"I will fix you a plate if you'd like."
"That's okay.” He finally spoke, although his words were slurred.
"I don't like you driving home drunk. I could've gone out and picked you up."
Frank stopped with a forkful halfway to his mouth. He set the pot on the counter then stepped closer, too close. He looked into her eyes and not in a loving way, in a manner that frightened her.
"What are you doing?"
"Checking your eyes.” His mouth twisted in a painful look of hate. “I want to know who I'm dealing with."
"I'm the woman who made the dinner you never came home for, the one who called you repeatedly, and the one you supposedly forgave."
He turned his back on her. Rage, fresh and raw, filled her. None of this was fair. She didn't want to cause him pain, but he hadn't even called. She spent all night wondering if she would ever see him again or if he had decided to leave her. Damn it all. She'd been on an emotional roller coaster. All she ever wanted was Frank, and her marriage was slowly going down the drain along with her unable to do anything about it.
"Irwin,” he said in his drunken slur and shook his head.
With a swipe of her hand, she knocked the pot of pasta to the floor. Sauce and noodles spilled over the tile in long red lines, blood-red lines. She would rather get his attention and have their argument than sit quietly while he decided the fate of their marriage.
Frank looked at the mess, then back at her. “It seems I can even piss you off when both eyes aren't blue.” He stepped over it and went into his study. She followed. “If you're going to try to kill me again, don't miss this time."
There was no comment for that, no way to respond. Perhaps this behavior was the thing that had soured their marriage. No, that wasn't right. She remembered enough to know who'd been the villain.
She stood there as his breathing leveled, and he fell into a drunken sleep. So, despite his kind words, he couldn't forgive. Not that she blamed him. She'd been unfaithful and violent. How could you love someone you couldn't trust? Right now, she couldn't even trust herself.
I told you he was a bastard. Let's kill him. I'll get him eventually. Win can't protect him forever.
Catherine looked around for Win, but he was fast asleep on the bed. There was no one to chase away the other. That's when the reality of her situation hit her. She was a danger to Frank. Even he knew it. He would never act so horribly if this problem hadn't pushed him to the breaking point. Whatever good things he felt for her were helping to tear him apart.
"There's only one thing I can do."
For Frank's safety, and maybe her own, she had to leave him. The thought brought physical pain to her heart. There was no other choice. One night she could kill him. One night she could sneak out and screw strange men. There was no limit to the depravity the other thing in her would do, the dark side of her mind.
"I am crazy."
She took out a piece of paper and wrote a short note to Frank. She would need a little money. Catherine looked in her purse and found several credit cards. There was no way she could ever have paid for all those. She chose one from the stack and left the others on the table. Next, she went to the jewelry box and put those trinkets into her bag. She could pawn them with the hope she would get enough money not to use the credit card. There was no reason to burden Frank any further.
With a small suitcase and her purse, she went to the door. Two hours had passed since Frank came home, and he'd hardly rolled over. Poor man didn't know how to deal with her. Drinking himself sick wouldn't make things better.
She turned the knob and felt her knees weaken. She loved Frank so much but she had no other choice. This was the only way to keep him safe. He wouldn't have to stay out half the night if she weren't home waiting. He would be safe from whatever insanity rocked her mind and just maybe Frank would find a woman worthy of him.
"I love you, Frank."
Catherine went out the side door to the garage where a little black Miata sat. She couldn't remember driving it, but it was hers. It had been a birthday gift last year, she was sure of it. She tossed her bags inside. One push of the button opened the garage, and she drove away.
"You're free, Frank. I may not ever be whole, but at least I won't drag you down with me."
She rolled down the window and felt the wind blow through her hair. It felt good. If only the wind would fix her, drive out the demon occupying her thoughts. Not that she would ever expect Frank to take her back. Too much had happened. She'd made too many mistakes. Maybe that was the real reason she tried to kill herself.
Chapter Eleven
The sun broke through the darkness, early morning eating away the night in long golden rays. Frank rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. He'd fallen asleep in his den, which wasn't much more than a small room with a couch and television, but was where he had spent so many nights here during his marriage. He stretched, and his head pounded, beating his transgressions from the previous night through him in unrelenting pain.
Then he thought about Catherine.
He'd been an ass last night. None of this was her fault, yet he had trouble with the facts in front of him. How could he deal with one person displaying such odd and dangerous behavior? He should be able to handle it but it was so damn hard.
Frank went through the house, checking the bedroom first. Catherine wasn't there, and the bed hadn't been slept in. He went into the living room, hoping to find her on the couch. Again, nothing. In the kitchen, he found Win. The dog had one of Catherine's shoes. He didn't chew on it, only held it like some treasured memento.
The rose garden. She must've gone back out there. Frank ran as fast as his aching head would allow, but she wasn't there either. His stomach started churning, from worry as much as from the alcohol from the previous night. He went back inside and found Win hadn't moved.
