Tyger Eyes

By T. W. Fielding

Blinded by a traumatic onset of macular degeneration, Tom Wilson is treated with experimental steroids. Soon after, he can see and with strenuous focusing see much more. But in trying to save a kidnapped child he overuses his skill and learns there is a price to pay for his gift.

• Language: English
• Publisher: T. W. Fielding
• Release date: Apr 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370954094

T. W. Fielding

T. W. Fielding lives in the northwest ...

Book preview

Tyger Eyes

by Ted Fielding

Published by Three Door Publishing

Copyright © 2017 T. W. Fielding

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Author's Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Cover art by Paul Campbell

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Contents

Start

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

About the Author

Other Stories

Books

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Tyger, Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry? . . .

By William Blake

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Chapter 1

He lay in the hospital bed at Sacred Heart Hospital not feeling much of anything. No pain. Groggy from the medication. And smelling the room, God, it smelled so antiseptic.

He heard the door open. Sneakers squeaked—his doctor's squeak—as Doctor Ashcroft walked across the tile floor. Smelled the musky aftershave. The squeak, squeak stopped at the foot of the bed—looking at the chart—then squeak, squeak to the side of the bed. Heard him inhale; tired, thinking.

Funny how when one of your primary senses isn't working, another shifts into high gear. It was still in high gear so that told him something.

Tom, Doctor Ashcroft said gently.

He heard the question in his deep voice although it wasn't a question.

Yeah.

The procedure was a . . . success.

He could sense the tension in the room mounting.

What's the matter? That's it, be brave. Ask him straight forward.

As you know, you were blinded by a traumatic onset of macular degeneration.

Why the history lesson?

At your written request—yes, he'd signed forms—we tried to treat it with experimental steroids, injected them into your eyes and into the veins behind your eyes.

Tried? he said, his heart racing. Wh-wh-what do you mean, tried?

The steroid wasn't as . . . sterile as it was supposed to be. Dr. Ashcroft made a swallowing noise.

Not sterile?

Somehow it was contaminated, we're not exactly sure how.

By what? How? How the hell could they not be sure? He was the first one; they were supposed to take extra precaution with him, weren’t they? He was so scared he had to force himself to talk slowly so he’d be understood. Didn't you test it?

Batch B91543 was tested more than any other batch. It may have been the testing that contaminated it.

Now he was shaking like he was shivering cold. He heard the nurse move closer and guessed she was doing something with the IV. Will I be able to see?

We don't know. The scans are the best I've seen.

What? Are my eyes okay?

They seem to be. We'll know in a few days.

An-and if they're not?

We've moved you to the head of the transplant list.

Oh. He felt like a balloon with the air let out, shrinking, shriveling into himself. Then the drugs in the IV began taking hold. Wait, hadn’t they told him he couldn’t get a transplant for some godforsaken medical mumbo-jumbo reason?"

Dr. Ashcroft put his large hand on his shoulder and said in a kindhearted voice, We'll do everything we can to help you.

Thanks. He wanted to nod his head, but now that the doctor mentioned it, something did feel . . . odd. As a matter of fact, he felt very odd. Throw-up odd.

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Chapter 2

Three days later they removed the bandages. He felt them wipe his eyelids, removing the gunk, cleaning everything. It wasn't painful, but it was strange.

Doctor Ashcroft told the nurses to clear everything out of the room and close the door. He sensed him stepping close to the bed, breathed in his aftershave. God, he was going to have to tell him about that aftershave, change it, and stop wearing it, something.

Can you open your eyes?

He thought he had, but he tried again and still didn't see anything, no light, no dark, no blur, nothing.

He felt the space between him and the doctor grow. Heard a chair creak, someone must have bumped into it moving back. One of the nurses gasped. Her rubber-sole shoes made a noise moving away. Sweat broke out on his forehead.

He heard someone saying something—did Dr. Ashcroft shush her? The movement stopped. Now the room was too quiet.

What? he said breathless as though he'd run a race.

Your eyes, Doctor Ashcroft said.

What, what about my eyes?

The steroid —

You mean that contaminated crap you gave me? He was shaking so much he wanted to shout, scream at them. After a few moments he calmed down. Sorry.

The steroid solution somehow changed the color of your sclera. You know the sclera is usually white.

Yeah, he said sounding braver than he was. It took him a moment to register that the sclera was white and circled the pupils.

Dr. Ashcroft cleared his throat. It's yellowish . . . dark yellow.

Gold, Nurse Barbara said. Her voice had a little flutter in it that a little girl gets when frightened.

He turned his head toward the voice and heard her shoes squeak when she backed up.

Your irises were green, weren't they?

It was like they were talking about a tie he was wearing. Hazel, they used to be called.

