The Blind Spot Massacre

A severed head dangles less than two inches from my nose. Scalding blood splatters against my sneakers. It's Clint.

Gary grips the matted hair, shoving those dead, unblinking eyes directly into my face. His gaze bores into my skin, tracking every microexpression. He's testing me.

He thinks I'm Iris, my blind twin sister. I'm wearing her blackout shades, my knuckles white around the grip of her mobility cane.

I only wanted to step into her pitchdark world for a single afternoon. A stupid, fatal mistake.

Through the tinted lenses, I have a crystalclear view of the blood dripping from his weapon. I see the psychotic, twisted smirk stretching across his face.

If my eyelids twitch even a fraction of a millimeter, if my breathing falters for half a beat, his rusted, serrated blade will instantly slice open my carotid artery.

Chapter 1 Gary stands right in front of me. Clint's severed head swings from one of his hands. A jagged blade gleams in the other.

If my breathing hitches for even a fraction of a second, that knife is going straight through my windpipe. "Clint, don't bother cooking tonight.

The takeout should be here soon." My pulse hammers against my ribs, frantic and deafening, but I force my voice to stay flat, dead.

The thick, metallic stench of blood burns my nasal passages.

I force my eyes to stay locked in an empty, unfocused stare, even as Clint's dead, unblinking head bumps against my knee. Warm blood seeps right through my denim jeans.

Gary's grip on the hilt loosens. To sell the act, I reach up, pull off the blackout shades, and stretch my arms out with a loud yawn. My muscles twitch with suppressed adrenaline.

I use the yawn to mask the tremors rattling my ribcage. He doesn't say a word. I hear the soft pad of his footsteps, followed by the click of the living room light switch.

Darkness swallows the room. Then, a blinding beam from a phone flashlight hits me pointblank in the eyes. He's still testing me. A normal person would flinch.

Their pupils would contract. But my face remains carved from stone. I don't even blink. Thank god for the specialized theatrical contact lenses I bought to mimic Iris's blindness.

They block out the light. Click.

He lets out a sharp exhale in the dark and flicks the lights back on. [ I'm going to clean up a bit. ] The mechanical, synthetic voice of Clint's texttospeech app plays from a phone.

Since Clint was mute, Gary is actually impersonating him. He knows Clint's routine. Gary brazenly scrubs the blood off the floor right in front of me.

The sickening crunch of bones echoes as he folds Clint's body and shoves it into a suitcase. I lean back against the sofa.

Icecold sweat drenches my shirt, plastering it to my spine. The front door is only twenty feet away. But Iris's apartment is on the top floor.

Even if I bolt, he'll catch me on the stairs in seconds. I can't gamble my life on those odds. Even while packing the corpse, his eyes never leave me. Dingdong. The doorbell rings.

The delivery. [ Keep doing what you're doing. I'll get it. ] I hold my breath, stand up straight, and walk briskly toward the door. Gary is short and scrawny.

Any decentsized guy could take him down. At the very least, I can signal the delivery guy to call 911. I twist the knob and pull the door open.

A tall, lanky man stands in the hallway. He wears dull clothes and a hearing aid in his ear. He doesn't look like a delivery driver. I don't care.

I open my mouth to scream for help. [ My friend is here to visit. He brought your food up. ] Then, that cold, synthetic voice plays from the phone right behind my ear.

Chapter 2 A violent shudder rips through me. The scream dies in my throat, swallowed like crushed glass. Ice water floods my veins. Slam! The heavy door shuts. The deadbolt clicks.

I collapse back onto the sofa. My skin feels like cold ash. No delivery driver. Just Gary's accomplice. Hazel, pull it together. Don't slip. Don't flinch. You still have a chance.

My fingernails dig into the hard plastic of my phone case until my knuckles turn white. As long as I keep playing the blind twin, I buy myself time.

The lanky guy—Vince—drags a predatory gaze over me before turning to Gary. He doesn't speak. He doesn't pull out a texttospeech app. His hands flash in rapid gestures.

Sign language. The hearing aid on his ear suddenly makes sense. He's deafmute.

And to my absolute horror, Gary signs back. [ Are you sure she can't see anything? ] Vince asks. [ Positive. ] Gary replies. [ I'll watch her.

You find it. ] [ Got it. ] Gary drops onto the cushion next to me.

He rips open the takeout bags, acting the part of my devoted brotherinlaw, and cranks the TV volume up to a deafening roar.

The noise covers the sound of Vince tearing the apartment apart. What the hell are they looking for? Iris lives paycheck to paycheck. There's nothing of value here.

Vince steps back into the living room, his hands moving fast. [ Nothing.

Could it be on her? ] He points a bony finger straight at my chest. [ Maybe. ] Gary's eyes darken into something ugly and dangerous.

