Lazy Eye

Mr. Atkins, we have been through this a thousand times,” said Detective Anderson. “I don’t know why people are so cruel. However, for the past five years we have tracked down lead after lead in an attempt to find your wife’s body.”

Anderson was a veteran of the force. The stress of his work showed on his hardened, leathery face. He was a good man. When no one listened, he was sympathetic.

“I am sorry. But Dave, I can call you Dave after all this time, right? Dave – go home to your daughter and new wife. Please – shouldn’t this stop?”

“But why so many siting’s of her? All in the same general vicinity. All near Pleasant, Pennsylvania. Each account saying she looks thin and sick. Each eye witness positively identifying her picture.”

“Mr. Atkins! Go home.” Detective Anderson pleaded. “Why does any of this happen? Why do people rape and murder?” He paused and wiped his brow with an old discolored handkerchief. “She is gone. Dave – Debbie is gone”

And so I left. Debbie is gone. _______________________________________________________________________________

I was an associate professor at Pleasant Community College. Not exactly the place I figured an Ivy League graduate should teach but it was a job with tremendous benefits. Those benefits consisted mainly of my female students.

I should have known better. I was 30 years old, had completed my studies in the big city of New York, and was an aspiring writer. Debbie was a ‘townie’. A beautiful local girl with great curves and a curious knack for wondering what was on my mind. It was obvious at the age of 19 she wasn’t planning on saving herself for anyone. So I helped myself. Unfortunately, ‘townie girls’ didn’t visit their doctors for birth control.

Of course, I was too heated to care at the time.

She broke the news to me as we sat in my car near the parking lot of the college. The horror of the ordeal she bared over the past few days. She started by saying she didn’t want me to know about the pregnancy. She had little money and asked her girlfriend to drive her to Orange Grove, the seedy little town adjacent to Pleasant. She said a girl from high school had an abortion there a few years ago. All she needed was $400 and a ride there and back.

During the abortion, she claimed to experience high levels of discomfort. The doctor told her to ‘tough it out’ as the pain shot through her body. Suddenly, the doctor began complaining of chest pains as he stopped and collapsed to the floor. Chaos ensured and she passed out.

The doctor had died. The abortion was incomplete.

Debbie’s parents threw her out of their home. Their last words to her as she got into my car were, “We’ll pray for you. Don’t ever come back.”

We made a little home at the two-bedroom house I owned. By that time, the scandal had reached the dean’s desk. I was fired immediately much to the chagrin of the young men in the hallway who gave me a standing ovation and offered their congratulations as I packed and left. The goodbye committee had little to do with my teaching ability and everything to do with Debbie. Obviously, the girls of Pleasant Community College did not take part.

Six months later, after a grueling and painful pregnancy, Debbie gave birth a month prematurely. It was a girl.

The doctors said little. Upon holding my daughter, I realized she looked odd. Her nose was incredibly small and her skin pasty white even after she had been cleaned. She cried very little but the doctors assured me she was breathing normally. The little creature’s unfocused eyes were ice blue, more like that of a wolf as opposed to a human being.

But Debbie was smiling. She asked if we could name her Lyllie after an aunt who she lost as a child. All the pain and suffering of the pregnancy somehow seemed worth it.

We took Lyllie home two days later. I proposed marriage as we walked through the door and Debbie accepted.
___________________________________________________________________________________

At six months of age, Lyllie was still up regularly at night.

Debbie was breaking down physically and emotionally. But what did I expect? Twenty years old and instead of becoming a junior and attending college football games she was alone with Lyllie most of the time. Lyllie – she was a sad little creature that, on the one hand, wasn’t deformed but at the same time looked odd. The coldness of her eyes and pale skin were more prevalent than the day we took her home.

Debbie was prescribed Prozac by then. The doctor said not to worry, it was simply post-partum depression but I felt uneasy with this diagnosis. I had found work as a bookkeeper for a local oil distributor an hour from the house. It was the best I could do. Whenever I came home, Debbie always made haste into the bedroom. I made sure to hold Lyllie tight in those days. I was afraid. Afraid of what Debbie might do to herself or the precious little creature.

There was always crying in our home. Day, night, weekends, holidays – either Debbie or Lyllie were crying. I never cried – I couldn’t. If I cried it would all be over. The truth was I loved Debbie. I shouldn’t have, of course, but I loved her. It was for that reason I decided to be strong for both of us. I needed to keep it together until she got better.

It had to get better.

