Perfect Blind

The head was five inches from my nose.

I smelled blood first. Then cheap shampoo. Last, hospital soap on the killer's hands.

He held it by the hair. My brother-in-law's eyes stared at me, milky and dead.

I yawned Loud.

Dramatic.

Tears rolled down my face and landed on the corpse's cheek.

The killer exhaled. I heard his knife hand relax.

He believed me.

Three months of practice. Blind contact lenses. Bruises from the walking stick. I was my sister now.

He dragged the body to the kitchen. Water ran. A suitcase zipper opened.

I kept my eyes on the wall. Counted cracks. Seven up. Three across.

The water stopped. Footsteps came back.

Then he turned off the lights.

Darkness. My real eyes screamed for light, but the white lenses blocked everything. I breathed slow. In. Out.

A phone flashlight clicked on. Beam straight into my eyes.

I didn't blink.

Ten seconds. Twenty. My eyes burned behind the plastic, but my face stayed empty. Bored. *Blind.*

Lights on.

"Cleaning up," he said. Robotic voice from a phone app.

He was pretending to be Wang Tao now. My sister's mute husband.

I stood. "Hot today. I'll shower."

Six steps to the bathroom. Hand on the wall. Exactly as my sister would.

I locked the door. Turned the water to scalding.

Steam first. Then heat. I pressed my forehead to the tile and counted—one, two, three—until my legs stopped shaking.

The grout was gray. Uneven. Someone had cleaned it recently. Bleach smell under the soap.

He killed him. In front of me. And I smiled.

I'd seen bodies before. Autopsies. Evidence photos. I knew what dead looked like.

What I didn't know was how long I could keep knowing things and showing nothing.

The door handle turned.

I stripped fast. Stepped into the spray. Back to the door.

Two men now. I heard the second set of shoes. They watched me through the shower glass.

I soaped slow. Blind. Exposed.

I bent for the soap.

And saw it in the drain.

Half a contact lens. Blue.

Not mine. Not my sister's—hers are brown.

Someone else showered here.

I stood. Wrapped the towel. Fumbled the tuck. Blind people can't see mirrors.

"Your phone," the robot voice said.

I reached out. "Where?"

"Counter. Left."

Wet phone. Cracked screen. I turned on VoiceOver—Siri reading fast, gibberish to them, clear to me.

*One message.*

*From: Lin*

*"Coming home early. Why is your location at my house?"*

The light flickered.

I looked up—mistake—and caught his eyes in the mirror. The killer. Watching me read.

One second. Two. My face was still. Empty. But my hands were wet and the phone was wet and the screen was lit.

He saw.

I smiled and started to speak  "Siri, read my sister's message."

The robot blared: *"Coming home early. Why is your location at my house?"*

Footsteps retreated. Two pairs.

Not safe. But alive.

I wiped the mirror.

And saw the body behind me.

Wang Tao.

His chest.

*Rising.*

*Falling.*

**Breathing.**