What these two idiots don't realize is that I'm not just fully sighted. I teach special education. I'm fluent in American Sign Language. "God, it's suffocating in here.

I'm going to take a shower," I say to the empty air. "Clint, grab my clean underwear from the laundry rack, would you?" I stand up, shrug off my jacket, and drag my fingertips along the wall, navigating blindly toward the bathroom with a towel in hand.

They are hunting for some deadly object, and right now I am their prime suspect. I have to take the offensive.

I have to use the most raw, nakedly direct method to shatter the suspicions of these two psychos. I strip off every piece of clothing.

I twist the shower dial, letting the scalding water blast against my stiff, aching muscles.

I force my expression to remain slack while hot tears mix seamlessly with the spray, washing down the drain. The bathroom door doesn't squeak.

Gary and Vince slip into the steamy room without a sound. They stand less than three feet away, their eyes crawling all over my bare skin. I am blind. I am completely blind.

I force oxygen deep into my lungs, locking away the primal urge to cover myself, ignoring the two predators looming in my periphery.

I smoothly hook my bra and pull on my pajamas as if I'm the only person in the room. Heavy droplets of water fall from my damp hair, slapping against my collarbone.

As I brush past them, I intentionally straighten my spine, keeping my breathing rhythm and facial muscles locked in a flawless threshold. Thank God, they don't touch me.

But they do touch my phone.

Gary quietly slides my phone from my jeans pocket. [ Face ID scanning… ] He raises the screen, pointing the front camera dead at my face. [ Face ID failed. ] [ Face ID failed. ] Three failed attempts.

The security lockout triggers. Gary frowns, thoroughly confused by the rejection. A massive knot of tension uncoils in my gut.

To unlock my phone, you either need the passcode or Face ID. And Face ID heavily relies on scanning the iris.

With these thick, opaque contact lenses blanking out my pupils, the scanner can't read a damn thing. Chapter 3 Bzzzt. My phone vibrates against the porcelain.

Gary's face remains a blank slate as he slides it toward the edge of the sink. I pick it up, maintaining a slow, measured pace as I navigate back to the living room.

The caller ID reads Kelly. "Kelly, I want to order a doubleshot vanilla Frappuccino," I say the moment the line connects. The line goes dead silent.

We're both paranoid, truecrime junkies. We established a code years ago. A doubleshot vanilla Frappuccino. That was our highesttier SOS signal from college.

I have a severe lactose allergy. Ordering that drink means I'm begging her to call the cops. "What? Call the cops? Hazel, are you in trouble?

Is someone hurting you?!" Kelly screams into the receiver. Her volume is unnaturally piercing, as if she wants everyone in the room to hear her. My blood runs cold.

Thank god I don't have it on speaker. Thank god Vince is deaf and Gary is distracted. Blood rushes to my brain, pounding against my skull.

I suddenly remember the highyield accidental life insurance policies we cosigned last month.

If I die in this apartment tonight, she's the sole beneficiary of a clean one million dollars. That bitch. Gary frowns. His eyes narrow, suspicion crawling across his features.

I can't trust anyone. I'm entirely on my own. I activate the VoiceOver accessibility feature on my iPhone.

The mechanical, synthetic voice blitzes through the screen text at triple speed. It sounds like a rapidfire string of meaningless, distorted static. Nobody can decipher it.

Not me, not Gary, not Vince. It's the perfect cover. Under the guise of casually scrolling, I furiously blindtype an SOS message to 911.

My thumb hovers right above the send button. My heart slams against my ribs. Just as I'm about to tap the screen, Gary lifts Clint's phone to his ear. He's making a call.

He's calling Iris's number. If my phone doesn't ring right now, his suspicion will immediately pivot to absolute certainty.

He'll snatch the device from my hands and my cover will be blown to pieces. But if the real Iris picks up on the other end… it's a massacre. A dead end. My mind shortcircuits.

Panic spikes. I don't have a second to think, let alone send the 911 text. Instinct takes the wheel.

I jerk upright, purposely slamming my shin into the edge of the glass coffee table.

I let out a sharp gasp, twisting my body, and hurl my phone directly into the massive aquarium next to the TV.

Then, a faint, automated voice echoes from the speaker of Clint's phone: "The number you have reached is currently powered off…" A wave of dizzying relief hits me.

Iris's phone is off. Knowing her routine, she's already dead asleep. She won't turn it back on until sunrise. As for my phone, the screen was already severely cracked.

The aquarium water floods straight through the shattered glass, instantly frying the motherboard. By the time Gary fishes it out, it's a useless, waterlogged brick. I'm safe.

But my only lifeline to the outside world is gone. Chapter 4 [ My friend left. ] Gary types the message into Clint's texttospeech app.

He yanks the apartment door open and immediately slams it shut, faking Vince's exit.

