Her Eyes Read online

  For all her years begging for attention, now she wanted to hide from the limelight. This surgery had been kept out of public view, but barely. All she needed were those old lovers seeing her reconstructed, like a science experiment. Rumors abounded about the woman with the new face. Restless reporters called the hospital and had tried to get to her room. Tabloids ate up the story about the woman with the transplanted face, but Catherine refused to be the freak on the cover of the Enquirer.

  The strands of gauze went around, the nurse taking too much time, and the doctor encouraging her to be careful. It was enough to make Catherine scream. Finally, they reached the plastic piece set over her eye and slowly pulled the tape away, then removed it.

  "It may take a few minutes to adjust, for your vision to clear. Give it time.” The doctor spoke softly, but the excitement held in his voice.

  Catherine blinked, the room fell away then came back in agonizing bright light. Another moment and she closed the eye that had survived the attack. There in the sterile hospital room, with everyone waiting and watching like she was some carnival display, she slowly opened the lid of her own eye, yes ... yes, she could see from two eyes.

  The doctor began asking her questions, checking each eye. He flashed the penlight in them, but all she wanted was the mirror. Her hands fidgeted restlessly, she fought the urge to reach up, push the doctor and his hands away, to grab for a mirror. All the while Frank stood quietly, stoically, in the corner of the room. His handsome face revealing none of the thoughts she was sure went through his mind. He hardly looked at her.

  When the doctor's curiosity was satisfied, he handed her another cheap plastic mirror. This was it, the culmination of so much pain and fuss. She could finally find out if the operation was a success.

  "Remember that your face will be swollen for several weeks. What you see now hasn't healed yet."

  She held the mirror and gazed at herself. Parts of her face were still covered with bandages, but she could see her eyes. There was one problem. Her eyes had been blue, a captivating blue. One of her eyes remained that color while the other, the donor eye, was a green the exact shade of dead grass.

  "They don't match. I'm a freak."

  The skin around her eye remained bruised, nearly black. Even if it all healed in some semblance of her former self, her eyes would never match. She would for all times remain a mismatched monster.

  "Don't worry about eye color. The important part is that you can see.” The doctor grinned, and she grew nauseous. “If it really bothers you, get contacts later. Your eyes can be any color you want."

  His tone belittled her. He probably thought eye color was foolish when faced with returning sight. It wasn't foolish. She'd become grotesque, some doll version of Frankenstein's monster.

  "Sure. At least I can see."

  Catherine looked at her husband and felt tears coming from both her freakish eyes. The gentle expression he held made her ache. He probably thought her tears were of joy. They weren't. She knew that for all times, she was trapped.

  * * * *

  "Are you sure she's going to be okay?” Frank stared into Catherine's room, wondering what she would do next. She asked to be alone for a minute, and so he went into the hallway with the doctor. “She's always been ... well ... a little vain."

  He didn't mean to insult his wife, but the truth had to be told. He didn't like the distant way Catherine acted during their marriage, it frightened him. Her physical beauty had always been a focal point in her life. Before the accident, she had worked out at the gym three times a week and had spent hundreds in cosmetics to keep her perfect face properly painted. Honestly, after the accident, he hoped she would find a way to be that sweet girl from high school again—the one who saw the inner beauty, or maybe that had been nothing more than a ploy. Maybe the person he'd seen more and more of the past years was the real Catherine.

  "I don't know.” The doctor glanced back into the room as he spoke. “She can start seeing a counselor. In fact, she probably should. We usually require that before and after transplant surgery. Sometimes ... well, sometimes people get ideas after a transplant. They ... well, never mind, counseling would be a good idea considering the trauma she's been through."

  Frank nodded, wishing he could help Catherine. He knew she had problems, but they'd made a vow to each other. That vow, made by two high school kids blinded by love, may have been made before she had grown so greedy and so interested in the things that didn't matter in life. Nonetheless, a vow had to be honored even if she didn't honor her end. His mind wandered back to that night he found her with James.... Well, that was the past. Now, when she needed him, they could finally have the marriage he wanted.

  "I'll do that."

  He lingered at the door to her room, unsure if he should venture inside again. There were days Catherine acted happy to see him, and others when she flew into a rage at his presence. It was like she was two different people. He knew why. She didn't want to be alone. The same problems that haunted his life before her accident resurfaced again. He knew that Catherine didn't love him. This time she only had him. Frank was pretty sure that no matter how much it pleased her to have somebody, it angered her that her somebody was him.

  He was caught in a difficult predicament. If he left her, it would be abandoning a woman in distress. Staying made her wish for someone else. There was no way to win this one. He wished his father were still alive so he could ask what to do about Catherine. He seemed to have an answer for everything. Unfortunately, he had passed away, along with his mother, five years ago.

  What do I do?

  Hoping to ease her pain, he stepped back into the room.

  "Honey, are you okay?"

  Catherine nodded, but didn't look at him. “Why don't you go home? There's no reason for you to hang around."

  "Sure. I'll get the house fixed up and ready for you to come home.” He touched her shoulder, wishing he could hold her. “If you want, I'll-I'll get rid of the dog."

