Her Eyes (11 page)

"You're fired,” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

"I quit.” Irwin spat a trail of blood from his bloodied mouth.

Catherine put her head in her hands and cried. She didn't want to face Frank, not now that she knew what had happened. How many others had she screwed behind Frank's back? Irwin said something about a James, but how many others? She wasn't a wife, she'd become something low, evil.

"Are you okay?” Frank kneeled next to her. “He didn't hurt you, did he?"

She shook her head but couldn't stop crying. Frank seemed like the perfect man and she couldn't imagine what made her do such things. She was too upset to do more than rock back and forth and hope Frank understood. She also had a sneaky suspicion that she'd done much worse.

"Look at me,” his voice soft again, reassuring.

"I can't. I don't know what else I've done wrong.” She wiped her face with the heels of her hands. “I don't think he was lying."

"I know. I told you that you weren't always a good wife.” He hugged her tightly against his body. “I never knew who or how often, but I had my suspicions. It's over now, though. None of it is as important as us right now."

"You can forgive that?” She wasn't sure if she could forgive herself.

"That wasn't you."

She started to protest, saying that it had been her. The memories were sketchy but enough came through that she felt dirty. All she wanted was another shower. She wasn't good enough for Frank.

"I'm afraid this changes our picnic plans, though. I'm going to have to make some calls, pull someone off of another job. I have a guy in mind, but that means promoting someone else. I'll probably be here all day and maybe all week."

"I understand.” But she didn't want to. This was horrible. Her dreams of a loving home were shattered. “I'm sorry."

Frank helped her back into his truck and drove her home. He said that he forgave her, but he was quieter this trip. It might've been her imagination, but he seemed colder too. All this sat like a weight on her heart.

He walked her to the front door. Instead of a real kiss goodbye, he gave her a peck on the cheek. Things had changed. Damn it all, she hadn't wanted it too, but the happy home she had so briefly had had already turned sour.

"I'll be home later."

Catherine flopped onto the couch with Win. The two of them watched television until she thought she might go crazy. At six, she called his cell phone, but Frank didn't answer. She went to the kitchen and started dinner anyway. She set the table with candles, tried to make things romantic. By eight, she realized that Frank wasn't going to be home for dinner.

Again, she called him. “I'm worried, Frank. Are you okay? Please call me. Please."

She didn't like the desperate sound in her voice. Then Win's fur started to lift, a low rumble came from his throat. Instead of grabbing him, hoping he'd make it better, she ran to the bathroom. It would be better to lose herself in madness than realize that she'd lost Frank.

Catherine glanced at her reflection and again saw the woman with two blue eyes. She hated her. That was the person who'd done those terrible things, things she was paying for now.

"I want my life back,” both women said in unison.

Frank checked his messages and nearly called Catherine back. He couldn't do it though. His gut stayed in knots. He'd never known she'd been sleeping with his foreman. In fact, he wasn't sure who his wife was or is. She'd tried to kill him, had slept around, and now, for brief moments, she was perfect. How long could that last? How long before she broke his heart?

"How do I do this?” he asked himself in the empty trailer.

He almost wished there were a different spirit caught in Catherine's body, that Mary's rambling about walk-ins was correct. But who would walk into Catherine's body? How could he know who it was or where they came from? Of course that would mean that the woman he loved wasn't his wife. He couldn't keep the knives and such away from her forever, but he didn't want to lose the soft side, the one that liked holding his hand.

She had said someone went after her. Was it possible there
was
a walk-in and that woman had been attacked? How could he find out? What good would it do? If he found out who she was, would it send her away? Or make the rest of the bad part of Catherine go away?

Who was he kidding? There was no easy way out of this nightmare. The woman he wanted could vanish at any time.

At midnight, she heard the front door open. She turned on the living room light and watched Frank wince in pain. He stumbled, but it was the smell that gave away his drunkenness. She hated that smell. It was how
he
smelled when he would beat her. No. Frank didn't hit her. Frank loved her, was her best friend, the man she always wanted to spend her life with.