Maybe that's where the yellow came from, Nurse Barbara said. She sounded like she was struggling to control of herself as she tried to help Dr. Ashcroft soften the blow.

I don't care about the color. He almost shouted and almost added a lot more, but managed to keep himself under control.

Can you see anything?

No.

Look to the right.

It took him a few heartbeats to remember which side was right. He thought he was turning his eyes to that side. He didn’t know. No one said he had. Then he heard someone put their hand over their mouth and he assumed he had.

To the left.

He moved his eyes left as far as he could and almost smiled, this was almost a game. Now he heard battle-hardened Nurse Barbara gasp and he struggled not to grin.

He tried to see, tried real hard, turning his head and eyes left and right. He couldn't see if it was day or night, though he was aware it was late morning from the sounds and it had been hours since breakfast.

Don't be alarmed, Doctor Ashcroft said. I'm going to touch your face.

He felt the bed move when Doctor Ashcroft leaned against it and then sensed the light on the left side of his face. The Doc must be pointing a light at his eyes. He had the impression Ashcroft then moved to his right cheek as he checked both eyes. He couldn't see the bright light, dammit. He couldn’t see anything.

See anything? Anything at all?

Nothing. He almost choked on the words.

Your pupils seem to be working.

Uh huh. What could he say? He hadn't been able to see for over five years. He'd agreed to the experimental procedure in the faint hope he would regain his sight again. He had risked everything and still couldn't see.

It may be awhile before it takes effect. He heard the lie in Ashcroft's voice.

He breathed in. He didn’t want to cry. Be brave he told himself.

I—I understand. He wanted to scream until God heard him and made him see. He felt the tears running down his face. Some things you couldn't hide behind blindness.

Good. Your tear ducts still work.

Yeah. Real f..ing good. Whoopee.

We'll give it a few days.

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Chapter 3

One week later he was discharged from Sacred Heart Medical Center. He felt the cool spring breeze and smelled the wet freshness of life outside the hospital.

He still couldn't see, but one of the nurses said he had the sexiest eyes she had ever seen. Sexy to her, a fright to everyone else. He didn't care about that. He just wanted to see. God, are you listening?

The doctor said he may be trying too hard, that the tests showed his brain was receiving signals. Of course, with the contaminated steroid solution his brain might not be able to interpret them. It might take a while for his brain to comprehend what it was seeing.

Yeah, he said, thinking—like forever.

Outside the hospital room he wore dark sunglass so he wouldn't shock anyone. Nurse Barbara had said they were quite a sight.

Now he wasn't just blind, he was a blind freak.

Nurse Barbara drove him from Sacred Heart on Riverbend Drive to his apartment on the southwest side of Eugene. Her perfume seemed a little strong and he wondered if she put a little extra on to hide something, like a shot of whiskey to calm her nerves.

18th and Polk, he told her to make sure she was going to the right place.

I know.

About twenty minutes later she pulled into his apartment complex parking lot. He climbed out and she hurried around the car and holding his hand like he was a child, led him to his apartment. She took his key and unlocked his door and helped him step inside. He could hear her, sense her; was she afraid to get to close?

You want me to stay with you until you get settled? she said, but he could tell she did not want to stay any longer than absolutely necessary.

He could smell her fear—was that the reason for the perfume?—and said no. He walked her to the door, three steps from the center of the living room. He reached for the door, found it and closed it. He had the feeling she was standing outside and closed it in her face and breathed out, glad to be alone.

He sat in a chair by the door and tried not to cry. His hopes had been so high. Now they were so low.

They delivered his golden retriever Seeing Eye dog, Ronald, about an hour later.

Mr. Wilson? Mrs. Canterbury said when he answered the door.

Yes.

He could hear Ronald panting.

He reached his hand out and she handed him the leash. Ronald was yanking on the leash wanting to come inside.

Would you like me to stay? Her perfume was heavy too. What was it with all the strong perfume? Had the hospital nurses spoken to her? Was he such a freak they needed to drink to deal with him? Or was his seeing really gone for good now and his other senses were making up for it?

No.

Well, then I’ll be see—going . . . goodbye.

He heard her walk away fast, she was in a hurry. He closed the door and removed the leash. He heard Ronald sniffing around the apartment, checking things.

He had a feeling it was the wrong thing to do, but he took off his dark glasses. He leaned against the door, the cool wood on his forehead. Ronald was making whining sounds. He sensed he was sitting down looking up at him. It was strange he was not bumping into his legs wanting to be petted.

He turned around slowly, It's me, boy," and got on his knees.

Ronald whined like he was afraid.

It's me.

He reached out. Ronald wouldn't come to him. That was it. The last thing he could take. He started crying. He couldn't stop himself.