Something had happened to her, and then he noticed the note on the table. The long elegant strokes didn't look like his Catherine's writing. It was from her, though, at least that's what the signature said. He sat down to read it.
He crumpled the letter in his fist, then laid his head on his arm. Catherine had left him out of fear for his safety and concern over what her behavior would cost him. She'd left most of her things, taking the bare minimum to start a new life. She also promised to send divorce papers, legally freeing him, as soon as she could afford to.
"This isn't what I wanted.” Tears ran down his face. “You're not the one I wanted to be rid of."
Had she done it years ago, it would have hurt, but not the gut-wrenching loss he felt now. If it had happened before, he would've mourned the lost dream of a family but not the end of his marriage. The Catherine he was coming to know was special, someone to be treasured and loved. He had chased her away, though.
Many nights he'd fantasized about being free from Catherine, about what would have happened if he had married Pam, but that was the old Catherine. It was not this smart, beautiful woman who'd spent these last few nights with him. This one he would fight to keep. But he had to know which one he was with. Which version of Catherine was the real one? She couldn't go far and even if she did, he could find her. He could check her credit card bills online, he had time to check some things out. He started a pot of coffee, jumped in the shower, and after a few cups of the steaming brew he was ready to go.
His first stop was the library. He occasionally visited but hadn't done any research since high school. A nice lady in her early fifties helped him to the nonfiction and metaphysical sections. Surrounded by the literature, he felt overwhelmed. So many strange things happened in the world every day, yet he knew so little about them. Of course, there were many books that looked like a crock of shit to him.
He spent several hours reading while sitting in a stiff, straight-back chair. The comfy stuff was in the main reading room, and he didn't want anyone to see him reading books of this nature. It was silly sure, but even with the evidence, he had trouble swallowing the implications of Catheri
ne's behavior.
There were many volumes on transplants and traits that recipients had claimed they picked up from donors. There wasn't much in the truly scientific area, but on the anecdotal side, a tremendous amount of information existed. One hypnotherapist had five books out that discussed regressions he had done with transplant recipients and how they took on the traits of the donors. Some stopped smoking, some started running marathons, others could no longer stand drinking coffee. Overall, it read like a lot of their senses had changed. Many things they liked to look at and do shifted to the likes of the donor. But there was nothing about eye color changing. Of course, the person who donated the eye to Catherine had green eyes so that explained that. Her suddenly becoming left handed, that was different, and not at all addressed.
Okay, so it looks like there is quite a bit of theory that someone can pick up traits from a transplant, but it doesn't sound like that's what's going on with Catherine.... not with such a dramatic change.
He went back to the online catalogue looking for information walk-ins but found little. He sighed, leaning back in his chair and stretching. An elderly woman with snow white hair sat down beside him and nodded hello. When he nodded back, she said to him, “I noticed you have been looking at transplant information and I saw you type in the search for ‘walk-in.’”
"Yeah. Do you know anything about it?"
"Some. You want to go down to the metaphysical church. They have some books on walk-ins, and the minister there does hypnotherapy. They might be able to help you."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot."
The woman got up and walked toward the door before turning to him. “You go check it out. I'm sure they can answer your questions."
Frank considered what the woman had said and figuring he had nothing more to lose, headed on over to the metaphysical church.
* * * *
Frank pulled up to the nondescript building acknowledging to himself that under other circumstances, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. Not the building, not what went on there. Come to think of it, what does go on there? Well, he was going to find out.
Stepping into what appeared to be the lobby of a book store he paused and looked around a minute and the array of books that talked about communicating with loved ones who had passed on, spirit attachment, tarot cards, runes and all manner of objects from crystal balls to eight-sided mirrors to candles in every color. What have I walked into? It also had a strange scent. He saw a single stream of smoke going into the air from a burning stick of incense.
"Can I help you, sir?"
Frank turned to look at forty-something-looking woman with reddish hair, slightly graying at the temples, her gray eyes warm, rather than the cool he would have expected, and her smile made him feel welcome. “Yes, well, maybe. I'm looking for a book or maybe just some information."
"Of course. On what?"
"This is going to sound odd. Probably make me sound unbalanced or even crazy, but I want, well I'm looking for something on what I heard is called a ‘walk-in'."
"Oh yes, we have quite a few on walk-ins. In fact, it seems to be a growing research area."
"Research?” He could not imagine any professional researching something like that.
"Well not so much in the scientific community, but in the metaphysical one. It certainly does explain a lot of things that happen. So, do you think you know a walk-in or that you yourself are one?"
"I think ... well, it occurred to me, maybe ... oh, this is nuts.” He turned to leave.
"It's not nuts, mister. Listen, why not come and sit down and chat for a bit. I'm Maureen, and you are?"
"Frank, Frank White."
"Good to meet you, Frank, and interestingly we have a speaker coming to talk on walk-ins tomorrow night. Harrison Parsons is wonderful about questions and helping people who suspect they are walk-ins figure it out."
"I'm not sure. It's my wife, or my wife's body. She left and I need to find her."
