Her Eyes

by Jennifer Cloud, Regan Taylor

  "Give me that.” Frank jerked the clipboard out of his hand. He hadn't meant to behave with so much anger, but he wanted to get back to Catherine, not watch guys stand around with their thumbs up their asses.

  He went through the list of tasks and the timetable for each. Then he glanced through the supply list. At least one thing had been done correctly. All inferior items were marked and the supplier supposedly contacted over the problems. Sometimes he wondered about the inferior items. It wasn't anything he could say with certainty, but almost every time, Irwin did the ordering, something seemed to go wrong.

  "Irwin, get out there and tell the men to start taking down the far bank."

  "We were going to hit that next week."

  Frank locked his gaze on him, giving him the gentle reminder of who was the boss around here. “Do it now. I'll call this supplier and get this crap fixed."

  Irwin didn't move until Frank motioned for him to get outside. At least these guys could move dirt. It was common sense, and they owned the equipment to move dirt. As for the rest of it, who knew what he could manage. He just hoped he could hurry back home.

  * * * *

  Catherine sat on the porch with Win until she saw the taillights on Frank's truck disappear. How many times had she seen him rush off to work while she sat at home waiting? She wasn't sure. It felt familiar. Once again everything seemed like a movie, a crash course she hadn't known she'd taken. She knew the scenes but the essence of it remained lost.

  Her skin chilled and she decided to go inside. She reached for the door and stopped. Win started growling behind her. The sound, ominous threatening, a memory tickled the back of her mind. A memory of ... a gun ... Win ... and then nothing. When Catherine turned around to find his hackles rise, teeth bared, and drool dripping from his gaping jaws. A flash of Win on top of her, his jaws wide open edged to consciousness. What happened to me? What hasn't Frank told me about how I ended up in the hospital?

  "I'll never tell."

  "Win?"

  He jumped forward, stopping before his snapping jaws made contact with her flesh. Catherine was terrified, then she realized why. That strange voice in her head rose, filling her. She stood alone on her porch but she wasn't alone and maybe she never would be. That voice, that presence tried to dominate her.

  "Run while you still can. That dog will kill us both."

  "I don't think that dog wants to hurt me, only you."

  The dog rose again, moving until his mouth was right beneath her blue eye, snapping and barking. From the side she heard someone yell. It was Jim. She turned her head, only a little, but saw a shotgun in his hands. The gun aimed at Win.

  "Win. Come,” yelled Jim. “Get away from her.” He took a step closer with the shotgun.

  "Stop, Jim,” she yelled while the dog's focus stayed on her. “Just give me a minute."

  "Whoever you are? Get out or that dog will rip us both to shreds."

  I belong here. You're the intruder.

  "Then maybe I let the dog take us both".

  "Win. Leave her alone!"

  Win lunged again, and she saw Jim take aim. Win's mouth stopped an inch before her face. A flash of that mouth so close to hers. No. That's not right. It wasn't hers ... someone else's ... tearing, ripping, pain.

  "I hate him, I don't want to die, I want out."

  She couldn't back up any farther, or even pull the door open to run inside. Letting the dog die wasn't an option though. She didn't know why, but Win was important to her.

  "Don't shoot, Jim. Don't!"

  Win snarled again, and she felt the cold drain from her body. Whatever, whoever had been inside her, fled. She was pretty sure they hadn't gone completely. Maybe the demon fell back into the subconscious parts of her mind. It hid from Win, waiting for another chance to come forward.

  Oh shit, am I possessed?

  She felt her knees give, turning to jelly. Win sniffed the air in front of her and stopped his aggression. At once, he went to her, licking her face—the side with the green eye—and wagging his tail. Jim ran up, still pointing his gun at the dog.

  "Are you okay?” The sound of his voice would've been friendly if he had would put away that gun.

  "Yes. I had a little episode. I think Win knew it was coming. That's what made him go a little crazy."

  "Episode?"