In reality, the lanky, deaf accomplice hasn't moved an inch from my periphery. [ It's getting late. Let's head to bed. ] The synthetic voice chimes again.

Gary tosses the phone onto the couch, grabs my arm, and drags me toward the bedroom. He's still playing Clint. I can't break the illusion.

I force my legs to move in a natural, measured pace, letting him guide me to the edge of the mattress, where I sit down.

Behind us, Vince kicks off his shoes and pads silently into the room. Their hands start flashing in rapid motion. [ Why don't we just kill her and be done with it?

You getting addicted to playing house? ] Vince signs. My stomach drops into a bottomless pit. [ Keep her alive for now.

She's still useful, ] Gary signs back. [ We search the place again tonight. If we can't find it, I'll scrub this place clean. ] Gary fixes me with a dead, predatory stare.

An invisible grip tightens around my throat, cutting off my oxygen. It doesn't matter how flawless my blind act is. Snapping my neck is just a matter of time.

Whether they find that mysterious object or not, my ending is set in stone. By sunrise… No, they could slaughter me at any given second. [ The blind bitch has a nice body.

Want to have some fun? ] Vince signs, a sick, twisted hunger bleeding into his eyes. [ What's so fun about a woman? ] Gary signs back, utterly indifferent. [ If you're out, I'm up! ] Vince practically vibrates with impatience as he shoves past Gary.

He throws me back onto the mattress, his rough hands immediately shoving under my shirt. A sharp, metallic stench suddenly floods the stale air of the bedroom.

Thick, dark crimson blood smears across the sheets. Vince jerks back.

Disgust and fury warp his features as he wipes the wet, rustcolored stain from his fingers onto the mattress. "Clint, are you out of your damn mind?" I spit out, feigning absolute panic. "I just had a minimally invasive cervical cyst removed.

Do you want me to bleed to death on this bed?" A frantic wave of relief crashes through me.

The insane spike in adrenaline must have triggered an abnormally heavy, early period, and I instantly weaponize it, twisting the biological response into a gruesome surgical complication. [ Just drop it.

Leave her, ] Gary signs, his face scrunching in disgust. [ I don't care if she's bleeding.

There are other ways to play! ] Vince signs with brutal, sharp gestures, his face locking into a deranged, predatory refusal to back down.

Without a second of hesitation, I jam my fingers deep down my throat, ruthlessly clawing at my tonsils.

A violent wave of nausea rips upward, and I project a hot, vile stream of stomach acid and chewedup pizza directly onto his filthy hand. That kills his mood instantly.

Vince stumbles back, gagging, his twisted lust shattered. "My stomach is killing me. I need the bathroom," I groan.

I use the excuse to scramble off the bed and bolt straight into the adjacent bathroom. Iris's bathroom window doesn't have security bars.

It's dangerously close to the neighbor's balcony. If I can just use the AC compressor unit outside as a foothold… My brain frantically calculates the escape route.

But before I can even move toward the window, the doorknob twists. The bathroom door violently pushes open. Chapter 5 Vince follows me in.

Even though I'm supposed to be completely blind, they aren't taking any chances. They have to monitor my every move. I'm out of time.

I stealthily slide a plastic toothbrush up my pajama sleeve. It's a pathetic weapon, but it's all I have for a last stand. Let him get a little closer.

Jam the bristles straight into his eyeball. Bolt for the front door, hit the fire stairs, and scream until my lungs give out.

It's a suicide run, but it beats waiting for the slaughter. My nerves are entirely fried. An unbearable itch flares up in my right eye. Pure, unthinking instinct takes over.

I bring the back of my hand up and rub it. The specialized theatrical contact lens shifts. A fraction of my real pupil peeks out from behind the opaque white barrier.

I blink hard, instantly sliding it back into place. But it's too late. Vince is staring right at me. The blood drains from my face. My cover is blown to pieces. Vince freezes.

His eyes bulge out of his skull in pure shock. But before his hands can even form a warning sign, a jagged, bloodsoaked blade erupts from the center of his chest.

The steel vanishes, pulled back with a sickening squelch. Then it punches through his back again. A second time. A third. Vince crumples to the floor.

His face is a twisted mask of agony, confusion, and raw hatred. Scalding hot blood rapidly pools across the bathroom tiles, soaking into the fabric of my socks. I look up.

Gary stands there, gripping the hunting knife. His scrawny frame vibrates, his face twisted into an expression of unhinged madness. He just slaughtered his own partner.

My brain shortcircuits. Is he just a rabid dog that bites anything that moves? Total sensory overload paralyzes me.

Every cell in my body is screaming at me to run, to beg for my life. Instead, my survival instinct forcibly locks my expression.

I reach out with trembling hands and twist the shower dial. I step under the hot water, mindlessly washing the vomit off my skin as if nothing just happened.

