Her Eyes (9 page)

"After that she started getting into some mystical type things. Past lives like what Mary was talking about, ghosts, things like that. Not weird stuff, but reading serious stuff. She went to listen to that Sylvia woman a few times, got all of that James Van Praagh's books and read them over and over. I don't buy into that soul mate stuff, but she did. In fact, one time she told me that soul mates were forever loves and that just because they weren't together in one lifetime it didn't mean they wouldn't be in another."

"You think that was crazy talk?"

"No. Not from her. She really seemed to be studying those things. The other thing was she told me one time that she was sure she was going to die young. She just had a feeling she would die young and probably a sad death."

"I can see how talk like that would make a fella shy away."

"No, that's not why. She made it sound interesting. No, it was Catherine. The prettiest girl in school, and she told me she loved me. I still had my doubts about Catherine. I probably wouldn't have married her, but right before the prom, Pam moved away. It broke my heart and that made me turn to Catherine."

"You know where she's at now? That Pam?” Jim shuffled his feet and looked at his own house, probably thinking of Mary who had to be everything to Jim.

"Nope. Lost touch. Once Catherine and I were married, she told me my friendship with Pam was wrong, that it didn't look right. She often wondered if I didn't love Pam more. Never heard from Pam either, after the first month or so she moved away anyway. Some best friend, huh?"

"So you don't know where she is and here you are married to a woman who was previously the nastiest woman in the neighborhood who's now flip-flopping back and forth in personality?"

"Looks like. Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"You and Mary?"

"She's my best friend, Frank. She may get close to the gloom and doom stuff, and sometimes she reminds me of the people at the gate in those Frankenstein movies, but I love her. Always have, always will.” He smiled, showing tobacco-stained teeth and a love that could never fade for his wife.

"Thanks, Jim. Well, we'll see what the next few weeks bring, huh?"

"Yup."

They parted, Frank laughing lightly to himself. It was hard to deny the changes, but tumors and such could cause behavioral changes. Oh, hell, he didn't know. He wanted a nice normal life, and he wanted it with the woman he'd brought home from the hospital. It might be a sin, but he didn't want the old Catherine coming back, ever.

He stepped inside his house. All the lights were off. That was good, Catherine needed her rest. He went to the refrigerator for a beer, while still contemplating this new situation. He got one out, popped the top, and turned to find Catherine standing between the dining room and the kitchen with his handgun pointed at him.

He caught his breath. “Catherine, what are you doing?” He spoke slowly, carefully, knowing this was not the loving version of Catherine.

"Dog can't chase me away now."

Frank glanced around. There was no sign of Win. Somewhere, probably the bedroom, he heard scratching and howling.
She must've locked him up some place
. He returned his gaze to Catherine. Both her eyes were blue.

Jim slipped into his pajama bottoms. He didn't like wearing the shirt. It bunched up on him at night. Besides, it didn't fit so well over his belly anymore. He didn't want to tell Mary. She would put him on another diet. He hated when she got on a health kick. Instead of fried chicken, she would serve alfalfa, kelp, and those little rice cakes. He hated rice cakes. Nothing made them taste like real food.

Mary had already gone to bed. She'd been there since he walked Frank back home. That's how she pouted. If he were lucky, she would be in bed for a couple of days. He laughed and noticed movement in the blankets. It wouldn't be good to rile her anymore tonight. She was a good woman, a busybody if ever there was one, but a fine wife.

He pulled back the covers to slip in behind her. He'd gotten both legs under the covers and started pulling them over his belly when he heard the shot. It took a moment for him to register what it was. Then, he knew.

Just like before.

At once, he jumped to his feet, found the slippers on the floor, and ran to Frank's house.

Behind him, he heard Mary calling out. Her shrill voice became lost as he slammed the front door shut and ran across the yard. At Frank's front door, he hesitated, afraid to knock, afraid not to. The crazy Catherine might kill anyone who came into the house, but he couldn't let his friend down. Jim burst through the door and ran to the only lighted room. There on the floor was Catherine being held in Frank's arms. A pistol sat on the floor.