  "I think my head is a little screwed up. That's all.” She pointed to the gun. “Could you lower that? It's making me nervous."

  "I'm sorry. I thought old Win here was going to attack you again.” Jim looked down at the dog but didn't pet him. He even took a step or two back when the dog edged in his direction. “Strangest thing I ever saw."

  Catherine stood and straightened. “Would you like to come in for a glass of water? You look a little flustered."

  "No.” He stared at Win. “Would you like me to take Win to my house until Frank gets home?"

  "Oh no.” She sounded defensive, hell she felt defensive. Something was seriously wrong in her head and only this crazy dog had scared it away. “I really want him with me.” She reached down to pet him, happy to have his warm fur in her hand. “He's really a good dog. I think in his own way he was trying to help me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Okay.” Jim started back across the yard to his home, pausing to look back at her. “Holler if you need me."

  He shook his head, probably thinking that she'd lost her mind. She didn't care. Whether she was going crazy or worse, she needed Win with her. For some reason, she thought her life depended on it.

  "I'm okay.” She said it more to herself than to Jim, who was too far away to hear. “This is a side effect of the surgery and all. Nothing more. I need to act normal, and I'll be normal."

  She went back into the house, Win on her heels. He followed her into the kitchen. It was almost lunchtime and she was famished, although the cupboards were still bare. There were a few leftovers from last night. She dished some out, making sure to give Win a bite or two of sausage. When it was heated and sitting in front of her, she couldn't touch a bite. Her stomach had turned into knots inside her.

  There had to be a logical reason that she heard voices in her head. She didn't think she'd gone crazy. It could be a tumor, but they'd run so many tests on her in the hospital that surely someone would've noticed something. Was that why I was there in the first place? Why my face was operated on? Why do I have a new eye? Did I have a tumor and it's back?

  Catherine sat in the kitchen floor with Win. He wagged his tail, kissing her on the nose. How any dog could have such rancid breath she would never know. She rubbed the sides of his face.

  "I wish you could tell me what was wrong. Am I crazy?"

  The dog tried to talk, at least as much as a dog can. He gave a half bark ending in a howl. She wasn't sure what it meant. Win seemed to know something. She scrubbed his head again.

  She also looked pretty silly sitting on the floor with the dog. Maybe some fresh air would do them both some good. Catherine opened the door and walked Win to the back porch.

  She liked the back better. It seemed clean, as if there was something wrong in the other areas of the house. She couldn't put her finger on it, but the back was brighter, healthier, unspoiled. Catherine followed the steps down to the manicured lawn. Frank certainly had a talent for making things beautiful. Here she could get better, leave the incident behind. She would get better, and the voices would be gone.

  She lay down on the grass, Win putting his head on her stomach. It occurred to her that he was being too friendly. In some ways, maybe he thought being around her was for her safety too.

  "Catherine?” Frank's voice came from inside the house.

  "Out here.” She rose up, disturbing the dog who gave a half bark of disapproval.

  "Are you okay? I got this call from Jim."

  She smiled. Jim was a good guy. Neighbors like him were hard to find. Few cared what anyone around them did, much less brought a gun to a neighbor's defense. S
he just hoped he never hurt Win.

  "I'm fine. I spooked Win and Jim ran over afraid that he'd been attacking me.” She reached over and wrapped her arm around Win. “Don't worry. Win was just looking out for me."

  "Are you sure? Jim usually doesn't get upset over nothing."

  She didn't want to upset her husband. He had a right to know something strange had been happening. Of course she would have to give him a watered-down version, or he would haul her back to the hospital again.

  "I've had some trouble, not really a seizure, but something isn't quite right yet. Win seems to pick up on it. It makes him a little nuts. He wouldn't hurt me. I think he tries to scare it out of me."

  His eyes grew wide. “We need a doctor then."

  "No, Frank. I need to be here with you and him. I'll be fine when everything settles down."

  "I don't know what to do here."

  "Trust me.” She reached for his hand and gently pulled him to the ground. “I don't want to ever go back to that hospital. Everything I've ever wanted is here."