  "No. You need that dog. Go on home."

  He tried so hard to be patient with her. As always, he kept quiet and silently kicked himself on the way to the elevator. He hit the down button, waiting for the lift to come. There, staring at his reflection, anger flooded his senses. He couldn't let this drop, not now.

  Frank marched back to her hospital room and pushed open the door. She turned, looked at him, and managed to roll both eyes at his appearance in her room. Through it all, she wouldn't become that sweet girl he'd fallen for. He doubted she'd ever been.

  "Listen, Catherine, you can sit and cry all you want to, but facts are facts. Outward beauty doesn't last. It's the person inside that makes you beautiful. Eyes that don't match or a scar-free face don't mean anything. You should be turning to me during all this, not shutting me out. We should be clinging to each other, not you trying to push me away."

  "Leave me alone, Frank."

  He closed his eyes, reliving the night, remembering the dog barking, growling, and the gun on the floor. Win had protected him, although he never growled at a stranger. “You were standing over me when the dog attacked you. I saw what you were going to do, and don't try to deny it.” He fought to keep his anger under control. “Can you tell me why?"

  "So I'd be free.” Her words were nothing but a whisper, but he heard them, and they tore through his heart.

  "Do you want a divorce? I'll grant you one. I would have given you one months ago. I never wanted to trap you."

  Her bottom lip trembled. She didn't answer his offer of a divorce, she couldn't take personal responsibility for it. Instead, she put it all on him. “You'd like that now ... now that I'm a freak. You could go to one of those bimbos who are hanging on your friends. You'd like to abandon me, wouldn't you?” Her voice was a shrill scream.

  "I'd like to have a real wife, not someone who hates me.” He turned and started toward the door. “I'll stay with you as long as you want. I owe you that, but we're married in name only. I'll be here in the morning to pi
ck you up. I will keep taking care of you, but don't let it hurt your feelings if I keep sleeping in the den."

  Frank went back into the hall. It might've been wrong to mention the incident when she was down, but he had to say it. His wife had wanted him dead. He had covered for her with the police, had said there was an intruder and that Catherine tried to save him. Ironically, that was what Catherine tried to say as well. Their concocted stories were so similar. Why couldn't they share that connection to make the marriage work?

  There wasn't much left for him at home, but he would support her. Maybe he could work longer days. Work had always been his escape, and now, with her coming back home, he needed it.

  He rode the elevator to the lobby then exited through the sliding glass doors. He'd parked at the far side of the lot. Even in the distance, he saw his red Dodge truck poking up in the mix of sedans and compacts.

  The sun started descending as he reached his truck. He stood there a moment, appreciating the coming sunset. The orange, red, and gold eased his mind. For a moment, everything was good again. He watched the sunset and took in the mix of fresh air and car exhaust. Things had to get better. He worked at being a good husband. His entire life he wanted to live up to the image of his father, who never had strayed from his mother and had rarely spoken a hard word. Of course, his father never had to live with Catherine.

  "Don't that beat all, a man who can appreciate the view."

  Frank turned and saw a nurse, one born of men's fantasies and not a hospital environment. Her legs went on for a mile, disappearing beneath a skirt too short for work. She had long blonde hair she wrapped into a ponytail. The lady walked up, and he noticed her exposed cleavage from a top not quite buttoned far enough.

  "Hello, miss.” Frank turned back to the sky.

  "I'm June.” She brushed against him. “I'm a private duty nurse at the hospital. Are you here seeing someone?"

  "Yes. My wife."

  "Oh.” She stepped back a little. “What she in for?"

  "Nothing much. I better get going.” He opened the door to his truck and stepped inside.

  "Maybe I'll see you around."

  That was the last thing he heard as he shut the door. Even if he wanted another wife, it wouldn't be one like her. He had enough of the busty, look-at-me types. If God ever gave him the opportunity to do right by Catherine and find love, then he would look for a good girl, the kind that understood what a marriage was supposed to be about. A girl like the one he lost before he met Catherine.

  He gave the nurse a nod as he backed out of the parking lot. This would be his last night at home alone. It might be wrong, but he dreaded Catherine coming home. The very thought made him stop for a six pack of beer. She wouldn't be happy, although he'd built an addition to the deck while she was hospitalized and had installed a hot tub. Somehow, he knew she would find fault with it and more with him.

  Chapter Three

  "Twenty bucks for a fuck. Leave the money on the dresser.” That was the line her mother had told so many men who made their way in and out of their single-wide trailer. At first, Catherine's mother tried to hide her line of work, but that became too difficult. From noon to midnight men visited her mother. Most of them smelled bad and dressed in jeans and flannel shirts. None of them were professionals. Many of them had wives and children at home.

  Her mother never found a man to stay with her, to love her. She sold herself because she had been too ugly for a man to want. Catherine's mother was overweight, a condition that had been brought on by being pregnant with Catherine. At least that's what her mother had told her on a daily basis. She always told Catherine that having a baby girl had ruined her life. These insults she would spew while holding a cigarette stained with red lipstick. Catherine remembered her greasy hair and that lipstick.