Ronald came to him and licked his hands and he hugged him, feeling the luxurious fur. Smelled the doggy odor. Look what they did to me.

He tried to look at him and heard him jump away.

And they told me they were sexy. He laughed, and then he cried. He got himself under control and felt around on the floor for his glasses. When he put them on, Ronald came to him and licked his face. They sat on the floor together for a long time.

*****

Chapter 4

It was at the supermarket that it happened.

The food in his refrigerator was not to be trusted. He sniffed it, but his nose didn't seem to be working today—must be the start of a cold. He couldn't tell if the food was fresh or not. So he put the leash on Ronald and went to Albertson’s up 18th.

He was walking past the meat case; he could smell the cold chicken and the cold beef. Then, at the deli case, everything started to change.

One moment he was seeing nothing and then. . . . And then someone was tuning an old TV set trying to find a station, first there was nothing, and then black and white dots and then he started seeing things, sort of. What as a shock! He was seeing something.

He fumbled the dark glasses off. The brightness hurt his eyes. He squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed them. They felt better when he pressed his palms against them.

He opened his eyes just a little and squinted at Ronald. The small golden retriever was sitting on the floor looking up at him. Ronald had a very intelligent face and brown eyes. He was seeing!

Tears filled his eyes. He could see. He closed his eyes and wiped the tears away.

Very slowly he re-opened them. Everything was strange, but he was seeing. Only this was not like seeing had ever been. The colors, the things, melted together, like a water color where the wet colors ran, blended into each other. A woman was reaching for something and her hand melted into the dairy case.

He quickly closed his eyes and rubbed them. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He was grateful and scared. So very scared. He prayed, Please God let me see. ‘Was that it?’

Prior to the accident he had been able to see very well. Didn't need glasses. Wasn't color blind. Blues looked blue and reds were red. Now everything was different.

Ronald whined.

He opened his eyes carefully. He had turned about, was facing back the way he had come. Slowly everything came into focus. Then he noticed the colors in the meat case. The red meat was so red, it was . . . powerful. He had never seen colors so vivid. Now he also saw shades of red that he hadn't seen before, didn't even know they existed. At first he didn't understand. He breathed in. He could still smell the meat, but it looked so different from what he remembered; could it be 'red' had a specific smell?

What's going on? What am I seeing?

The chicken was different. Not red. Sort of pale pink.

The pork was pink-red. He could see all of it and he could see some of the meat was turning; there was a pink-red-turning-brownish package in the center of the meat case.

He fumbled the dark glasses back on and walked over to the meat case. Picked up the package and smelled it carefully. He breathed in the faint sour scent.

Anything the matter, Mr. Wilson?

He recognized the voice. It was Bodie the butcher. He had never seen him before. Thick shouldered guy, with short black hair. Bodie came over to the meat case, walking with the rolling gait of a weightlifter.

He fumbled the meat onto the counter. I think it's going bad.

Bodie picked it up and smelled it. Hmm. You're right. Thanks. Bodie carried the package to the back.

He glanced over the top of his glasses and couldn't believe what he was seeing. There was something around Bodie. It was shaped like a . . . egg, a luminous transparent egg. It was around him wherever he went. He could see through it and there were colors on it.

What was that? It was so strange. At first he thought something was wrong with his eyes and he rubbed them. But it was still there. Then he remembered reading, listening to, something about it in a book at the library. He had laughed out loud when he'd heard it. Over and over he had listened to that section because he didn't believe anyone could actually see such things. The writer had called it an aura.

Lobsing Yogan said we all have an aura around us. He could look at someone's aura and see if they were sick.

Wasn't there something about it in one of Carlos Castaneda's books?

It was like hearing everyone talk about those 3-D calendars that looked like nonsense. Everyone said they could see it and he had thought they were crazy until he saw one, but that was years ago. Once he learned how to see the images in those pictures he could see them easily. The images had always been there, he just hadn't known how to look. He felt that way now. The eggs had always been there and he just hadn't known how to see them. Now that he could see them, what he had read made sense.

What else could it be? This thing, this bluish aura was all around Bodie, from just above his head to his feet. It glowed like a transparent Easter egg. It moved with him, went everywhere he did like a transparent blue bubble spacesuit. He could see Bodie through the egg and when he concentrated he could see something on the outside of the aura. On the surface of the egg was a projection—that was the only way he could describe it—a projection of a little boy. The boy was lying in bed wiping at his runny nose with a tissue.

A wave of dizziness came over him and he held onto the top of the meat case. It was cold to touch. A strange sensation grabbed the pit of his stomach. He was slightly nauseated.

Are you okay? Bodie said, coming back to the counter.

Yeah. . . Yeah, I'm fine.

Sorry about the operation.

