Her Eyes by Jennifer Cloud, Regan Taylor Page A

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.

Chapter Eight
    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