"What the hell happened?” Jim's adrenaline had kicked up too far for polite conversation.

"Catherine had another episode."

She sobbed in his arms. Jim wasn't sure who to feel sorriest for—Frank, who loved a woman set on killing him, or Catherine, who couldn't help going after a man she loved. He was too old for this shit. Neighbors like these made nursing home life look promising.

"You two have to do something. This is ridiculous.” His voice rose louder than it should've, but he couldn't help it. He was too old for crazy neighbors trying to kill each other.

"I've got an idea.” Frank rose, carrying Catherine down the hall. He returned a moment later, alone, and with an empty laundry basket. “Would you mind taking a few things to your house, just for tonight?"

"Okay.” Jim was more confused than ever. “What are we doing?” At the moment, he'd try performing an exorcism, only he was afraid the demon would stay and whatever sweet soul Frank brought home from the hospital would leave. “You want me to run to that Catholic church and get holy water?"

"Not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be.” Jim meant it. He'd even hijack a priest to get this mess under control. “What are we doing?"

"You'll see."

Frank pulled open the kitchen drawer and put all the knives inside the basket. On top went his pistol, and he added any items that could be a threat, such as skewers. The last thing was a kitchen towel to cover the mess.

"This will make me sleep better tonight.” He handed Jim his rifle and shotgun. He had trouble holding both in one hand and balancing the basket full of implements that could be used for murder.

"Maybe we should take her to the hospital tonight, or at least tie her to the bed so she doesn't do anything else."

"No. This will be fine. I'll call a doctor in the morning."

He'd never seen a man crazy enough to stay with a woman who'd acted like that. “So what happened?"

"I don't know.” Frank lowered his voice and stepped closer. “I came home, and she had a gun. Somehow, she had Win locked up in the bedroom. I got the gun away, although it went off during the struggle.” He pointed to a hole in the wall, not much bigger than a dime. “That shocked her back to normal, or whatever normal is for her now."

"I'm not sure you should stay here.” He could already imagine the cops, blue lights flashing over the neighborhood while them there news teams showed up to ask him about his neighbors.

"There's no way I'm deserting her. She's sick. It might be a mental illness, maybe even spiritual, but I can't desert her."

Jim opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. He knew a man in love when he saw one. Whatever this new version of Catherine was, the short amount of time they'd spent together had changed Frank too. His friend was no longer content to play the tough guy, ignoring his wife and working his way to an early grave. This Frank was fighting to keep his new Catherine.

"I'm going home."

It wasn't much of a goodbye, but Jim's old nerves couldn't take any more. He needed a good night's rest and Frank's messed-up household wasn't likely to let him have it.

He strutted across the yard with a laundry basket, the night chill hanging over his skin. Maybe he'd tell Mary about the pajama top not fitting. He needed a new one for insane nights like this.

It was nine the next morning when Frank stole from their bed and called a friend, who also happened to be a physician. Usually Frank was an earlier riser, but last night he had a hard time sleeping. Who wouldn't have? Whenever rest would settle over him, he would wake, startled that Catherine was trying to kill him again. Catherine didn't sleep much either. Her tossing and turning didn't help things. There were also nightmares. She kept mumbling about a knife wound and a car. Then she would cry out, tears rolling down her cheeks. The words were always the same. Half asleep she would grab him and either tell him, “I need my friend, I need my best friend” or she'd ask him, “Are you still my friend?” There was something about her wanting her best friend that reached into his memory to a time that now seemed so long ago, a time of broken promises when his best friend moved away. After that, there hadn't been much to build a life on.

Getting through to the switchboard took only a moment. After being put on hold, he watched the clock, hoping he'd get this finished before Catherine woke. She wouldn't like any of this, and he didn't want her to know that he contacted a doctor.

"Hi, Frank.” The familiar voice helped ease his mood.

"Dan, I'm sorry I had to call you at the office, but I need some advice about Catherine."

"What's wrong?"

He hadn't considered where to begin or how much to tell. Quietly, he stepped out the back door, closing it behind him. This conversation could take a few minutes, and he didn't need any interruptions.