He didn't really want to talk about it. But the picture on that aura egg? He took a chance. Hope your . . . son gets better.

How'd you know?

He couldn't tell him what he had seen. He didn't really believe it himself. Now he was seeing a picture of someone who resembled him on Bodie's egg dressed like a magician reading minds. Was Bodie thinking that of him?

He didn't want Bodie to think he was a magician and he couldn't tell him what he’d seen, so he touched the side of his nose.

Oh, you smell the medicine I gave him. Now there was a likeness of him with a nose like a bloodhound.

He almost laughed.

Bodie was looking at him curiously.

He stumbled away and walked back to the deli case.

Ronald whined.

He kneeled down and petted him. Everything's alright, boy.

While he did that he looked over the top of his dark glasses, down an aisle.

A large woman was reading the side of a Weight Watcher’s entree, while on her transparent luminous green egg was a picture of a chocolate sundae with whipped cream and cherries. The picture was blurry and the edges were not sharp. On the egg image she was thin until she ate the sundae, then she ballooned up.

At the meat case a bald man with a goatee was talking with a blonde wearing very tight black slacks. The man was looking at the blonde while on his red-orange egg was a picture of—he had to concentrate to see it—the man and a dark-eyed girl.

The blonde woman was smiling at Bodie—he concentrated his eyes, it burned a little—and on her red-orange egg was an image of Bodie making passionate love to her.

Coming up the aisle near them was a dark-haired girl. It took him a moment to realize it was the same one the guy was thinking of. Slender with long brown hair and intelligent brown eyes, she had high cheekbones and a straight nose.

He did not have to concentrate so hard with her. On her blue with a tint of purple egg was an image of the bald man with a head the size of a baseball. Then came an image of the blonde with boobs the size of footballs and eyelashes dripping with black mascara and a very tiny brain. He closed his eyes and rubbed them—was he seeing that? When he reopened them the dark-haired girl was watching at him and he quickly turned away.

He looked down one of the aisles but now everything was fuzzy. It was like looking through binoculars that weren't in focus. He tried to make himself see, but it only got worse. Feeling intense pain behind his eyes, his squeezed them closed and rubbed the sides his forehead. Tears were running down his face. All this seeing was making him sick to his stomach.

He squeezed his eyes closed and after a moment the pain left and he opened them slowly and gazed down an aisle at two rough-looking guys. The stocky one with shaggy, light brown hair was wearing a worn black leather jacket. The thinner one had straggly brown hair and wore a dark brown overcoat.

On their eggs was an assortment of images. Ronald growled. Did he see it? He certainly sensed something.

A gun was in the image of Leather Jacket's lime egg. The edges of the image were sharp and jagged, not rounded like the other images he'd seen. Some guy was holding a pistol. It took him a second to realize that the muscled image on the egg was the guy. Leather Jacket thought of himself as a body builder, bigger than Arnold Schwarzenegger. He was pointing the gun at a . . . checkout girl? Was he imagining holding up a supermarket? Then the image was of the checkout girl taking off her clothes.

As the image became more vulgar, he glanced away.

Overcoat's egg, a dirty dark mustard color, had a picture of a little child tied to a chair, duct tape over her mouth. She was struggling to get free. There was much fear on her teary face and, somehow, he got the impression that Overcoat liked that, liked her being afraid.

Then Leather Jacket came very close to Overcoat to whisper to him and when he did, their eggs melded into each other. When the eggs combined they became more jagged. Then they separated and now the images on each egg was more violent. Overcoat laughed and then his mean brown eyes swung his way and Tom turned to the deli case.

From beside him came a voice. Anything the matter?

He almost jumped. It was Bodie. He quickly shoved the dark sunglasses up on his nose.

Bodie was smiling at him. Can I help you?

He sniffed the air like he smelled something bad. Are there . . . some guys over there?

He motioned down the aisle. The thugs were gone.

Where?

He rubbed his nose like it wasn't working right. Nothing. I thought . . . never mind.

Carrying a package of hotdogs to the front, he saw the guys again.

Black Leather Jacket was pointing a pistol at a checkout girl. Overcoat had taken a sawed off shotgun out from under his coat and was swinging it left and right, pointing it at everyone.

People were lying on the floor.

On the floor, Overcoat shouted at him.

He's blind, the dark-haired girl said, from the floor. He won't hurt you.

Ronald growled.

He was frozen. It was like watching a car accident. He tried to think of something to do, but his mind was blank. He got down on his knees. He saw the girl's hand in her shoulder bag was holding a cellphone. On the screen was a photo of the two guys.

Hurry up, Overcoat said to Leather Jacket.

He could not see their eggs. They had disappeared or he was just too shaken up to see them. Suddenly Overcoat's dirty mustard egg came into focus and there were images of policemen shooting at