When Darkness Falls

It had taken only the sound of Alicia’s voice to send him tumbling back to square one.

“I’m taking off now,” his uncle said. “Are you going to be all right?”

Each evening, Uncle Ricky picked Vince up from work, drove him home, and helped him cook di

“I’m good,” said Vince.

“You sure?” said Uncle Ricky. “Nothing I can get you? Glass of water? Remote control? Wi

“Get outta here,” said Vince, smiling.

“I have to be going too,” his brother said. Da

“There’s a nasty cold front coming through tonight,” his uncle said. “You want me to drag an extra blanket down from the closet?”

“I can get it,” said Vince. “Thanks anyway.”

The goal was for Vince to do more and more for himself every day. A caregiver came at six every morning to help him work toward his goal of complete independence in various personal matters, everything from grooming and hygiene to little tricks in the closet that would prevent him from walking out of the house wearing black pants with brown loafers. Uncle Ricky would be back at seven a.m. to take him to work.

His uncle slapped him on the shoulder and started toward the door. Da

“I’ll be ready,” said Vince.

The front door opened, then closed. Vince remained in the armchair as he listened to the fading sound of footfalls on the sidewalk. Uncle Ricky was the first to leave. His brother waited behind on the porch. It was the same drill every week. Da

The engine fired, and Vince could hear the car pulling away. His brother was gone, and it was like old times. Back then, they would lay awake at night in those bunk beds, talking. Oh, the things brothers could talk about while staring into the darkness. Then Da

Get over it, Vince told himself.

His childhood fears notwithstanding, Vince had grown up to be brave, good-looking, and full of confidence. He came to the police force straight out of the marines, after a tour of duty in the first Gulf War. Before enlisting, he’d earned a degree in psychology from the University of Florida, where he was also a standout on the swim team. At six-foot-two and 190 pounds of solid muscle, he was a walking Speedo advertisement. He hated those banana hammocks, however, and he wore them only to compete. What he loved was police work, and he loved being a cop. The psychology degree and his coolness under pressure made him a natural for crisis management. In his five years as a negotiator, he was known as a risk taker who didn’t always follow the conventional wisdom of other trained negotiators. His critics said that his unorthodox style would eventually catch up with him, and they were right. A few of them predicted that he’d end up dead some day.

Even they didn’t see blindness coming.

The telephone rang. He rose and, with the aid of his walking stick, went to the kitchen and answered it. The voice on the other end of the line halted, though it was a familiar one. “Vince, hi. It’s me. Alicia.”

The call didn’t shock him. “Professional” was perhaps the best way to describe his behavior toward his ex-girlfriend during that crisis on the bridge. He felt no animosity toward her, and he had conveyed none. He simply felt better equipped to move forward without Alicia in his life, without a constant reminder of the bright future he’d lost. Vince didn’t want anyone sticking by his side just because she felt sorry for him. No matter what she said, a woman as active, adventurous, and gorgeous as Alicia was bound to leave her blind boyfriend behind eventually. Her dumping him would only make it worse. He had explained all of that to her many times before. Perhaps he should have told her again. “What’s up?” he said.

“Nothing. I just wanted to tell you that I thought you did an amazing job yesterday with that jumper.”

“Thanks. But it really wasn’t anything to be proud of.”

“You’re being too tough on yourself. I think you should consider branching out beyond just teaching at the academy. I really do.”

“It’s nice of you to say that. But honestly, the way things went down on that bridge, we’re lucky no one was hurt.”

“Luck is always part of the job.”

“Sometimes it’s with you, sometimes it’s not.”

“This time it was,” she said.

Last time, it hadn’t been. No one needed to say it.

An awkward silence gripped the phone line, and Vince could sense that she had something more to say. He kept them focused on business. “We should never have promised to let him speak to you,” he said. “It’s always dangerous to feed a stalker’s obsession, and getting caught in a lie can spell disaster.”

“I was actually willing to talk to him, if you thought it was a good strategy. Lying to him wasn’t my idea.”

“I know,” said Vince. “But that was how the chief wanted to play it, so who am I to argue with results? As long as you’re comfortable.”

“I’m fine with it.”

“You should be. I don’t think Falcon will be getting out of jail any time soon. Like his lawyer said, if the judge wants to set bail at ten thousand dollars, he might as well set it at ten million.”

“Well, apparently Swyteck changed his tune. The station called right after di

“You’re kidding? How?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “But that’s enough about Falcon. I’m just glad I was able to help. That’s the reason I went to the bridge.”

The implicit message was that she hadn’t gone there just to see him. “I understand what you’re saying,” he said.

“No, maybe that didn’t come out right. What I’m trying to say is that if I wanted to talk to you, I wouldn’t show up on a bridge in the middle of some homeless guy’s suicide. I would just call you up on the phone and say, hey Vince, I want to talk to you.”

“I know you would.”

She paused, and Vince could feel the change in tone coming. “Hey Vince, I want to talk to you.”

Again, there was silence. He could feel the tightness in his throat, the emotional vice grip. He drew a deep breath and let it out. “It’s not that simple, Alicia.”

“It’s a heck of a lot easier than trying to act like total strangers.”

“Let’s not go over this again, okay?”

“You’re right. Let’s not do that. There’s a jazz festival on South Beach this weekend. Some of the clubs are kicking things off Friday night. You like jazz even more than I do. Want to go?”

“I don’t think-”

“Don’t think. Just do it.”

He paused just long enough to give her an opening.

“Great,” she said. “I’ll pick you up around nine.”

Part of him wanted to say no, but that would have been his fears talking-the fear of destroying what they’d once had, the fear of discovering that they had no future, the even greater fear of confirming that he could never build a life with a sighted woman. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”