"Catherine's been acting strangely.” Frank didn't want to mention the murder attempts. Stories like that might circulate. The doctor might even commit her.

"How so?"

"Her eyes change. I mean, you know that one is blue and the transplanted eye is green?” He didn't wait for a response but rushed on, “Well, sometimes both eyes look blue, and the dog goes nuts.” This didn't sound good. There wasn't a way to break down the insane events into a logical conversation.

"Calm down, you're not making sense."

He couldn't avoid it. Maybe if he told the doctor everything, he could find a way to help Catherine. “She tried to kill me. One minute, she's fine, loving, caring, then she gets nasty and her eyes change. Could she have a tumor? Could she some how suddenly have a multiple personality? Can you examine her?"

There was a long pause. The silence seemed to stretch forever while his friend and doctor assimilated his words. When Frank thought Dan had hung up, he heard a loud exhale. Frank knew this would be difficult. It's not like his buddy could write a fix-it-all prescription.

"Frank, I'm going to be honest with you here. Eyes don't change color, not without artificial means. There are cases with multiple personalities having different illnesses or going from right hand to left, but not what you are telling me about Catherine. It doesn't add up like that.” Another pause from Dan, and Frank thought he'd scream. “You two never had the best marriage. Are you sure what you're witnessing isn't coming from her but maybe you?"

"What are you saying?"

"Come on. You've always wanted out of that marriage. Maybe you're mind is playing tricks on you to give you a reason. I mean, Catherine is a horrible person, but I don't think she's out to kill you. How about both of you come to the office? I'll give you a sedative and if you like, I'll run tests on her.” He exhaled obscenely again. “They ran a full battery of tests including a MRI at the hospital so I sincerely doubt that anything is wrong with her."

"I'm not crazy. You know me better than that and I've got a bullet hole in my wall to prove she tried to kill me. My neighbor has seen the change too. It's weird. She's had nightmares. And, Dan, this isn't the first time that things have escalated. We never talked about what happened the night Win attacked her the first time.” Phone in hand, Frank stomped across the yard and looked at the rose garden, then at the spot where they'd made love last night.

"Considering what she's been through, nightmares are normal."

"Nightmares about a dog would be normal. She loves Win now and has nightmares about a car accident. She's dreaming about things that never happened. Oh, and this is the weirdest part. She's left-handed now."

"Would it help you if I spoke with a neurologist? This sort of trauma isn't my specialty. It would be best if you had her personal physician from the hospital see her."

"She won't see him again.” Frank rubbed his hand over his face. This nightmare had to end soon. “Please ask around. Don't use her name, but I have to figure out something. She needs help."

"Sure. It's the least I can do.” Another exhale. “Let me know about bringing both of you in though."

"No, thanks. Dan, let me ask you something. I'll warn you, it's weird.” Frank summoned his resolve to say the question out loud. “Have you ever heard of something called cell memory?"

"Cell memory?"

"Yeah, like from the transplant. Have you ever seen anything about how people change after a transplant?"

"That's not my specialty, but let me ask around and see what I can find out. Will that work?” His tone was condescending, not the usual way Dan treated him.

Frank's peripheral vision caught movement through the windows in the kitchen. “Yeah, that would. Thanks.” He continued to watch the movement in the house. Catherine was out of bed. He ended the call and tried to hide the phone at his side. There was no way to sneak it back into the kitchen, so he stepped through the door and set it on the table as if he had nothing to hide.

"Who were you on the phone with?” Her tone wasn't accusatory, but guilt flooded Frank before he opened his mouth.

"Work. I might have to go in for a few hours again.” He kissed her forehead, mostly to get a look at her eyes to see what color they were. “You doing better today?"

"Fine.” She hugged him close to her body, nuzzling his bare chest with her face. “I'm sorry about yesterday."

"It's okay.” It wasn't okay. In fact, it scared the hell out of him, but bringing it up wouldn't rectify anything. He needed to keep her calm, at least until he heard back from the doctor. There was no way of knowing what might set her off again.