Chapter 2 Blind Rage

"Where am I?" Geoffrey asked in a raspy voice as he jerked awake, confused. His eyes are bandaged but he heard movement in the room, the faint scrape of a chair, and the rustle of fabric, but the answer was slow.

"My dear, you're in the hospital." His mother's sister, Mrs Catherine Gayle answered patiently, placing her hand on his shoulder tenderly. But her voice was quiet, strange, and tinged with a clumsy attempt at jollity.

Geoffrey's hands sprang out, seeking the area around him without sight. The sensation of his fingertips brushing against nothingness caused panic to rise in his chest. "Where is my mother? Dad?" His words stammered out in desperation as his voice broke.

A pause fell, the type that hung chilly and heavy, the silence speaking louder than words could.

Catherine said quickly, "I'll get the doctor." He heard her heels clicking on the floor, and then the door clicked shut.

Geoffrey's respiration accelerated. "Dad! Mom!" He yelled, the sound reverberating off the sterile walls. But all he heard was quiet, broken only by the soft beep of a heart monitor.

Then he started hearing voices, far away, yet quite clear. "What an unlucky child that Smith boy is, lost both of his parents in the accident. He has lost his sight as well. So much for an upcoming billionaire."

He scowled, trying to concentrate and understand what was happening. The voices were remarkably real as if they were whispered right into his ear, although they appeared to be coming from down the hall.

But how and why is it possible to hear the conversation of people down the hall so loud and clear? "It is indeed heartbreaking," another voice remarked, losing his sight in addition to the injuries he sustained. His aunt and her husband are going to be in charge of the family business now. What can a blind boy do?"

Geoffrey's mouth flew open. "Nope. Is he now totally blind?" His breath came out sharply, and the bed trembled like a stormy ship. "Doctors said the trauma was the cause. The poor boy isn't even aware yet."

His throat clenched as he tried to shout and demand that they stop talking, but a wave of anguish so intense that it seemed like drowning devoured his voice. 'Blind.' The word, sharp and merciless, reverberated in his mind.

Then, he started getting tormented by jumbled recollections of the collision and his mother's plea to the hooded figure for several minutes-or perhaps hours? Then, a particular memory that seemingly stood out hit him so badly that his head throbbed.

"Please, Danny!" No, his mother couldn't have been referring to his Uncle Danny Gayle, her sister, Catherine's husband. Or was his memory just playing a fast one on him?

No, Geoffrey concluded, as the memory kept playing, taunting and torturing him until he lost the ability to reason and he fell back in his bed into an escape slumber.

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Geoffrey's body felt heavy, like a stone sliding into the abyss, when he woke up again. The room was noisier this time, with people whispering around him.

The slight smell of perfume drifted over him, as a chair creaked. Catherine stated softly, "Geoffrey," in a pleasant yet strange voice. He didn't respond. "Hey, It's your Aunt Catherine. Danny and I are here to support you."

"Yes Geoffrey," another voice said, "Your aunt and I will provide you with all the care and support you need. Don't worry about anything."

Geoffrey jerked uncomfortably at the sound of the voice. It was like a knife cutting through his wound to inflict more pain. It was the voice of Danny Gayle, husband to Mrs Smith's sister, Catherine Gayle. It took all the restraint in Geoffrey to not blurt out the word 'murderer' to everyone's hearing.

"Aunt Catherine, where is Mom? And dad?" His voice was flat and uninteresting as he asked.

After hesitating, she grasped his hand. It was warm and velvety and shook a little. "Honey, Geoffrey... I'm so sorry. They failed to make it. But I'm here for you, I'll always be."

The brittle hope that was clinging to Geoffrey's heart was broken by her words. Every other emotion was swallowed by a pit that formed in his chest, leaving only unadulterated, raw misery.

"No," he replied, fiercely shaking his head. "You're telling lies! They're all right! I simply must see them!"