As for the little creature I held night after night, I grew to love her, too. Eventually Lyllie would try to focus on my face as I sang lullabies. I was never sure she actually saw me as one eye looked straight at me while the other seemed to stare elsewhere. Then she smiled. That was the one time I allowed myself to cry. Debbie was sleeping in the bedroom and I sat in the nursery in an old rocking chair I had purchased from Goodwill. When it happened, it sounded as if the little creature wanted to say something. Something like, “I love you daddy.”
____________________________________________________________________________

It was Lyllie’s first birthday as I left the slave pit known as Good Neighbor Oil. Despite it being my daughter’s birthday, the boss said I needed to work a full shift. It was 5:58pm and I was damned if I was going to give the company the satisfaction of working until 6pm. I turned off the light at my desk – 5:59pm exactly. I threw on my jacket anticipating the evening to be chilly during that late October day. As I was about to walk out the doors of Good Neighbor Oil, my cell phone rang.

It was that evening I heard the name Detective Christopher Anderson for the first time.

He called my cell and provided little in terms of details on what had happened. He asked for me to drive to my home where a patrol car would take me to the scene of an accident.

I hurried home.

As I sat in the back of the police cruiser, I knew of the river where we were headed. It was the School Cross River and channel, named for its proximity to the local high school. Debbie and I would occasionally stroll with Lyllie across the path which meandered to a waterfall that leads to Lake Rumberdon.

No one said a word to me about what happened. Oddly, I didn’t ask. But I already knew. The only question in my mind was whether they both had died. How I sensed what had happened was a mystery to me, but I knew.

The cruiser stopped well before the river. It had been raining earlier in the week and its water swiftly ran horizontally in front of me. It was wider than usual, about 25 feet across at some points. There were about a half dozen police cars at the muddy embankment. A few of the patrol offers looked at me and then quickly to the ground.

As I walked toward the water, I saw Debbie’s brown SUV three quarters into the water. It had been pushed sideways by the force of the river. The driver’s side door hung open. I felt the chill of the fall air as I shivered. Other than the wind howling in the distance and the rushing water of the School Cross, all seemed hauntingly quiet. The police were walking up and down the river but little was said even amongst their ranks.

From behind, I heard a voice. “David, David”, she yelled. It was my mother. She was holding Lyllie.

As my mother ran toward me, a tall smartly dressed gentleman in a suit followed. When my mother finally reached me, she handed me that little creature with its cold blue eyes. “I am sorry, David. I am so sorry,” my mother cried as tears ran down her face.

“I’m Detective Anderson, Mr. Atkins. I am the one who called you,” he said politely. Anderson was calm, obviously a veteran of these situations. His face was somewhat stoic looking and he attempted not to show emotion. Yet, his hazel eyes displayed sorrow. Sorrow for me and sorrow for the little creature I held in my hands.

“She’s gone…,” I muttered.

As the detective breathed out, he paused momentarily and looked down at the ground as the other police officers had done so many times during my walk to the river. He looked up with purpose and stared into my eyes. “There are no tracks leading out of the water and into the mud. It’s not a good sign.”

“David, oh David,” my mother cried. She looked at the detective. “Please tell him. Please tell him what you told me.”

“Tomorrow morning we are sending divers into Lake Rumberdon. It will be dark shortly, and we are not equipped for this sort of recovery at night,” said Anderson without hesitation.

“Recovery….recovery,” I mumbled.

And so it was.

Debbie’s funeral took place two weeks later. Without a body, the entire episode seemed bizarre. I had taken care of Lyllie alone during those two weeks as if I were frozen in time. Nothing seemed real.

I hired a sitter and my mother picked me up at home on that bitter fall day to go to the burial – the burial of an empty casket. I wondered over and over again, as to whether or not I was making a mistake. Could Debbie somehow be alive? Did she somehow survive the chilly waters and swim somewhere up Lake Rumberdon? How could everyone else be so certain she was gone?

As I walked to the casket at the burial site, it suddenly hit me. I was fooling myself. Debbie was dead. She put the little creature on the side of the embankment, wrapping her tightly into her baby blanket and drove the SUV into the river.

Damn you Debbie. Damn you for taking the easy way out.
_________________________________________________________________________________

Two years after Debbie’s death, I finally believed I was putting my life back together again. I had a small spousal insurance policy on Debbie which was a benefit provided by the oil company. I was able to use it as seed money to start my own business from home. I hated being that low level accountant and wasted a couple of years of my life convinced I was doing the ‘right thing’. At home, I could take care of Lyllie and freelance on the computer when I needed to work. Additionally, I could count on my mom to be generous with both her time and her money. On the outside, all seemed perfect but on the inside I felt alone and isolated.

