“Gazing at Me” Last week the most unbelievable incident happened in a south-west suburb of Chicago. There lived Mr. John Edwards and his wife Anna Edwards. They maintained an easy existence on John’s career as a plastic surgeon and Anna’s of spending his money. On a day when John was able to sleep in, he woke to the tantalizing aroma of coffee and blueberry muffins. The sent flowed from the kitchen, up the stairs, to the master bedroom and deep into the back of his nostrils; causing him to salivate. He was unable to ignore the sudden rumble in stomach. With a grunt, he slowly rolled onto his back, swung his long legs over the side of his king size bed and rose. Stretching out his thick muscular arms and cracking the cartilage in his slick back he turned and noticed that his wife was no longer in bed. She obviously wasn’t the origin of the delicious food being prepared downstairs, instead she was either shopping or doing that Yoga thing she was into this week. He smiled to himself because even though he’d never understand that Vinyasa bull, he wasn’t against watching her do it. He made his way across the room to his wardrobe and dressed casually before going downstairs. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted their housekeeper, Rida, cleaning in the sitting room down the hall before focusing in on his wife sitting at the
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large granite island in the center of their contemporary kitchen, painting her finger nails. It was early afternoon causing natural light to illuminant the house. He watched his wife, the highlighted areas in her long curly blonde hair catching and reflecting light from the rays of the sun. She was a slender, beautiful women and he did care for her. Their home was silent except the hum of Rida’s vacuuming and the light blow of breath as Anna tried to quickly dry her nails. His wife had quit the mouth. Plump, pink and venomous; the kind of mouth only good for one thing. She was an angel silent, but once she got in the mood to mouth off to him, she was more dangerous than a wasps nest. “Morning Princess, I was disappointed to wake to an empty bed,” he smirked before leaning in to kiss her; she squeaked and recoiled. “If he knew how much the facial I just got cost,” she thought to herself, “he wouldn’t consider soiling my skin with his lips.” With that she shoo-ed him away and went back to her “Classy Slut” colored nail polish. As John was used to his very attractive wife being as loving as she was smart, and intellect was not one of her strong points; He sighed, shock his head, and walked over to the counter where the coffee pot was waiting for him. He grabbed a
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cup and took the pot in his hand, lifted it up, and watched the still slightly steaming brown liquid flow from pot to cup. Then, all of a sudden, he noticed a whitish solid break the calm of the liquids flow; and soon after another similar object followed. They both hit the still of the coffee in the cup with soft “plopping” sounds, displacing some of it onto the counter. “What the fuck?” John whispered to himself as he lowered his face closer to his “Trust Me I’m a Doctor” tall coffee mug. He could see the outline of the two seemingly sphere objects in the glass. Feeling brave she stuck his pointer finger in to disturb the area without thinking, but, quickly pulled it out as if the objects had bit his finger. The contact made the two orbs float to the top. At first he looked with confusion at the milky, glazed, glossy things floating in his coffee. They looked like two golf balls floating in muddy water. He blew away the stream rising from the fluid to get a closer look and the balls rotated until they were looking at him, literally. A set of eyes gazed frozen up at him. He gasped, loud and harsh, startling his body backwards into the island before flopping onto his ass. “John! What the hell is your problem, can’t you see I’m painting my fucking nails you idiot!" Anna got up to scold him harder but noticed the whiteness of his normally tan face. “What’s wrong with you?" she asked; following his gaze to the cup. She looked in and screamed at the top of her lungs at the
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sight. She was about the make a run for it when her husband grabbed her instantly from behind, slamming her against his body and clasping his large hand across her mouth. She tried to kick, punch and squirm away but it was useless. “Shhhh, Anna just calm down. Relax. Shhhh." He tried to calm her. He couldn’t help but wonder “If Rida hears this shit and comes in here then what?" “O my God, O my God!” was all that was going through Anna’s simple mind. “Okay Hun, I’m going to remove my hand but you MUST. NOT. SCREAM. Okay?” she shook her head yes and he slowly detached, finger by finger, his hand from her face. “John,” she tried to soothe her tone but was failing, “Who the fucks eyes are those?” He leaned over to get another look at the misplaced spheres. They had a dark-blue rim around the iris and distinct amounts of gold-orange coloring around the pupil. Inside the main of the iris, it was awash in a balance of yellow and paleblue that evened out to a brilliant pale green. They were two Lilly pads stuck in bayou water. In an instant he knew whose eyes they were and his heart flat-lined, they were Holly’s. He flashed back to the first time he’d seen them. It was those big mossy eyes that had caught his attention. Holly wasn’t like all the other women throwing themselves at his feet, she