Catherine took a deep breath and gripped his hand more tightly. "I wish I was lying, Geoffrey. However, I'm not. I assure you that we will overcome this together."

Grief twisted his cheeks as he yanked his hand away. "Go away from me! Every one of you! I don't need one of you!"

She complied, as shown by the scrape of a chair and muffled footsteps, but her disappearance didn't make him feel any better. He had been hoping that his memory was just foggy or something was wrong with his brain but the death of his parents just proved otherwise.

The hooded figure he remembered was real. His mother's words were real. Did it mean Danny Gayle was the hooded man who murdered his parents? He should investigate but how far could he go in his condition and without support? He decided to tread carefully and contact his father's lawyer to secretly investigate his uncle.

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The days Geoffrey spent in the hospital seemed to go on forever. His environment was not silent, despite his lack of sight. He heard it all. Everything. Every sound and word that was spoken down the hall to the entrance of the hospital. Every cough, every shuffle, and even the fluorescent lights hum. Annoying gossip and backbiting among the hospital staff that had nothing to do with him. At last, it was obvious that his hearing was now unusually sharp, an ability that seemed to replace his lost sight.

Like unwanted visitors, rumors circulated among the nurses. "I've heard that his uncle is a struggling lawyer. But the Smiths are wealthy. They have a huge estate. It seems the boy's misfortune is a fortune to his aunt and uncle. What can a sixteen-year-old blind child do with family wealth?"

Geoffrey became enraged. Their comments were like daggers to his young pride, and their sympathy was suffocating.

Two weeks later, he was brought home by Catherine and Danny Gayle. Catherine responded cheerfully, "Welcome to your new home, Geoffrey," but it seemed forced.

Gripping the smooth cane the hospital had given him, Geoffrey remained silent. The sound of footsteps and his cane's ceaseless tapping against furniture revealed the size of their modest home. It didn't smell like his parents' enormous mansion; instead, it smelt like lavender and polished wood.

Catherine led him inside a room and remarked, "You'll love it here. It's just for a while to monitor your progress closely before you return to your home. Also, a change of environment is a nice idea after what happened." She explained.

However, her comments did not reassure Geoffrey. How was he supposed to stay comfortable in the home of people who most likely were the murderers of his parents? He needed to get in touch with lawyer Lance as fast as he could.

The days passed by, with awkward silences and Catherine's excessively happy attempts to talk to him. In contrast, Danny was aloof and spoke in a rough, clipped voice whenever he spoke to Geoffrey.

Inside of him, grief festered and turned into resentment. There was a part of him that felt uneasy whenever Danny was around.

"Geoffrey, would you like some tea?" One afternoon, Catherine inquired.

"No," he yelled in a cold tone. Guilt pierced him as she retreated with a quiet sigh. But his rage swiftly overshadowed everything.

He started snapping at the employees, dismissing them for even the smallest infractions, their stumbling gaits, and their hushed grievances irritating him.

One day he shouted, "Don't mop here while I'm walking..."

"But, you weren't-" the maid started.

"Get out! You're fired!

Unable to sleep one night, Geoffrey laid in bed, his improved hearing picking up the smallest sounds-the faraway crickets chirping, the rustle of leaves outside.

Then a voice spoke in a low tone. It was Catherine's, in a phone conversation with someone. She said, "-we have to sort out the inheritance before Geoffrey leaves my house. So be fast about it."

Geoffrey's ears strained as he froze. "Are you certain about this?" She continued, her voice low and desperate. After a moment, a softer voice, muffled, answered. It didn't matter that Geoffrey couldn't hear the other person as the call ended suddenly.

Like a loaded pistol, the word "inheritance" hung in the air. As Geoffrey tried to piece together what he had heard, his heart raced. His aunt is interested in his family's wealth. Did she know about Danny murdering his parents? Was Catherine capable of killing her sister and her husband to take over their wealth?

Geoffrey's fists clenched as his thoughts raced. This was a big problem.