The truth was I still loved Debbie. I didn’t allow myself to stop thinking about her. While I had discarded most all of her things, I always looked through the album she created for us just after Lyllie was born. Even in pictures where it was obvious she was pregnant with Lyllie, Debbie looked amazing. As I stared at those pictures, it was hard to believe she was in tremendous pain during much of that time.

As spring was ending and summer approached, I decided it was time to upgrade my vehicle. I had been driving an old Chevy pick-up since I married Debbie and figured it was time for something different. My mother had told me her friends and neighbors, the Thompson’s, were interested in selling their car. It was six years old, but low on miles as my mom recalled.

After dropping Lyllie at my mom’s mid-morning, I walked to the Johnson’s home about 100 yards away. It was a nice little yellow cape, with a welcoming front porch. I could see Mrs. Johnson sitting in a rocking chair reading the paper. As soon as she saw me, she quickly entered the house.

Mr. Johnson greeted me at the front door and shook my hand firmly. He was a tall, sturdy man with hands that felt like sand paper from years of heavy labor in what was a local steel factory. Hunched over slightly, he looked older than his 68 years of life.

“Come in, come in,” he said. As he pulled at the straps of his overalls, he lead me to the kitchen table and without asking poured me a cup of coffee. He then pushed the milk and sugar close to me.

Johnson smiled and asked, “Where is the little one?”

“Lyllie is with my mom. By the way, I saw Mrs. Johnson on the front porch and she quickly ran into the house. I hope everything fine. Is this a bad time”?

“No,” he said looking down at the table.

I had seen that before. The way people would look away from me. The way people would avoid eye contact with me. I needed to know.

“Listen, Ben. You were close with my dad and I appreciate how you have watched after ma’ for all this time. Please be honest with me.”

Mr. Johnson bowed his head slightly then looked at me somewhat inquisitively. His eyes looked as if they were protruding from the bottom of his forehead.

“You’re not going to like it, Dave,” said Johnson as he paused and put the coffee cup to his mouth. “Mrs. Johnson was walking on that path along School Cross River yesterday. You know she likes to walk early in the morning when the sun first comes up. Anyway, she walks on this path, ya’ see, she looked up the hill toward the falls and there’s this young girl. The girl was thin and her clothes were dirty. She was looking for something. Anyway, Mrs. Johnson yells up to her and asks if everything was fine with her. You know, Mrs. Johnson, always helping this person or that.”

With that he stopped. His hands shook slightly. “She said it was Debbie.”

Time froze. Neither of us said a word. Neither one of us moved.

“I told that woman to watch her tongue, that she had to be mistaken but you know women can be stubborn and…”

“To hell with you,” I blurted uncontrollably. “To hell with you both.”

I quickly got up from the table and walked out slamming the screen door as I left. I ran to my mother without saying more than two words. I packed that precious creature into the car and drove off.
______________________________________________________________________________

“I don’t think there is anything to worry about Mr. Atkins. Your daughter seems happy and healthy. That’s what’s important,” said Dr. Baker.

I sat on the plush chair in his office, and he reviewed Lyllie’s chart. As he turned the pages, I stared at the plaques and certificates that hung on his wall.

“You are concerned about the way she looks because she needs to go to school soon, right?”

I nodded in agreement.

“Facial reconstruction can be complicated at this age. Do more harm than good. I don’t believe in plastic surgery on children,” Baker said sternly. “Now, the paleness of the skin – that does have me a little perplexed. She isn’t albino but that skin may be something you want to look further into. Perhaps New York or Boston – they have the best children’s facilities. I wouldn’t worry though. Love her. That’s what’s important.”

I thanked the doctor for his time and went to the waiting room to retrieve Lyllie. Two other children sat with their parents in chairs as Lyllie played with dolls on the ground.

As I stared at the other children, they seemed so perfect. Perfect little faces. A stark contrast to the creature I loved. After seeing the other children, Lyllie’s skin looked even paler. The nose and eyes even more distorted and animal like. As she looked up at me, she looked pathetic. As I gazed down at her, I had the urge to kick her, to then pick her up and shake her uncontrollably. Yet I couldn’t. I loved her.

“C’mon, baby,” I whispered as I held her in my arms.