"And you think another day will make that much of a difference in finding her? Do you think she is going to hurt herself?"
"No. Not that. I think she's confused and looking for answers.” But she did try to kill herself in the hospital. Would she try it again? The sick feeling filled his gut again. He couldn't think about her hurting herself. It would drive him crazy.
"Well, maybe the lecture tomorrow night will help. Meanwhile I can recommend two or three books here for you to look through, if you're interested."
"Yes, thanks, I'll take them, and I think I will come by tomorrow night. What time? Do I need a reservation?"
Chapter Twelve
Frank headed home, his thoughts swirling. Was Catherine a walk-in? Was it transplant cell memory? Did she just have an epiphany where her life went wrong? Or did she somehow develop multiple personalities? Each option was confusing and overwhelming to consider.
Even though she'd only been home a short time, the house was empty, so empty without her. If he remembered correctly, it was the same kind of empty feeling he had when Pam moved away. Pam. He hadn't thought of her for years and now, after Catherine's suicide attempt, it seemed she entered his mind often.
Frank made himself a sandwich. Win lay by his feet while he picked up the first of the books and sat long into the night reading. A lot of what they said sounded just like what was going on with Catherine. Memory loss, using a different hand, doing different things—things she had never done before. Like a whole other person was there. The books were validating, but he was set on attending the lecture the next evening. With that information, he could go in search of Catherine, and maybe, just maybe, they could figure out what was going on together.
"Please be okay, Catherine,” he whispered in his empty home. “I will find you, and together, we'll make this better."
* * * *
He arrived for the lecture early the next night and sought a seat in the front of the room. As much as he wanted to disappear into the back wall, he also had questions upon questions and meant to get them answered.
Harrison Parsons spoke for almost two hours, going in depth on just what a walk-in was. The information wasn't all that different than what Mary had said, although he did say a few things Frank observed in Catherine before she left. In addition to a list of traits to look for, he gave some anecdotal stories that were very helpful. He talked about how a child could be born, meet their life commitment, and pass on when the body they occupied failed. But then would find that the soul was up for doing some more work and would wait for a new body. Either through reincarnation or, if there was another soul that just couldn't get it together to complete another soul life mission, they would agree to step in. The other soul would then finish its lessons in another lifetime. Parsons went on to say that there would be confusion at first as the new soul settled into the body. There would be memories of the other lifetime as well as the current body's lifetime. The person wouldn't always be conscious of the event, in fact, often pretty naïve about it. Sometimes, things just wouldn't add for the person, like when memories of growing up felt passed on, as though the events had not really been experienced, only heard about. All of it sounded like what Catherine had been experiencing since waking up from the surgery and the subsequent suicide attempt.
Parsons also mentioned that, occasionally, the original soul would change its mind and not want to go into the light of creation. With another soul in place, two spirits would occupy one body. This state cannot last. There can be only one soul per vessel. Usually the weaker one flees.
It sounded just like Catherine.
When the lecture ended, Frank was one of the first to raise his hand. “Does it have to be someone good to leave? Or can it be someone mean-spirited and a good person moves in? Is it only good people who move in? Or can someone bad move in?"
"Well, Frank, is it?” Parsons read from Frank's nametag. “It will generally be an essentially good soul who will move in. After all, they are taking on the work that the other soul just wasn't up to
doing. Someone mean-spirited wouldn't be that giving. However, they can walk into any body. Good or bad."
"And about bad people or people we perceive as bad. Are they really or is it just part of their karma? Part of the lessons of their souls?"
Parsons smiled, and his smile held the gentle quality of a teacher trying to be patient with a particularly difficult student. “We will all be a bit nasty in one life or another, and we all will eventually, we hope, turn out good. Much of who we are as people is malleable, which is why it is particularly difficult when a child's karma is corrupted."
That was interesting to Frank. Maybe this was the lifetime Catherine was supposed to be nasty. Then again, with Catherine's mother, she could've warped any child. Catherine may have greater things in her future that her soul was too burdened to fulfill.
The part about the walk-in leaving hung with him. It sure sounded like someone or something walked into Catherine. “What about possession? Is it another way to say possession?” He hadn't been called on this time and interrupted another person getting ready to ask a question. He felt his cheeks grow hot when he realized and he mouthed a silent “sorry".
Parsons again gave him the patient smile. “No, possession is entirely different. With possession, there's no agreement, and generally, a lower-level spirit will attach to a body. Both souls stay in place. It's just that one dominates the other, generally the lower-level one. It feeds off the negative qualities to give it strength over the original soul. The soul doesn't invite it in and lacks the balance to make it leave."
"Lower level? Like a devil?"
"No, just a soul that hasn't evolved very much and, in all likelihood, may not do so. Some may call these demons or displaced spirits or even animal energies depending on your discipline."
It certainly didn't seem that Catherine was possessed because she was nicer, kinder, gentler. She loved him the way he had always wanted and needed to be love. It really did seem like she was a walk-in. Now the question was, who walked in?
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