeit nowhere near here. Cars traveled this road. One would find me. All I had to do was wait.

 = = = = = = = = =

“Miss Welles?”

Someone called my name and I could smell antiseptics, disinfectants, and body odor. That last was probably mine from giving birth.

“Where’s my baby?”

“In the NICU unit. She’s fine now, but he had a little trouble getting that first breath. Since then he’s made up for it. A good pair of lungs on that little girl.”

“She? It was a girl?”

“Yes. Eight pounds even and beautiful, just like you.”

“Take me to her, please.”

“Well, that’s a problem.”

“Why it that a...”, that was when I felt it. The handcuff on my left arm.

“Why am I handcuffed to the bed?”

A new voice said, “Miranda Welles, you are under arrest for the murder of Samuel Brooks. You have the right to remain silent, you have the right...”

 = = = = = = = =

Ten tiny toes. That’s what my fingers counted. The same number of fingers. Tiny little nose and mouth. Pammy was feeding at the moment, which was why she wasn’t crying. The nurse had been right - she had some lungs on her and she wasn’t shy about telling the world when she was not happy.

Three days had passed since I’d been arrested. Since the odds of my escape were almost nil, I was no longer handcuffed, but I couldn’t stand up or walk without two nurses with me. My court appointed lawyer told me not to worry, that my arrest had been a pro forma thing. The cops had a dead body which had obviously met a violent death. Since they had me on the 911 tape saying that I had killed him, I’d been placed under arrest.

The fact that I had not told the deputy that Sam was my husband was explained away by my attorney - lack of time, shock, etc.

Today, Mr. Cunningham called and assured me that I would be no-billed by the grand jury. He already had depositions from the doctors and store clerks that they had been told I was blind and deaf. He had contacted Sam’s sister, who had been going out of her mind wondering where the two of us had been. Tricia had actually filed missing persons reports on us, a fact which helped me in my legal battle with a murder charge. She also had told the police about finding that empty tube of superglue that Sam had dropped on the day of our wedding. The SOB had actually been carrying it around like a talisman. Tricia hadn’t wanted to believe that Sam was capable of doing what he had done: blinding me for life, abducting me...

The cops only had my word that Sam had (sort of) threatened the child with blindness, but they were inclined to believe me after they found the herbs Sam had used on me. He also had some pictures of me and other blind women, as well as pictures downloaded from the Internet of blind children - little girls walking with short canes. The DA was forwarding the case to the grand Jury - he had no choice - but without charges. Tomorrow afternoon, I would be a free woman.

All of this explained why I was the hospital, still, and not in jail. The nurses told me that they were turning away people who wanted to buy my “Story” for a book and a made-for-TV movie. No thanks.

Years ago, I had begun pretending to be blind because I saw how much attention my friend Randa had received, how her every little accomplishment was applauded. Later, I pretended to be her. I had wanted to be noticed, applauded, adored. I had wanted what I perceived as an easier life.

In the end, it hadn’t been easier. In the end, I had had to do it all myself, with no help. Being blind had long since stopped being fun for  me. That day in the mountain cave when I could not open my eyes, when I realized that I wasn’t pretending, that I was really blind was the worst day in my life. That was the day my bright future went away.

The day that the surgeon had removed my infected eyes from my body had been worse. That was the day I had lost what tiny bit of hope I’d been holding out.

The day I realized what Sam had done to me had been worse still because that was the day I lost my freedom and became a slave to him.

The day I killed him was the day I won my freedom back. The first time I held my baby in my arms was the day I regained hope. My future may not be bright , but Pammy’s will. That’s all that matters.

END