I walked out of the doctor’s office and toward my Chevy pick-up. Clouds had gathered as I was in the doctor’s office and I could hear thunder in the background. As I started the truck, I waited momentarily as a brand new BMW turned into the doctor’s driveway. It was dark blue. A 300 Series which I had long wanted since the days I worked at the college.

That’s when I noticed the woman getting out of the car. She slid her legs out the driver’s side door first. They were long and covered by black silk stockings. She grabbed a few folders and a briefcase by reaching into the back seat and eventually emerged from the car. She was wearing a black skirt and white blouse that was just a little too tight for her figure. I couldn’t help but to think she was proudly displaying her curves. Her hair was jet black and straight laying just past her shoulders.

The woman grabbed her overcoat and I watched her walk to the passenger’s side of the car. Her face dropped and she looked up to the heavens as if asking ‘why’.

I got out of the pick-up and did my best to look as if I were a regular at the gym.

“Is everything, OK?”

“Flat tire, that’s all,” she called back. Her body said otherwise but the wrinkles around her eyes indicated she was north of forty years of age. Not much over forty, but definitely my senior.

“I’ll fix it,” I said quickly. “Do you have a spare”?

“Really, thanks, but you don’t have to. I can call a repair service while I wait for the doctor. I am a sales rep and I am sure he won’t be anxious to see me right away.”

Think quick, I thought. “Listen – in this town, you don’t have too many chances to be a gentleman. I can fix the flat and ride off into the sunset. What do ya’ say?”

Suddenly she cracked a smile. “That is the corniest thing I have ever heard,” she said. After a moment there was another rumble of thunder in the background. She looked briefly at my truck and I could tell she could make out the blurry image of Lyllie through the windshield. “The tire iron and spare are in the trunk. I shouldn’t be more than 30 minutes. “

“Well, yes ma’am,” I quipped.

She began to make her way towards the entrance of the doctor’s office. The bounce in her walk was perfect. Her hips moved in an enticing fashion with each step.

Quickly, she turned around. “It’s Wendy. My name is Wendy. And yes, you can take me to dinner.”
_________________________________________________________________________________

How did it all happen so fast?

Five months after I met Wendy, we were married in a small civil ceremony at the Pleasant court house. My mom didn’t approve but I was swept off my feet with little hope of anyone or anything talking sense into me.

Given the nature of Wendy’s job at Jackson and Stone Pharmaceuticals, she traveled throughout the region often away for 3 or 4 nights a week. Her job was extremely stressful and given her company was small and trying to make a name for itself in the industry. A tremendous amount was demanded of her.

In the months leading up to the wedding, Wendy and I spent as much time together as possible, often without Lyllie. At first, my mom was thrilled I had a companion. After I told her of my plans to marry again, her enthusiasm waned. She was concerned about how well I knew Wendy since she worked so many long, hard hours.

Mom was also concerned about Lyllie. The more I saw of Wendy, the more despondent Lyllie became. However, I was certain things would change in time. Maybe Lyllie would eventually become a big sister.

I could only hope.

The truth was, as disturbed as it made me feel, I needed a more normal child – not one that had eyes staring in opposite directions, whose skin was so pale it repelled the light. I loved the little creature, yes, but she was a constant reminder of Debbie and the anger I felt for her that day at School Cross River.

How she abandoned us. How she got off scot-free.

Wendy had moved in with Lyllie and me the day before the wedding. She left her tiny studio for my humble two bedroom cape – the same one Debbie and I brought Lyllie home to. I figured moving into the same home I shared with her would bother Wendy, however, she was great about the living situation and insisted if Lyllie and I were happy, then she would be too.

But we were anything but happy. Lyllie was even more distant and defying whenever Wendy was there. Pressure mounted at Jackson and Stone as Wendy began to drink more and more. It was turning into a nightmare. Money became an issue as her commission checks decreased significantly. I was forced to beg Good Neighbor Oil to take me back.

Worst of all, the relationship between Lyllie and Wendy deteriorated into a pathetic farce. I would pick the little creature up from my mother’s after work and drive home to the din of silence. She rarely muttered more than a word or two. My enthusiasm for seeing her and questions about what she did with grandma often went unanswered. When Wendy was home, which became less and less frequent, anger ruled the household. Lyllie stared uneasily and unshakably at Wendy for hours at a time.

Finally, Wendy had enough. “Can she stop that?” she said. “She stares at me and it creeps me out. She just sits there stares. Whether it’s at dinner or watching television or when I am trying to work, she stares at me. I don’t even know which eye she is staring at me with….”

