J. S. Raynor
BLIND FRIGHT
Prologue
What a strangely, wondrous, yet mind-blowing sight! The beautiful, young woman appeared quite tall, although it was difficult to accurately ascertain as the background was just a pale-golden wall. It might not even have been a wall. It could just as easily have been the air that was golden in colour, without any physically solid background, like some beautiful, magical, ethereal setting.
She was completely naked, long, silky black hair tumbling over her slender shoulders and around her small, pre-suckled breasts. Her face was beautiful and serene, an expression of absolute calmness giving her a superbly regal appearance. Her lips were slightly parted, a deeply sensual, tempting smile lighting her beautiful face. Somehow, it came over as an all-knowing, yet enigmatic smile.
Her stomach was firm and deliciously flat. The pubic area was smooth and hairless, rounding to the inviting area between her strong, supple thighs.
Her forward motion was smooth and graceful, like that of a confident lioness, as if she had all the time in the world and, strangely, it all seemed quite fitting when combined with the rich, deep, hypnotic voice of Canadian poet and musician, Leonard Cohen, singing his fantastic, moving composition, “Hallelujah”.
It could have been a scene from heaven, yet her staring, sightless blue eyes somehow belied this possibility.
I, desperately, wanted to shout out a warning to her as she approached the top of the flight of stairs, yet, frustratingly, nothing would come out of my frozen mouth. What was wrong with me? I really wanted to warn her, yet not a sound passed my desperate lips. Why was I unable to protect this unique vision of loveliness?
As she stepped into nothing, her expression did not falter or change in any way. Her body angled forward as she fell down towards, what? It could have been a fathomless pit, yet, somehow, I knew that there was an intentional though lethal end to her descent.
I could see her body falling, slowly, as though I was also falling down, at the same rate, with this mysterious woman to an unknown base. Like some super-fit acrobat she tumbled head over heels and after what seemed like an eternity, she, eventually, reached the bottom. Her lifeless body lay face upwards on the brilliantly-golden floor. There was no sign of any blood, yet all her limbs were at odd, impossible angles. Her serenity and calm expression had not diminished in any way, yet to me, I had no doubt that all life in this beautiful young woman had been cruelly extinguished. Only then, did I notice a delicate ring of gold on her outstretched hand.
Still, Leonard continued with his deep, melodious voice, the anthem never ceasing, yet, somehow, beautifully reflecting the emotion of this strange, wondrous scene.
Riveted to the spot, I could do nothing to help this amazing unknown, young woman and tears began to flow freely down my face, my emotions overwhelming me.
As I slowly awoke, actual tears made my eyes sting. I shuddered at the thought of this frequent and repetitive dream. Was it a dream or nightmare? Strangely, it seemed to be neither. What I did know, was that I had this same troubling experience regularly, ever since permanently losing my own sight, four years ago.
Part One: Who is Tonie Buckingham?
Chapter One: A desire to move out
“It doesn’t matter if it’s not perfect. At least it would be a place of my own!” I said this with such determination and conviction that my parents should have realised how serious I was about my future plans.
“But, Tonie, You have everything you could possibly need, here.” My mother, Lynne Buckingham made it sound as though my parent’s house was perfect and, in many ways, what she said was probably quite true. This was the house where I had been born and, after twenty-seven years, I did feel part of the fabric of the 1930’s semi-detached house in Sale, a few miles south of Manchester. Twenty-seven years! This is longer than most prison life sentences, although I would never dream of making any such unfair comparison.
I did realise that it would seem so very strange to be in a house of my own after all the years of living with my family, yet I really felt that it was something I just had to do. I could not stay with my parents for the remainder of my life, however long that may be.
It was not even a result of friction between me and my parents, as they had sacrificed so much over all those years, to raise me with love, care and perseverance.
“And, just how will you manage to look after yourself in a house on your own?”
My mother could be quite insensitive and infuriating, at times, convincing herself that I was completely incapable of taking good care of myself. “I know that I can manage. I can cook, clean the house, do the washing and even manage the ironing.” Could they not realise how important it was for me to gain some degree of independence from my family? My mother and father had held my hands for quite long enough and it was definitely the time for them to let go of the strong, virtual, emotional strings which had kept me attached so close to them for so many years.
Still my mother had to come back with yet more arguments, “But what if you trip over a chair or fall down the stairs? There would be nobody there to help you. Remember, we have always made every effort to protect you and made certain that there are no obstacles in your way.”
This brought back long-distant memories of falling down the stairs when I was about three or four years old, not just once, but twice. Still, I decided against reminding my parents of this painfully memorable incident, which had taken place so many years ago. I often wondered if it was this possible damaging experience which had created the weird dream with the mysterious, falling, naked woman I had frequently experienced since losing my sight, four years ago. Even if it was connected, just who was the beautiful young woman and what did it all mean?
“Your mother does have a point, Tonie. I know that I would not want to live on my own, if, like you, I could not see where I was going.”
I did not argue with this statement, although I knew that there had been many instances where I had stumbled over objects accidently left in my path. I had guessed that my father would, naturally, agree with Mum, but I was determined to keep my resolve and gain my independence. I had been born with a degenerative eye condition, Retinitis Pigmentosa. The condition was supposed to be hereditary, yet there was no evidence that anybody else in my family had ever suffered from this same uncompromising, terrible, degenerative sight problem
Up to the age of nineteen, I could still see quite well, although the images were beginning to become more cloudy and ill-defined with the passage of time. I suppose I did not actually realise how bad my eyesight was, compared to the norm. It still came as quite a shock, when, after testing my sight, the ophthalmic specialist decided that I should be registered as blind, even though I still had a little vision.
He did tell me, at that time, that it was impossible to predict the rate of deterioration, but, by the age of twenty-three, my sight had completely disappeared, replaced by an unforgiving, inky blackness. Although I knew that it would happen one day, it still came as quite a shock both to me and everyone else when all sight was gone, never to return. Strangely, my family was far more upset than me. I had accepted the inevitable ending of my barely significant vision, as, at least, it, now, could never deteriorate any further. This fact did give me some degree of consolation and I knew that it would be useless to dwell on this unchangeable reality.
There had been occasions when I had tripped over something which had been, inadvertently, left in the way, but I felt it would be unwise and un-necessary to mention this fact to my parents. “Anyway, I will always have Kelly to look after me.” My fantastic four-year old German Shepherd guide dog, Kelly, nuzzled my hand on hearing her name mentioned. I stroked her head gently as she lifted it up to face me in obvious appreciation. “We’ll be alright, won’t we, Kelly?” She had been my “eyes” for the past two and a half years. We had, always, worked together really well and I had no problem in trusting her with my life. She had been provided by the Guide Dog training centre at Atherton in Manchester, where many dedicated individuals train and care for all the guide dogs in their area. Not surprisingly, it costs about fifty thousand pounds of public funding to care for each dog from puppy to retirement, yet to me, every pound was really well spent and very much appreciated by thousands of blind people, like me, throughout the U.K.