  "Then stop frightening me."

  He looked cute when he worried. She couldn't remember him ever showing so much concern, or devotion. Then again, she didn't connect with any old marital emotions. Beneath the surface, there were what she could only describe as memories of emotions, but they were convoluted and some how didn't fit with her life with Frank. It was like she was on the outside looking in at someone else's thoughts. Or more like she was watching someone else's memories be played back as if from a grainy old movie. All she had was the here and now. That would be enough.

  "Why don't we go out to dinner?"

  "No. Let's go shopping. I want food I've cooked. And I know you tried to bring me some decent meals while I was sick but, honey, that wasn't my own cooking. I appreciated it, really did, because that hospital stuff could kill. They don't season anything."

  Frank laughed and rolled backward until he lay flat on the ground. Win took it for an invitation and sat in the middle of his chest. When he complained, Win licked him.

  "Okay. You two win. We'll eat at home tonight."

  He rolled Win off his chest and got up. Frank helped Catherine to her feet. She held his hand and they went to the car. She only let go after he opened the door for her to slip inside. For some reason, she wanted to keep touching him. Every moment, every second was precious, to be savored as if they might end without warning.

  They had mild conversation in the car. Frank talked about work. It seemed he didn't have anything else happening in his life except for his business. Something about Irvin or Irwin tickled at the edge of her mind. It was like she knew she should remember him, but for some reason just didn't. Something about Irv ... yeah, Irv ... felt wrong. She liked listening to her husband though. His voice was deep and smooth, reminding her of molasses. She closed her eyes as he spoke, letting the sound run over her. It comforted her in ways she didn't fully understand.

  "I must be boring you."

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. “No. I love listening to you talk. I missed it.” She leaned over and rested her head on his arm. “It's like we've been apart for years instead of weeks."

  "I know what you mean."

  They pulled into the grocery store parking lot, and Catherine realized that she hadn't made a list. At the moment, she couldn't even remember what Frank's favorite foods were. That was terrible. What kind of wife couldn't remember the food her husband likes?

  "Are you in the mood for anything special?” She hoped to gain a hint.

  "Whatever you want.” Frank's reply wasn't any help.

  Like the perfect gentleman, he opened her car door for her, and they walked arm in arm into the grocery store. Frank looked a little lost and suddenly she felt the same. She remembered cooking, but couldn't remember ever shopping with Frank. Funny, her memories seemed to be of a different kitchen, but maybe when he built the deck he remodeled the kitchen too? Would he think it odd if she asked?

  She shook her head. She would make steak and potatoes tonight. All men loved that. She could also pick up ingredients for chili, broiled snapper, and maybe lasagna. If Frank made a face at anything, she would put it back. The last thing she needed was for Frank to think she'd lost her mind and couldn't even remember what kind of food he liked.

  Sure, odds were she had lost her mind. That would figure. Finally out of the hospital and she would have to go right back, back to those sterile walls where not even Win could protect her from the voices.

  "Something wrong?"

  Catherine realized that she'd stopped in front of the shopping carts, not moving, only staring straight ahead. Maybe she should tell him what had been going on with her. He was her husband, yet she didn't want to repeat her newest troubles. Somehow telling another that she'd lost her mind made it more real.

  "Nothing.” She pulled a cart out. This was ridiculous. He was her husband and would love her regardless, wouldn't he? “I guess I should tell you something. My memory isn't coming back right. I've had weird lapses. I don't even remember what your favorite food is.” She tried to look at him but she quickly dropped her gaze to the floor. “I must be the worst wife ever."

  Frank lifted her chin, studying her with an intensity that made her nervous. “Catherine, I'm not going to lie to you. You have really changed since you went into the hospital. There was a time that you probably were the worst wife ever? Not now.” For a moment, she thought there were tears in his eyes. “Anything you need to know, just ask. We don't need to have secrets. Not anymore."