She had crossed the line. She should not have gone there.

I picked up Lyllie and helped her put on a coat, then headed out the door. Wendy grabbed the half consumed bottle of wine and poured another glass.

As I placed Lyllie into the truck, the cell phone rang. I fumbled for it in my coat pocket and saw it was my mother calling. I quickly answered.

“Hello.”

“David….David.” My mother sounded half in shock, half outraged. “A couple of hikers from Pleasant…they went to the police station claiming they saw Debbie walking in the woods. The police are threatening them with filing a false report because they think it’s a hoax.”

The phone dropped to the ground.

“David? David!”
__________________________________________________________________________________

“Mr. Atkins! Go home.” Detective Anderson pleaded. “Why does any of this happen? Why do people rape and murder?” He paused and wiped his brow with an old discolored handkerchief. “She is gone. Dave – Debbie is gone”

Life – could it be worse? Mom had died suddenly of a heart attack and I buried her next to dad. Debbie became a local joke, the source of pranksters who knew our story all too well. In all, five reports were filed claiming siting’s of her ghost or spirit or whatever.

Damn you for leaving me, Debbie. Damn you for leaving me with this wretched child.

I had been married four months at that point. Wendy got fired from her job a week earlier when it was discovered she was inappropriately providing cash from her own pocket to doctors who prescribed Jackson and Stone medications to their patients. Wendy had been struggling to make sales quotas. She claimed it was the stress, but I believe the drinking contributed to her lack of judgment.

Lyllie had been alone in the house with Wendy for the past week and as I drove home from the police station I anticipated another awful night. Why should this evening be any different? I envisioned walking through the door that Friday evening to Lyllie pretending to read while staring at Wendy. Liquor would flow freely as Wendy would attempt to drown her pain. The creature would go to sleep an hour after I arrived home. I would eventually carry my wife to the bedroom for her comatose night’s sleep.

It was an especially cold night in November as I pulled into the driveway. I took a deep breath, and readied myself for the evening’s misery.

I walked up the small steps of the house and oddly, the front door was unlocked. I pushed the door open. I immediately saw Lyllie. She was in her Holly Hobbie pajamas playing with her dolls.

“Daddy – Oh daddy,” she said as she hugged me. I kneeled to the ground. It felt great. My daughter who had been so silent, so sad was hugging me!

“Mommy’s home,” she said.

“Baby – mommy’s gone, honey,” I said as my eye filled with tears. Had these perverts, these losers who mocked the memory of Debbie gotten to my daughter?

“No, daddy – she is here. Wendy was going to leave, daddy. She was going to hurt us, just like mean doctor was going to hurt me when I was in mommy’s stomach. But I couldn’t let him do that. He was a bad doctor. That’s why he needed to die. And just like I couldn’t let that mean doctor kill me, I couldn’t let Wendy keep hurting us anymore.” Lyllie picked up a doll. She had torn one of its eyes out. She handed it to me. “Do you love her, daddy, or do you think she is a creature?”

“Lyllie – how did you know about the doctor? Where is Wendy?” I said as I began to shake.

“She is in the kitchen with mommy.”

I stood up and slowly walked through the living room. Toys uncharacteristically littered the floor. Even though it was only a dozen steps to the foyer entering the kitchen, the walk seemed an eternity. My feet felt heavy as if they were encased in cement.

As I reached the kitchen, Wendy sat with her back to me. On the table was an empty bottle of wine. The adjacent glass was a quarter full. “Wendy,” I said feeling more comfortable now.

I placed my hand on her shoulder and her head fell back. A kitchen knife stuck from where her eye had been. Blood covered the lower half of her face and blouse. She fell from the chair, her body making a sickening thud as she struck the ground. I tried to stand but immediately slipped in the blood that began to cover the floor. I was on all fours as I reached for Wendy’s neck to see if by some miracle there was a pulse.

There was none.

“What did you do, Lyllie? What did you do?” I mumbled.

Just then, I turned and looked up quickly. It was Debbie. Her skin was pale, her nose disfigured, and one eye looked at me while the other lazily looked away. Her clothes were old and cased in mud. She said nothing.

Lyllie ran from the living room into the kitchen. She grabbed Debbie’s hand as she looked up and smiled. One eye was on Debbie. The other was elsewhere.

“Mommy’s home, daddy! Mommy’s home…..and she’s perfect! Just like me, daddy, she’s a perfect little creature. This is what you wanted, right daddy?”


People also view

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *