Down the Psycho Path

by Mandy White

  And won.

  “I wanted to surprise you. Besides, I know how busy you are. I didn’t want to bother you.”

  “You’re never a bother, sweetness.” He leaned down to kiss her cheek.

  She smiled and kissed him back, keeping her eyes downcast for fear he would see that they were different.

  “I’m going to take a shower. Have you eaten yet? We could order pizza,” Stuart suggested.

  “Yes. I mean, no, I haven’t eaten. Pizza would be fine. I'll call while you're in the shower. You want the usual?”

  “Whatever you like, my love.”

  Gina couldn’t fathom eating, but she knew she needed to keep up appearances. She couldn’t let him suspect anything was wrong.

  * * *

  A week passed. They celebrated Stuart’s birthday with dinner at a nice restaurant and she gave him a watch as a gift. She maintained her façade of blindness, kept Max harnessed and allowed the dog to guide her everywhere she went. Max knew something was different, but Gina’s secret was safe with her.

  She wracked her brain to devise a way to escape her predicament. Leaving Stuart without an explanation didn’t seem like a viable option. She was afraid of him now. A homicidal monster lurked beneath his kind and loving exterior, and she had no idea what it would take to trigger his wrath and turn that monster on her. She needed to know more about what motivated him to do the things he did.

  She waited patiently and watched his daily activities. Soon a pattern emerged. Monday through Thursday he was home for dinner, but on Fridays he worked late. Or so she had always thought.

  One Friday night she looked out the window and noticed the light was on in the shed. Stuart was out there, and yet his van was not in the driveway. Gina slipped out the front door with Max in harness and walked around the block, where she discovered Stuart’s van parked in the alley behind their house. It seemed he was parking in the alley and sneaking in through the back gate. He didn’t want her to know he was home.

  As she watched, a truck pulled up behind his van. A strange man got out and the two of them unloaded a large plastic-wrapped bundle and together they carried it through the back gate and to his shed.

  A chill ran down Gina’s spine. She didn’t have to think very hard to guess what was inside that bundle.

  Who was the man? Stuart had an accomplice? She tried to get a look at the license number, but it was too dark.

  What was she to do? Call the police? With what evidence?

  She didn’t even know what kind of truck it was. She couldn’t tell a Ford from a Dodge because she had never seen different types of vehicles up until now.

  Gina realized she had a long way to go in acclimating herself in the sighted world before she could be a reliable witness to anything.

  Gina spent the following week studying everything she could to fill her brain with visual information – books, websites, and just going for walks with Max and taking in the sights in her neighborhood. She had sworn her sister to secrecy about her sight restoration. The neighbors still believed she was blind, and it was easy to fool them as long as she wore her dark glasses. She could carry on conversations while studying the minute details of a person’s face, clothing, and immediate surroundings and no one was the wiser.

  She spent hours in the attic, searching through old boxes, some of which had been there prior to their marriage. The house had been in Stuart's family for generations. She found old photos of his parents and grandparents and marveled at the resemblance he bore to them. Another box held photo albums from a more recent era, from Stuart’s childhood through to adulthood. She pulled a white album from the bottom of the box and gasped when she saw the photo on the first page. It was a wedding photo, of Stuart and another woman. He hadn’t told her he'd been married before. Why?

  Then again, it wasn’t the only thing he hadn't been honest about.

  She flipped through the pages, studying the woman’s face. His previous wife was in other albums as well; vacation photos, mostly. There they were standing in front of the Grand Canyon, and here on a beach in Mexico. His ex-wife had a nice figure for a bikini, curvy but not quite plump, and had a lovely floral tattoo down the length of her thigh – some sort of delicate vine with little pink flowers on it. What kind of flower was that? She was sure she had seen it before, recently. It had to be recently, since she had only had her sight for a few weeks.

  * * *

  One afternoon Gina gathered the courage to take another look in the shed. She let Max run loose in the yard. Stuart wasn’t due home for hours.

  The sludge barrel was empty. It smelled foul and strong. No hands or feet to be found. The same crate of bones sat in the corner. In the daylight they somehow didn’t look as ominous. What should she do? Take some of the bones to the police? That would probably be the best way to proceed. She crouched beside the crate and reached toward it.

  “I see I’m not the only one with a secret,” Stuart said behind her.

  Gina screamed and leaped to her feet. She stumbled backward, tripping over more bones.

  “How long, Gina?”

  “I – don’t – know what you mean,” she stammered.

  “Why didn't you tell me? Why would you hide it from me? Jesus, Gina, you can see!” Tears shimmered in his eyes. “It’s a miracle, and the biggest event of your life – of our lives – I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t share it with me.”

  “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you. I wanted to surprise you, I just – I didn’t know when to tell you, and then I found... I found...” Gina looked down at the scattering of bones at her feet.

  “I guess I owe you an explanation. I should have told you. But it was easier to let you think I was crafting with wood. People find bones a bit creepy, even when they’re just animal bones.”

  “Animal bones?”

  “Of course! Gee whiz, Gina, what the hell did you think they were?”