  They started rolling the cart up the aisles. Catherine loaded it up, and Frank put a few items back. He wasn't big on fresh vegetables. She would have to work on that, but for now, there were other things they needed to discuss, other than groceries.

  "Frank, if I tell you something, will you promise not to take me back to the hospital."

  "What is it?” He raised an eyebrow. She could tell he was unwilling to make a promise he didn't want to keep.

  She tossed a can of beans into the cart. She didn't want to do this but talking about it at home would be worse. At least here he couldn't overreact. Here they could keep walking and shopping like normal people.

  "Do you think someone that hears voices in her mind is crazy?"

  He stopped walking and cocked his head to the side. “Have you been hearing voices?"

  "No.” She immediately lied, then hated herself for it. “Maybe. I've heard that head injuries can cause some strange things to happen."

  She tossed in a can of carrots, which Frank immediately removed and put back on the shelf. Even dazed by her question, he wasn't going to willingly purchase a vegetable. The next shopping trip she would have to go alone. And, now that she thought of it, maybe buy some clothing. For some reason, the low-cut blouses and tight jeans that she couldn't take a deep breath in just didn't feel right. Almost like someone else bought them. Although, if Frank had picked them out, he may like a woman to dress provocatively all the time. Then again, he hadn't said anything when he saw her in his shirt when he came home. Somehow wearing the flannel shirt was comforting, not just for Frank's scent in it, it just felt right.

  "I don't know. The injury wasn't like you fell and hit your head or anything like that. Well, your head did hit the ground, but, well, never mind. Some interesting things have happened, but if you start hearing lots of voices, we'll need to have a doctor talk to you. Not necessarily go to the hospital, just talk to a professional."

  What that professional might say frightened her. It was best to drop the subject. Whatever had happened wouldn't happen again. She was fine. Everything would be good, and she would not be haunted by a disembodied voice. That her inner dialogue was a subject best dropped didn't stop her, however, from looking at the “Elvis is alive” magazines. One headline caught her attention, “I got Jaybird's vocal cords in a transplant and now I can sing.". Geesh!

  They finished their trip and drove back home. Things started to get a more familiar edge to her. She
helped unload the truck, and this time she knew where the items belonged. It made her feel better, like she belonged.

  She cooked dinner, although Frank managed the grill, saying that fire was man's work. Her job was shoving potatoes into the microwave and rolls into the oven. Hardly an arduous task, but the way Frank pampered her, she doubted he'd let her do much of anything for a while.

  They sat down to a delicious dinner. The steak was a little too pink in the middle, but she didn't complain. He ate his with fervor so it must've been prepared correctly. He should know how she liked her steaks. Maybe she'd always eaten them this way.

  Win jumped to his feet moments before a knock at the door. The dog was smart. He sensed so much more than she ever could.

  Catherine didn't like their dinner disturbed but didn't complain. Again, she only wanted him near her, needed to touch him as often as possible. When Frank went to the door to answer it, she tried not to pout.

  She poked the underdone steak, wondering when she'd acquired this particular taste. Catherine considered feeding it to Win when that icy prickly sensation crept over her skin, causing the hairs on her arms to rise. She didn't want this happening again. Not now. She managed to stand but couldn't take a step or call out to Frank. Win quickly took note, turning from the door and facing her.

  Again ready to bite, the dog growled and snarled. She started to move toward the dog when the dizziness came. The world grew fuzzy, and then darkness washed over her. She gripped the table but couldn't find the seat. Everything seemed to slip away.

  Win.

  * * * *

  Jim stood in the living room, giving Frank another account of the dog barking at Catherine when a loud thud caught their attention. Both men moved toward the kitchen. Jim froze at the edge, but Frank went forward, almost close enough to touch Win.

  "Boy, what's wrong?” He looked at Catherine, her back pressed against the dining room window. Win had gone crazy, maybe rabid. Drool ran from sharp teeth and his full attention was on Catherine.

  "Get that bastard away from me!” Catherine yelled, panic reverberating in her voice.