"Why didn't you call me?"

He didn't answer, only walked by to the kitchen. She followed, watching him drink straight from the faucet, then rummage through the refrigerator, pull out cold pasta, and begin eating it from the pot with a fork.

"I will fix you a plate if you'd like."

"That's okay.” He finally spoke, although his words were slurred.

"I don't like you driving home drunk. I could've gone out and picked you up."

Frank stopped with a forkful halfway to his mouth. He set the pot on the counter then stepped closer, too close. He looked into her eyes and not in a loving way, in a manner that frightened her.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking your eyes.” His mouth twisted in a painful look of hate. “I want to know who I'm dealing with."

"I'm the woman who made the dinner you never came home for, the one who called you repeatedly, and the one you supposedly forgave."

He turned his back on her. Rage, fresh and raw, filled her. None of this was fair. She didn't want to cause him pain, but he hadn't even called. She spent all night wondering if she would ever see him again or if he had decided to leave her. Damn it all. She'd been on an emotional roller coaster. All she ever wanted was Frank, and her marriage was slowly going down the drain along with her unable to do anything about it.

"Irwin,” he said in his drunken slur and shook his head.

With a swipe of her hand, she knocked the pot of pasta to the floor. Sauce and noodles spilled over the tile in long red lines, blood-red lines. She would rather get his attention and have their argument than sit quietly while he decided the fate of their marriage.

Frank looked at the mess, then back at her. “It seems I can even piss you off when both eyes aren't blue.” He stepped over it and went into his study. She followed. “If you're going to try to kill me again, don't miss this time."

There was no comment for that, no way to respond. Perhaps this behavior was the thing that had soured their marriage. No, that wasn't right. She remembered enough to know who'd been the villain.

She stood there as his breathing leveled, and he fell into a drunken sleep. So, despite his kind words, he couldn't forgive. Not that she blamed him. She'd been unfaithful and violent.
How could you love someone you couldn't trust?
Right now, she couldn't even trust herself.

I told you he was a bastard. Let's kill him. I'll get him eventually. Win can't protect him forever.

Catherine looked around for Win, but he was fast asleep on the bed. There was no one to chase away the other. That's when the reality of her situation hit her. She was a danger to Frank. Even he knew it. He would never act so horribly if this problem hadn't pushed him to the breaking point. Whatever good things he felt for her were helping to tear him apart.

"There's only one thing I can do."

For Frank's safety, and maybe her own, she had to leave him. The thought brought physical pain to her heart. There was no other choice. One night she could kill him. One night she could sneak out and screw strange men. There was no limit to the depravity the other thing in her would do, the dark side of her mind.

"I am crazy."

She took out a piece of paper and wrote a short note to Frank. She would need a little money. Catherine looked in her purse and found several credit cards. There was no way she could ever have paid for all those. She chose one from the stack and left the others on the table. Next, she went to the jewelry box and put those trinkets into her bag. She could pawn them with the hope she would get enough money not to use the credit card. There was no reason to burden Frank any further.

With a small suitcase and her purse, she went to the door. Two hours had passed since Frank came home, and he'd hardly rolled over. Poor man didn't know how to deal with her. Drinking himself sick wouldn't make things better.

She turned the knob and felt her knees weaken. She loved Frank so much but she had no other choice. This was the only way to keep him safe. He wouldn't have to stay out half the night if she weren't home waiting. He would be safe from whatever insanity rocked her mind and just maybe Frank would find a woman worthy of him.

"I love you, Frank."

Catherine went out the side door to the garage where a little black Miata sat. She couldn't remember driving it, but it was hers. It had been a birthday gift last year, she was sure of it. She tossed her bags inside. One push of the button opened the garage, and she drove away.

"You're free, Frank. I may not ever be whole, but at least I won't drag you down with me."

