Her Eyes by Jennifer Cloud, Regan Taylor Page B

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.

Chapter Nine
    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