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was shy and innocent, and honestly the best secretary he’d ever had. Bedding her was easy enough, no women could deny him, but she put up more of a fight then most. However in the end he ended up on top. And bottom. The memories of all the times he’d hovered over Holly, those gorgeous eyes wide with pleasure as he pounded into her were images he’d never forget. He ran his fingers through his slightly shaggy hair and blew out air long and slow. He was going into cardiac arrest. “Shit,” he thought, “I stopped seeing Holly almost a month ago, what happened to her?” Did he do this? Maybe he had some strange sleep walking disease that caused him to walk to her house and snatch her eyes right out of her head! But he knew he was a good man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and besides, if he could steal anything off Holly it would be a body part lower down than her eyes. He drifted off into the thought of finding that in his coffee but refused to dwell on it too long otherwise he knew he’d get aroused. “Jesus,” he thought “what’s wrong with me, how in the hell did this happen?” “John!” Anna snapped; bringing him back from his thought. She pointed one long, acrylic, finger nail towards the cup. “Who the fuck do those belong to you psycho! I knew it. I always knew you’d get cocky and fuck up! What happened, eyelash extension gone wrong? My mother told me to marry a lawyer. Best doctor of
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the year my ass!” She was practically spitting lava at him as she spoke. “I need to call the police, O god what if he plucks my eyes out then too!” She thought to herself. “O stop being so dramatic Anna. I don’t know who these belong to. I cannot think with your whining just shut the hell up so I can think!” He ran his fingers through his hair again, a nervous twitch of his. His wife had met Holly on a few occasions and the thought of her recognizing the owner of the eyes was going to end him. Anna would call the police on him in a second, he was sure of that. “Probably some kind of incarceration clause in the prenup” he imagined. “Besides,” He made sure to enunciate slowly so she could understand, “You were the one downstairs, I was asleep, how do I know you didn’t do this?” He stared down sharply at her and all thoughts of the police vanished. “Get rid of them!” She spat before stomping from the room, “I’m going to the backyard for a smoke.” He fished the eyes out of the mug with his pointer and middle finger and dropped them on the counter. They were squishy against his skin but were solid in the center. One hit the granite funny and bounced onto the floor, like the bouncy balls that come out of twenty-five cent machines, and tried to roll away. John had to fling himself to the floor to catch it. He ran to the bathroom so he could wrap them in gauze he had in his
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home medical kit, before throwing them in a plastic zip-lock bag. He then returned upstairs to his room to dress for work. “I’ll toss them in one of the hazard bins at the office,” he decided, “then this will be over.” He walked out the front door but as he hit the path to the driveway someone called his name. “Hello there Mr. Edwards,” he would recognize that slow, husky tone anywhere. John stopped, shoved the bag in his jean pocket and turned to Mrs. Dew, his neighbor. As she Baywatch jogged over to him wearing her teal sports bra and black spandex shorts. “Morning Mrs. Dew, out for a run I see.” Her black hair was up in a thick ponytail and it swayed from side to side as she moved. Any other time John would invite the idea of staring at Candi and her double-d’s (courtesy of himself) but not today. “Just trying to stay healthy Dr.,” she placed her hands on either side of her hips. “Focus John, keep it together,” he repeated to himself again and again. She was an excellent example of a healthy woman. All long, tan legs and flat, tight skin. “So where are you off to today,” she purred at him. “Just to work,” he felt a lump in his throat and tugged at