  “But I came in one night, and I saw... in that barrel... it looked like…” Gina looked down at her hand and spread out her fingers, then looked back up at Stuart.

  “A hand? Is that what you thought it was?” He laughed. “I think I understand now. Sweetie, have you ever seen a human skeleton? Or an animal one for that matter?”

  “Well, no, I guess not,” Gina admitted.

  Stuart put his arm over her shoulders. “Come with me, darling, and I will show you. I think we can clear up this whole misunderstanding.”

  As they walked back toward the house, Stuart hugged her close and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can’t believe you can see! I want you to tell me all about it!”

  Gina’s heart warmed with renewed love for her husband. He had already forgiven her lie and suspicion. She beyond embarrassed that she could have suspected he was a murderer.

  Back at the house, Stuart sat Gina in front of the computer and showed her pictures of bones on the internet.

  “You see? This is a human hand, without the flesh. Does that look like what you saw?”

  “Yes, actually, it does.”

  “Now look at this. This is a bear paw. Do you see the resemblance? Once the flesh is removed, the toes actually have a finger-like appearance. Could this have been what you saw?”

  Gina hung her head. “Yes. The lighting was poor, and I only saw it for a few seconds. It could just as easily have been this that I saw.”

  “Just for comparison, this is a fox, this is a wolf, and this – this is the fin of a whale. All mammals share the same characteristics in their skeletal structure.”

  “Who was that man I saw you with? I saw you and another man carrying a bundle into the shed.”

  “That was Lars. He’s one of the hunters I work with. He brings me carcasses after he’s stripped them of meat, so that I can clean the bones and make things from them. That was a bundle of moose bones we were carrying. I almost have enough for a matching pair of rocking chairs. I wanted to try my hand at building something larger.”

  “That sounds amazing.” Gin
a hung her head, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

  “Hey,” Stuart said, taking her in his arms, “Don’t do that. What’s the matter?”

  Gina sniffled. “Being blind most of my life, I’ve always had these pictures in my mind of what I thought things looked like, but now that I can see, everything is so different! I feel like I'm in an alien world, and I don’t know what to trust anymore.”

  “Shh,” he said. He held her against him, stroking her hair. “It's ok. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. Just tell me what you need so I can be there for you.”

  “I have everything I need. I have you.”

  She felt ashamed for thinking he could be capable of anything so unspeakable. Her husband had an odd hobby, granted, but his art was beautiful and she couldn’t have been more proud of him.

  She decided not to mention the old photo albums and wedding photos she had seen. Whether or not he had been married before was none of her business unless he chose to tell her. It was a conversation for another time.

  * * *

  Later that night, after a romantic candlelit dinner, Stuart led her upstairs, where they made love by the dim glow of the handcrafted lamp. Along the edge of the lampshade a faded design was visible – a delicate vine with little pink flowers.

  Junkyard Dog

  “Hurry!”

  “Just hang on a minute! I have to clean my makeup off.”

  My friend Jeanette wasn’t allowed to wear makeup. Her parents were Christian nutjobs. Whenever we went out to a movie or a party, she spent the first half hour in the bathroom, putting on her face. And then there was the ritual frantic face-scrubbing on the way home. The fact that Jeanie was a wannabe Goth didn’t help matters when we were already late.

  We reached Jeanie’s street.

  “Am I clean?” She tilted her head under the streetlight for me to examine.

  “Almost. Here.” I licked my finger and scrubbed a remnant of eyeliner from the corner of her eye.

  “Gross! What are you, my mom?”

  “Next time, maybe you should ask your mom to check.”

  “Touche.”

  “I gotta run. I am so fucking late.”

  Jeanie was already running. “See you tomorrow!” she called over her shoulder.

  I was in so much shit. We never should have gone to that party. I knew it was too far for us to attend and make it home in time for curfew. The “movie” we were supposedly attending ended more than an hour ago, and the theatre was only six blocks away. I should have been home already, even if we had stopped for a bite to eat afterward. Fuck. I was going to be grounded for next weekend, and Owen had finally asked me out.

  Maybe I could take a shortcut.

  I glanced toward the woods on my right. My home lay on the other side of those woods. The safe, well-lit route took me on the outskirts of the forest, a twenty-minute hike if I speed-walked. I was due home five minutes ago. My parents were lenient if my lateness was within reason, but a half hour? No.

  If I cut through the woods, I would be home in ten minutes, tops. I usually avoided that route; the forest was thick and dark even during the day. Plus, I had to pass by the junk yard, with that creepy old guy and his scary dog.

  Ten minutes. If I jogged, I could make it in five.

  “Suck it up, Buttercup. Let’s do this.”

  The rusty chain link fence surrounding the junk yard leaned and sagged to the ground in some spots. Not much security to keep intruders out. Apparently intruders were not a problem. I’d never seen Old Man Jenkins in person, but from the stories I’d heard, the only thing scarier than him was his dog. The junkyard was the site of many Halloween dares and club initiations. One time, bullies tied some poor kid to that fence and left him there for the dog to attack from the other side. Nobody knew what breed the dog was; some said Mastiff, others said it was some kind of wolf hybrid.