  The men that left the twenties didn't complain about her mother's weight. They would simply turn off the lights, hiding what they deemed unsightly while they emptied their loads. Sex. All her mother had been good for was sex.

  Catherine had learned that men had little control over sex. Sex controlled them. Even before Catherine had grown breasts, her mother's clients would look at her with that strange lust. As she grew older, a few of them tried to touch her. That was when she decided that she couldn't end up like her mother. She would get married, she would be good enough for a man to stay. Her beauty was the ticket out of that rusty old trailer with the threadbare carpet.

  Now, she wasn't beautiful. Now men would only want her with the lights off where they couldn't see her scars. If Frank left her, she would have nothing. After all that she'd done, she wouldn't even have a dresser for men to leave their money.

  "I'll never be beautiful again.” Catherine saw herself in the mirror. The odd eye teased her, making her look, she was sure, more like a collection of parts than a person. I can't live like this. I can't be a freak that people look at in disgust, point at like a circus sideshow. Not me. Maybe people who grew up ugly can, but not me.

  She shivered remembering her mother, usually drunk, making those loud noises. She didn't want to be that person. She wanted to be adored, worshipped, needed, and above the sordid things in her childhood.

  "I can't live like that. I won't.” She looked in the little mirror. The green eye mocked her. “To kill myself is wrong.” She reminded herself. “But I can't live like this! I'm tired ... so tired ... my life hasn't turned out the way I wanted, the way it should have. I shouldn't have married Frank ... I deserved someone better, someone with clean hands and a nice suit. I deserved someone who would buy me a big house and better jewelry. I wasn't cut out for the happy homemaker lifestyle. I want to go back and have a do-over starting with not marrying Frank."

  Outside she heard the nurse, rattling that damn medicine cart down the hall. It was filled with drawers, and in each drawer, a new way to make the pain go away. That's what she needed, a way to take away the pain. It wasn't even the discomfort in her face, her soul seemed to be in agony.

  This time of night the nurse didn't watch her cart closely. She'd seen the overweight behemoth before leave the drawers open as she went into the rooms. The day nurses never did that. They guarded the cart like a holy shrine, keeping everything locked up tight. This one didn't, this one was sloppy.

  Catherine eased out of bed and cracked open her door. The edge of the medicine cart sat across the hall, just past her door. This was her chance. She could get that do-over or at least not turn out like her mother. Catherine stepped into the hallway, reached into the large open drawer, and pulled out one bottle and several blister packs of pills. She went back inside her room. No one saw her. The halls were blissfully empty as she closed her door.

  She had no idea what she'd taken. The bottle had some long chemical name on it. The blister packs were also unlabeled except for a C in the middle of the white pill. It didn't matter what they were. She poured a glass of water and started taking the pills from the bottle. When those were all down, she popped open each blister pack and swallowed those too. She wouldn't have to live this way. She didn't have to live.

  Catherine leaned back on the bed, waiting for the pills to do their job. She used to ridicule the ugly, make fun of those overweight. Now she was worse than any of them, but she wouldn't be much longer.

  Her limbs started feeling heavy, then her eyes closed. A little vertigo made her grip the sheets, but overall, it wasn't so bad. No, dying wasn't so bad after all. She'd heard about some sort of light, but didn't see it. Some shades of forms, but no lights. It wasn't so bad over here, and she couldn't see that damn mirror.

  * * * *

  Frank never expected to be back at the hospital so soon. When the call came shortly after he returned home that Catherine had tried to kill herself, he couldn't believe it. Now, he saw her in the glass-enclosed room with a tube running down her throat. The event took on a surreal quality as the doctor explained what Catherine had done.

  "The nurse didn't notice the stolen pills until she went for her last c
ount of the night. After that, the rooms were searched, and we found Catherine in distress. We pumped her stomach, of course. She still absorbed a large amount. Her breathing and heart have been severely suppressed by the medication. It's a wait-and-see thing at this point. We're not sure when she lost consciousness."

  "I understand.” Guilt racked Frank's body. He'd wished he didn't have to take her home, but he didn't mean like this. No matter what Catherine had done, he never wanted her harmed. “Can I go in?"

  "Sure.” The doctor put a hand on Frank's arm. “We're not sure if she can hear you."

  Frank stepped through the first door and sat in the chair next to his wife's bed. The machine kept a steady rhythm, forcing air in and out of her lungs, but it didn't seem like she was there. Perhaps she had gone on to something better.

  "Catherine. I've tried to be a good husband.” He looked at the pale, unmoving body. “I don't know how to make you happy. I guess I never did. If you don't love me, then I want you to go on. Staying would be cruel to both of us.” He sniffed back a tear. He couldn't fight the thought that Pam, his sweet, loving Pam, would never have done anything like this.

  Life was precious to Pam, she didn't even like seeing a bug die. She would talk about karma and reincarnation and how souls go on and come back when they are ready. He recalled one time she had gotten this book about walking ... walk ... what was it she had said? Well, that didn't matter.

  Whoa, pull back. I can't be thinking about someone I haven't seen or talked to for ten years. Pam's gone, moved away ... and I married Catherine. If she makes it, then I have to help her get well.