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his hair, “I’m actually running late so...” “Woah, where’s the fire Dr. Edwards?” He turned back around and she placed one hand on his shoulder and the other underneath his navy jacket. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about getting some more work done.” “Mrs. Dew I wouldn’t dare put my tools on you again.” “Please, call me Candi,” she winked and lowered her hand down his chest until she found the spot where his pants began. John had even called her Mrs. Dew when he allowed her to swallow him at the neighborhood Christmas party; after all she was a married woman. “Is that your scalpel, doctor?” Considering a standard 12cm scalpel was less than half of him, and two big green eyes were bumping around in his pocket. John took a giant step away from her and her roaming hands, and ran to the car. He didn’t have time for this, he forced himself to slam the door and after rearranging his male set-up, what could he say he was only human, he drove off. After driving his black BMW the 30mins to work and parking in the back lot John made his way to the employee door in the back of the tall building that housed his main office. He grasped the door knob with the intent of going in, but in an
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instant stumbled back. “What am I doing, I can’t toss a pair of lost eye balls in the trash at my own job,” he scolded himself, “especially since their covered in my finger prints and shit. Damnit, thank God for CSI.” It was getting way too hard to breath and he was sweating. He searched everywhere for an answer to this nightmare, and he found it. His sight landed on the bridge behind his building. The bridge stood over Gawking River, which ran through the town. John knew at once that the flow of the river would take the eyes and his stress downstream. Relief blew over his body for the first time since he awoke. After pocketing a handful of upturned gravel from the lot he began the climb to the bridge. I have to apologize; I don’t think I’ve spent any time to speak about the real John Edwards. Like most in the medical profession, John had a passion for the human body. Ever since he could remember John had ways been fascinated by the female form. He loved how soft and responsive the skin was; how only the right parts had bounce and the damage a creature so delicate could take. It was because of this deciding to go into medicine was easy, and deciding to be a plastic surgeon was even easier. He was a quick success. Most of the beauties within a mile of his office could credit some aspect of their perfection to Dr. Edwards and his attention to
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detail with those striking robin egg tinted eyes. He was all flat, tan skin; muscles and hands. If a doctors most important asset is his hands, then Dr. Edwards was placed on earth to be a doctor. The palms were smooth with long, thick fingers. They were the 8th world wonder. Rich and beautiful, every women’s fantasy. Times Magazine once did center fold on him. The headline was Breast Artist. Cosmo wrote a piece stating that “there were more woman lined up to enter his office than on opening night to a vampire romance staring Channing Tatum and that dog from the puppy food commercial at a theater giving away free cupcakes.” But now John cursed the day he stepped into medical school, he couldn’t understand what he could’ve done to deserve anything like this. He looked over the ledge down at the muggy water and couldn’t help but wonder how many other secrets lay at the bottom. As discreetly as he could he filled the baggie with the stones and let it fall from his hand to its grave, along with all his stress. His lips involuntarily lifted at the corners of his face and he let out a throaty, velvety chuckle. “This is finally over,” He thought. He turned to leave and, to his horror, saw a cop a few feet from where he stood. The officer, a female, tipped her head back in come-hither way. John swallowed hard against his fear and approached her. Her large, dark sunglasses gave her a slight air
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of danger. “G…G…Good afternoon ma’am,” he started, smiling big at the woman, trying to erase any emotion other than confidence. “Do I seem old enough to be called “ma’am”,” she asked jerking back as if she’d been shocked, “Sir what are you doing against this bridge?” “I work in that building over there,” he pointed to the high-rise behind her. “I’m Dr. John Edwards. Cosmetic surgery.” He stretched fourth his hand. “Your reputation precedes you doctor. A good friend of mine is modeling your work as we speak.” Removing her glasses to expose her hazel eyes she accepted his gesture. “I hope she’s satisfied with the results.” “Very satisfied,” she winked, but something is her voice spoke to a carnal side in him. The specifics I’m not allowed to go into. Dr. Edwards was in deed handcuffed, but never actually booked. What really happened is only gossip and speculation. The photos and video tapes have been buried deep in the back of some evidence locker to never be seen again. But who would believe such obvious nonsense anyway.
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