Gary doesn't even glance at Vince's corpse. He locks his dead, predatory eyes on me. "How much longer are you going to keep up this act?" Gary speaks.

Not the synthetic texttospeech app. His actual, gravelly voice. My spine turns to ice.

I lock my joints, unable to move a single muscle. "Blind people can't see, but their hearing is sharper than a normal person's," he sneers. "I wasn't exactly quiet when I gutted him.

You're standing three feet away. There's no way you didn't hear that." "And this stench… the blood is literally pooling at your feet, and you haven't flinched once.

You put on a hell of a show." Crack—zap! A deafening pop shatters the air. He doesn't use the knife. He whips out a policegrade highvoltage Taser.

Ten thousand volts of raw electricity instantly shred through my nerve endings, slamming me down into an endless abyss of black. I don't know how much time passes.

I drag myself out of the suffocating darkness, my brain feeling like it's been stuffed with cotton. Rough, thick rope bites into my wrists. I'm tied securely to a dining chair.

The overhead lights in the living room are blindingly bright. Clint and Vince's lifeless bodies are stretched out sidebyside on the dining table. Gary stands over them.

He buries his jagged knife deep into their chests, sawing through the sternums.

Then, he plunges his bare hands directly into the open cavities, ripping out two dripping, unbeating human hearts. Bile rises in my throat. What the hell is he doing?

I don't know, and I don't want to know.

All that matters is I am strapped to a chair in the lair of a total psychopath, and my time is definitively up. "I know you hid the abyssal parasite.

But it doesn't matter if you refuse to talk," Gary mutters, blood dripping from his fingertips. "I have the heart of the Voiceless, and the heart of the Soundless." "Once I carve out your heart—the Sightless… I can trigger the blood ritual and summon the parasite myself!" Chapter 6 Gary hasn't realized I'm an impostor yet.

To him, I'm still the Sightless. But it doesn't matter anymore. He slices his own wrist with the jagged blade, a dark, heavy flow of blood spilling onto the floor.

He begins to "paint" with it, his movements frantic and rhythmic.

He's drawing a complex, gorestained geometric pattern—a pentagram blood array that reeks of iron and ancient rot. "As long as this pentagram blood array sacrifices the hearts of the Sightless, the Voiceless, and the Soundless, it can awaken that ancient abyssal parasite…" Gary's features are contorted with a manic ecstasy, his breathing heavy and ragged.

He rolls his shoulders, stepping toward me with the predatory grace of a reaper. "Everything I want—wealth, power—it's all within reach!" He's coming for my heart.

He needs it to complete his sick, occult sacrifice. A scream claws at my throat, dying against the thick duct tape wrapped around my jaw. I'm not the Sightless!

You have the wrong person! I thrash against the chair, but I'm a mute witness to my own impending execution. Even if I could prove I'm sighted, would this monster let me live?

The answer is etched in the madness in his eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the cold bite of the steel. Click.

The sound of the front door opening echoes through the apartment. Then, total darkness. Someone flicked the breaker. The room plunges into a void. I freeze. Gary freezes.

I can feel his confusion, then a spike of jagged tension radiating from him.

He abandons his attempt on my heart, his footsteps light and fast as he charges toward the door to intercept the intruder. The darkness erupts into a symphony of violence.

A glass breaks. A heavy table skids across the floor and flips. I hear the wet, heavy thud of bodies colliding, the frantic scrape of sneakers on hardwood.

It's a desperate, unseen struggle. Then, silence. A heavy, suffocating quiet. My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I fear it might burst before Gary can even touch it. Who won?

Click. The lights hum back to life. "I've lived in the darkness for decades. Killing you was like breathing." A woman stands in the center of the living room.

She's wearing a cheap, wornout tracksuit and her signature blackout shades. In her hand, she grips a hunting knife, dark crimson dripping from the tip.

In front of her, Gary lies on the floor. His throat has been opened in one clean, surgical stroke.

He's clutching at the wound, blood geysering through his fingers as his body thrashes in its final, involuntary death rattles. The killer is dead.

I let out a muffled, hysterical sob through the tape. Relief washes over me like a tidal wave. I know those shades. I know that stance.

She moves toward me, her ears twitching as she tracks the sound of my muffled cries.

She reaches out and slices through my restraints with terrifying precision. "Iris!" I collapse into her arms, the "blind" act finally shattering.

I'm a sobbing, trembling wreck, clinging to her as if she's the only solid thing in a world made of nightmares. "Iris, how… what happened?

How did you know?" I pull back, the adrenaline beginning to fade and leaving a cold, sharp clarity in its wake. My sister's arrival was too perfect.

She didn't flinch at the bodies on the table. She didn't ask questions. She moved through the darkness and eliminated a professional killer with the efficiency of a ghost.

She knew exactly what was waiting for her inside this apartment. Chapter 7