Running Blind (The Visitor)

weight on the foot in the water and brought the other in after it. Stood there in the tub up to her calves.
    “Now sit down. Carefully.”
    She put her hands on the rim and lowered herself down.
    “Legs straight.”
    She straightened her legs and her knees disappeared under the green.
    “Arms in.”
    She let go of the rim and put her hands down beside her thighs.
    “Good,” the visitor said. “Now slide down, slowly and carefully.”
    She shuffled forward in the water. Her knees came up. They were stained green, dark and then pale where little rivulets of paint flowed over her skin. She lay back and felt the warmth moving up her body. She felt it lap over her shoulders.
    “Head back.”
    She tilted her head and looked up at the ceiling. She felt her hair floating.
    “Have you ever eaten oysters?” the visitor asked.
    She nodded. She felt her hair swirl in the water as she moved her head.
    "Once or twice,” she said.
    “You remember how it feels? They’re in your mouth, and you just suddenly swallow them whole? Just gulp them down?”
    She nodded again.
    “I liked them,” she said.
    “Pretend your tongue is an oyster,” the visitor said.
    She glanced sideways, puzzled.
    “I don’t understand,” she said.
    “I want you to swallow your tongue. I want you to just gulp it down, real sudden, like it was an oyster.”
    “I don’t know if I can do that.”
    “Can you try?”
    “Sure, I can try.”
    “OK, give it a go, right now.”
    She concentrated hard, and tried. Gulped it back, suddenly. But nothing happened. Just a noise in her throat.
    “Doesn’t work,” she said.
    “Use your finger to help,” the visitor said. “The others all had to do that.”
    “My finger?”
    The visitor nodded. “Push it back in there with your finger. It worked for the others.”
    “OK.”
    She raised her hand. Thin paint ran off her arm, with thicker globules where the mixing wasn’t perfect.
    “Which finger?” she asked.
    “Try the middle,” the visitor said. “It’s the longest.”
    She extended her middle finger and folded the others. Opened her mouth.
    “Put it right under your tongue,” the visitor said. “And push back hard.”
    She opened her mouth wider and pushed back hard.
    “Now swallow.”
    She swallowed. Then her eyes jammed open in panic.

30
    THE CAB PULLED up nose to nose with the police cruiser. Reacher was the first one out, partly because he was tense, and partly because he needed Harper to pay the driver. He stood on the sidewalk and glanced around. Stepped back into the street and headed for the cop’s window.
    “Everything OK?” he asked.
    “Who are you?” the cop said.
    “FBI,” Reacher said. “Is everything OK here?”
    “Can I see a badge?”
    “Harper, show this guy your badge,” Reacher called.
    The taxi backed off and pulled a wide curb-to-curb turn in the road. Harper put her purse back in her pocketbook and came out with her badge, gold on gold, the eagle on top with its head cocked to the left. The cop glanced across at it and relaxed. Harper put it back in her bag and stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the house.
    “It’s all quiet here,” the cop said, through his window.
    “She in there?” Reacher asked him.
    The cop pointed at the garage door.
    “Just got back from the store,” he said.
    “She went out?”
    “I can’t stop her from going out,” the cop said.
    “You check her car?”
    “Just her and two shopping bags. There was a padre came calling for her. From the Army, some counseling thing. She sent him away.”
    Reacher nodded. “She would. She’s not religious.”
    “Tell me about it,” the cop said.
    “OK,” Reacher said. “We’re going inside.”
    “Just don’t ask for the powder room,” the cop said.
    “Why not?”
    “She’s kind of touchy about being disturbed.”
    “I’ll take the risk,” Reacher said.
    “Well, can you give her this for me?” the cop asked.
    He ducked down in his car and came back with an empty mug from the passenger footwell. Handed it out through the window.
    “She brought me coffee,” he said. “Nice lady when you get to know her.”
    “Yes, she is,” Reacher said.
    He took the mug and followed Harper into the driveway. Up the looping path, up the porch steps, to the door. Harper pressed the bell. He listened to the sound echoing to silence off the polished wood inside. Harper waited ten seconds and pressed again. A burst of purring metallic noise, then echoes, then silence.
    “Where is