She rolled down the window and felt the wind blow through her hair. It felt good. If only the wind would fix her, drive out the demon occupying her thoughts. Not that she would ever expect Frank to take her back. Too much had happened. She'd made too many mistakes. Maybe that was the real reason she tried to kill herself.

The sun broke through the darkness, early morning eating away the night in long golden rays. Frank rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. He'd fallen asleep in his den, which wasn't much more than a small room with a couch and television, but was where he had spent so many nights here during his marriage. He stretched, and his head pounded, beating his transgressions from the previous night through him in unrelenting pain.

Then he thought about Catherine.

He'd been an ass last night. None of this was her fault, yet he had trouble with the facts in front of him. How could he deal with one person displaying such odd and dangerous behavior? He should be able to handle it but it was so damn hard.

Frank went through the house, checking the bedroom first. Catherine wasn't there, and the bed hadn't been slept in. He went into the living room, hoping to find her on the couch. Again, nothing. In the kitchen, he found Win. The dog had one of Catherine's shoes. He didn't chew on it, only held it like some treasured memento.

The rose garden. She must've gone back out there. Frank ran as fast as his aching head would allow, but she wasn't there either. His stomach started churning, from worry as much as from the alcohol from the previous night. He went back inside and found Win hadn't moved.

Something had happened to her, and then he noticed the note on the table. The long elegant strokes didn't look like his Catherine's writing. It was from her, though, at least that's what the signature said. He sat down to read it.

He crumpled the letter in his fist, then laid his head on his arm. Catherine had left him out of fear for his safety and concern over what her behavior would cost him. She'd left most of her things, taking the bare minimum to start a new life. She also promised to send divorce papers, legally freeing him, as soon as she could afford to.

"This isn't what I wanted.” Tears ran down his face. “You're not the one I wanted to be rid of."

Had she done it years ago, it would have hurt, but not the gut-wrenching loss he felt now. If it had happened before, he would've mourned the lost dream of a family but not the end of his marriage. The Catherine he was coming to know was special, someone to be treasured and loved. He had chased her away, though.

Many nights he'd fantasized about being free from Catherine, about what would have happened if he had married Pam, but that was the old Catherine. It was not this smart, beautiful woman who'd spent these last few nights with him. This one he would fight to keep. But he had to know which one he was with. Which version of Catherine was the real one? She couldn't go far and even if she did, he could find her. He could check her credit card bills online, he had time to check some things out. He started a pot of coffee, jumped in the shower, and after a few cups of the steaming brew he was ready to go.

His first stop was the library. He occasionally visited but hadn't done any research since high school. A nice lady in her early fifties helped him to the nonfiction and metaphysical sections. Surrounded by the literature, he felt overwhelmed. So many strange things happened in the world every day, yet he knew so little about them. Of course, there were many books that looked like a crock of shit to him.

He spent several hours reading while sitting in a stiff, straight-back chair. The comfy stuff was in the main reading room, and he didn't want anyone to see him reading books of this nature. It was silly sure, but even with the evidence, he had trouble swallowing the implications of Catherine's behavior.

There were many volumes on transplants and traits that recipients had claimed they picked up from donors. There wasn't much in the truly scientific area, but on the anecdotal side, a tremendous amount of information existed. One hypnotherapist had five books out that discussed regressions he had done with transplant recipients and how they took on the traits of the donors. Some stopped smoking, some started running marathons, others could no longer stand drinking coffee. Overall, it read like a lot of their senses had changed. Many things they liked to look at and do shifted to the likes of the donor. But there was nothing about eye color changing. Of course, the person who donated the eye to Catherine had green eyes so that explained that. Her suddenly becoming left handed, that was different, and not at all addressed.

Okay, so it looks like there is quite a bit of theory that someone can pick up traits from a transplant, but it doesn't sound like that's what's going on with Catherine.... not with such a dramatic change.