  One thing I knew for certain: that fence did not look high enough or strong enough to contain a large dog. I hastened my pace; I was already past the halfway point and the forest loomed ahead. Pass one scary obstacle, only to face another.

  The corner of the fence came into view. Almost there.

  I heard a low growl behind me.

  “Shit!” I whispered under my breath. I walked faster.

  The growl escalated to a savage frenzy of barking, then I heard the rattle of the chain link fence as something hit it, hard.

  I felt as much as heard the THUD of large paws hitting the ground. The dog had jumped the fence.

  I ran.

  I had almost reached the forest when my foot struck a rock and I fell face-first on the ground. I covered my head with my arms to protect myself from the impending attack.

  Vicious snarls filled the air, followed by screams. Human screams.

  The screams were not mine.

  I braved a peek.

  A massive black dog stood over its victim, snarling. With a flash of white teeth, its jaws snapped and tore the throat out of its kill. Then the beast turned its head in my direction. I covered my eyes with my hands. I didn’t want to look, but peeked through the cracks between my fingers.

  The beast reared onto its hind feet and then morphed into the shape of a man.

  “My dear, are you all right?” a deep voice said.

  The man approached me, holding out his hand. He wore a baseball cap and grimy overalls, but his eyes were friendly.

  I took his hand and allowed him to help me to my feet.

  “Yes, I’m okay. What happened?”

  “That man was following you. He would have followed you into the woods if my…dog hadn’t caught him. I’m so glad he didn’t hurt you.”

  “You’re…you’re… from the…”

  “Bart Jenkins. That’s my scrap yard there. You need to be more careful, my dear. This place isn’t safe for young ladies at night. Lots of creeps and drug addicts around. Can I offer you a ride home?”

  I accepted Bart ’s offer of a ride, and even arrived home without getting grounded. I returned the next day to thank him and stayed for a cup of tea. We became good friends and I visited him regularly over the years, but I never did see a dog. He swore he had one, but claimed the animal was “shy” and kept out of sight whenever visitors were around.

  The animal I saw that night was anything but shy.

  Hibernation Holiday

  The season loomed, as it inevitably would, but this year the approach of the holidays filled me with more dread than usual. Having finalized my divorce earlier that year, I would be spending Christmas alone for the first time ever. My kids had lives and families of their own, and both lived closer to their father than me, so it didn’t take a genius to guess where they would be gathering for the obligatory annual feast.

  Alzheimer’s had claimed my mother to the point where I was no longer able to care for her at home. Three months previously I’d faced the heartbreaking decision of placing her in a care home. She had deteriorated to the point where she needed constant supervision, something I was unable to provide when I worked full time. I visited her every day after work, but she seldom remembered who I was. When she did, she regressed into the past, talking to me as though I were still a child.

  Thanksgiving came and went. My son and daughter both phoned, but neither had time to visit. I assured them I was fine; that my work schedule didn’t allow for socializing or cooking fancy meals.

  More and more often I found myself sitting at the kitchen table, gazing out the window at the bleak landscape that was now my back yard. It had once been a happy place, filled with the activity of my children and their friends. Now, the garden was overgrown and the swing set hung rusty and unloved, anticipating my grandchildren’s next visit. No children would visit this year. No misshapen snow people would populate the lawn. No warming little red noses and chilled fingertips with steaming mugs of cocoa.

  Not even Mom anymore.

  Just me.

  I flipped open the brochure for the thousandth time; the people
at the care home had given it to me, suggesting I give it consideration before it was too late. She wasn’t too far gone, they told me. Science was making great strides in Alzheimer’s research and a cure might be a reality in just a few years. After all, they had already perfected cryogenics to the point where it could now be offered as a viable solution in cases like that of my mother.

  Freeze my mother.

  It sounded so barbaric when I thought of it that way, but it was the bald truth, no matter what fancy name they wanted to slap onto it. Her life insurance policy could be used to pay for the cryogenic process, which had about a twenty percent risk of failure. Not everyone survived. There was a chance I would be signing my mother’s execution order in an attempt to save her life. But if I chose the alternative, which was to do nothing, she was destined to die. A slow, miserable death, which I would experience with her, moment by agonizing moment.

  The more I thought about it, the more rational my plan seemed.

  December first, I arrived at my appointment at the cryogenics place. I listened to their orientation, which was more of a sales pitch, and signed all the necessary forms and waivers. After that, it was time to find out how well the process would work.

  * * *

  Voices. I heard the sound of many voices.

  They were singing.

  I recognized the song, but what was the name of it again? Oh, that was maddening! I’d heard that song numerous times. It was… I hummed the melody in my head until the words came to me.

  “Auld Lang Syne...” I joined in the chorus, but my singing voice was terrible. It came out as a raspy croak.

  “She’s awake!” someone said. I knew the voice.

  The singing stopped and excited conversation broke out.

  “Grandma! Are you awake?” a child’s voice this time. My granddaughter.

  “Haley?” I whispered. I struggled to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt swollen and heavy.

  “Give her time,” a strange voice said. “The effects will wear off slowly. Carol? Can you hear me?” A finger lifted my eyelid and a bright light flashed in my eye for a second.