The Obscurity

Chapter Six

5339 Golden Acre Drive, Apt 83. It read on the piece of paper that Jackson handed me. As soon as I stepped outside the office, I began scrambling for my phone, typing in the address to see how far it is from here. Presumably, it was about a ten-mile distance, so I decided to request a self-driving cab.

Soon enough, my cab arrived, I got into the seat as the 'driver' asked, "Where to, Ma'am?"

"This address, please." I showed him the note, and he nodded, quickly typing it into his screen. I watched the streets go by and again plastered my eyes onto the ongoing traffic of the public. Scurrying and rummaging through, I could see a remnant of myself walking there, between all the adults and even little children, and how life used to be for the past two years. How life was supposed to be, if this didn't luckily happen to me, at the moment. I don't even think I could consider this as 'lucky,' because every minute that I'm delving deeper into this accident, every second I spend finding something I'm supposed to be blind to, something seems more and more unnerving. As if there are blocks and holes to every story or lead I find.

"Don't tell anyone you can see." The words seem to find their way in and out of my head pretty easily now as if there's a secret passage letting them flood inside unknowingly, and rush back out before I even knew of their presence. I despised the fact that six measly words had such control and grip over my being.

This was deliberate. Somehow, I am supposed to find out what went wrong, and in a way, as ominous as that note may have been, the sender clearly warned me. Warned me to stop myself from doing the one thing I've been hoping to do since this happened, from doing something I would regret. Warned me for a reason.

"Ma'am?" Someone said. I drew away from my conflicted mind and focused on the man sitting in front of me. "We've reached your destination." The driver enunciated louder, clearly portraying a bitter tone of how I had spaced out earlier. I nodded without a word, still, a bit dazed from my constantly running thoughts, and paid him as I stepped out of the car. He soon sped off, leaving me near a slightly old apartment complex. I needed to get myself and my head in order, I needed to contain all my emotions, my fears, my trauma. There's no turning back from this. I had no free passes of screwing this up, and that kind of responsibility bore weight on my back.

I marched through the open apartment complex and tried to find the number 83. With my terrible sense of direction, after a few twists and turns around the place, I was able to find myself directly in front of Natasha Perez's door. The big rusted gold letters, slightly glimmering the '83,' plastered on the door, intimidated me. Intimidated me in a way that I'd have to confront Natasha Perez. Ask her questions that I couldn't even fathom inside my brain. The possibility of her slamming the door in my face taunted me as my eyes glared into the 83, almost burning a hole through the door.

Collecting all my overthinking notions, I took a deep breath and just rang the doorbell. After a few minutes, which felt like a few hours, I rang the doorbell again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

After all that, she isn't here? I thought to myself, basking in my rotten luck. What kind of sane person would trust me with this kind of responsibility? I couldn't even properly follow a lead, or get there in time for the unfolding. They make this look way easier in the movies. Barging in through the door, finding all the information you need on a silver platter, and solving the crime. I'm not even sure if "The Great Blinding" even is a crime. If I want to prove this to anyone, all the "evidence" I have at the moment makes it a slightly suspicious, if at all, accident.