Eye Can See Clearly Now

TW: Murder, mutilation, misogyny, mayhem

EYE CAN SEE CLEARLY NOW

Tamara stared at herself in the mirror — at her eyes, in particular. She could see the differences in colour of the irises between the two, although they were very, very similar. Her right eye was just a smidge larger than her left. From a distance they looked exactly the same, almost as if she had been born with both of them. Not perfect, but so close. She smiled at her reflection. She was so thankful that she even had two eyes to look at, let alone ones that matched so closely.  And tonight she was going to celebrate her good fortune.

It was about seven months ago when Tamara started to notice that something was wrong with her left eye. At first, it was a bit of blurriness, which she decided was probably a sign that she needed glasses. Then there was a slight bulging making her look slightly surprised. Only when her left eyeball seemed to have shifted in its socket, did she make an appointment to see her optometrist. Dr. Wheaton took one look at her eye, and sent her directly to an ophthalmologist, who then sent her to an oncologist. Tamara was devastated by the news — stage four intraocular melanoma — eye cancer.

She underwent charged-particle external-beam radiation, gamma knife therapy, and chemo all in a bid to save her eye and her life. At first the doctors thought that they could save the eye, but it turned out the cancer was too aggressive. The final solution, enucleation — removal of the eye. 

This was the worst possible outcome. Tamara was disconsolate. She even considered not having the surgery — she’d rather die than lose her eye. Her parents and the doctors all tried to convince her to have the surgery. The doctors told her that they could create the most perfect prosthetic eye for her — no one would know she only had one real eye. But Tamara would. She didn’t want a prosthetic eye — she wanted her own eye, she wanted to be able to see out of both her eyes, and she wanted to be whole.

Tamara was at her lowest point a few days before surgery. Her oncologist, Dr. Simonson said she would have to wear an eye patch for six to ten weeks until the socket was healed, then she could be fitted with her prosthetic eye. So not only would she look like a pirate with the eye patch for almost two months, but she would look like a bald pirate because the chemo had taken all her hair. She had seriously dark thoughts about whether she was strong enough to carry on.

Then three days before surgery Tamara received a strange phone call from her ophthalmologist, Dr. Amanda Orlov, asking to see her the next day.

Tamara went to the appointment, assuming it was more bad news. What else could go wrong? But when she was seated in the office with the doctor, she was given life-altering news.

“Although no one has ever attempted this type of surgery before, I am in in clinical trials to see how effective whole eye transplants can be. I have a match for you — an almost identical match.”

Tamara had agreed on the spot — no dilly-dallying, no humming or hawing, just yes. Her prayers had been answered. As far as she could tell, this was a no-brainer — she said yes to the transplant.

Tamara had the surgery the next day. When she woke up from anaesthesia, Dr. Orlov was there beside her bed, smiling.

“The surgery went very well” she had said. “Even better than I had hoped. Now, all we have to do is wait for you to heal.”

When Tamara left the hospital three weeks later, she still looked like a bald pirate, but she was a bald pirate with two eyes. Over the next month Dr. Orlov was very optimistic. There were tests, and exams, and very slowly, bit by bit, Tamara’s new eye was exposed to light and the world in general. 

Dr. Orlov was over the moon with Tamara’s progress There was no infection. The new eye could track with the other eye. And it looked so much like Tamara’s own eye, that unless you knew about the surgery you would never have known that she’d had an eye transplant.

Dr. Orlov wanted to wait a couple of months before introducing Tamara and her amazing eye to the world, just to be sure it was healed and performing perfectly. Until that time, Dr. Orlov wanted Tamara to get back into her own life.

And that was exactly what she did. That very night was the first time that Tamara had agreed to go out with her friends. They didn’t know about her new eye. She had told them that the treatments had worked, and that she was now cancer-free. It was less complicated that way. At least until Dr. Orlov let the world in on her ocular breakthrough. 

The night had been wonderful. No one even questioned the story that she was healed. They celebrated her good fortune. It wasn’t until late in the evening that Tamara had noticed her left eye was a bit blurry. Dr. Orlov had said that might happen, especially when she was tired. Tamara took it as a sign to go home and get a good night’s sleep. She slept like a baby.

About a week later, Tamara’s sight again blurred on the left side. It was in the morning, so she didn’t think she was tired. Just to be safe, she called Dr. Orlov who instead that she come to her office right away. 

“There doesn’t seem to be anything the matter with the eye,” she said. Tamara sighed in relief. “You passed all my tests with flying colours.” She looked at Tamara. “I don’t know what this could be, but I need you to call me every time this happens. Especially if it gets worse.”

Tamara went home from the doctor’s office, a tiny bit of concern niggling at the back of her mind. 

What if my eye fails, and I have to lose it all over again? 

This was Tamara’s worst nightmare — at that time.

Everything was fine for the next few days. Tamara continued to enjoy her life, a better life that her new eye had afforded her. She saw things in a new light, literally. She was thankful and appreciative for the second chance that she had been afforded.

Four days after her last visit to Dr. Orlov, Tamara was sitting on a bench in the park, watching the squirrels chase each other, watching the kids playing in the nearby playground, and watching all the people walking by, living their lives. Tamara was happy. She felt that she was living her best life. Then it happened.

At first she thought it was just another blurry episode. She would have to contact Dr. Orlov, she knew, but she just sat there, hoping it would pass. 

But it wasn’t just a blurry episode this time. The sight in her left eye dimmed as if it were nighttime. Now she was frightened. She pulled out her phone to call, but suddenly there was a figure in the dimness. Tamara was frozen to her seat. She could still see the park, the squirrels, and all the people through her right eye, but that was not what she was seeing through her left eye. Although she was sitting still on the park bench, the tableau unfolding in her left eye had the jerky movement of someone walking forward. The view moved closer and closer to the figure. It was a woman, and she was lying on the ground. Her blond hair and face were covered in blood, eyes blackened. She looked as if she had been beaten. Her hands and feet were bound. She was naked and she was crying. Tamara couldn’t hear her but she could see the woman’s mouth moving — she was pleading and crying, holding her bound hands in front of her, shaking her head no. Then a hand holding a knife appeared, It looked like a man’s hand, and he was pointing the knife towards the woman, swishing it back and forth, menacingly, as he walked forward. Tamara saw the knife slashing the woman, with shallow lacerations across her torso, arms, and cheeks. The hand holding the knife moved down to the woman’s midsection, carving something into her stomach. Tamara closed her eyes, but the scene remained. SLUT was carved into the flesh. Tamara felt nauseous, watching helplessly as the man brought the knife down in a final killing stroke, thrusting through her heart. Blood gushed from the wound and coated scene with a red haze. The woman’s eyes bulged in shock, then she was still, her eyes frozen open in horror. Tamara moaned, and leaned over the side of the bench and vomited.

She couldn’t move. Her breath was coming in long, ragged gasps. She bent over and vomited again.

*****

“I don’t know what to tell you Tamara. I have no case studies to help explain what you said happened.” She looked concerned, tapping her pen on a folder on her desk.

Tamara wasn’t sure if Dr. Orlov was truly concerned because of what Tamara had just experienced, or because she thought that Tamara was cracking up. Tamara wasn’t sure she wasn’t cracking up, but she was sure that what she had seen was real — as real and as lucid as if she had committed the murder herself.

“There is nothing that can explain what has happened to you. It could be stress-induced. It could have been a lucid dream. Or you could have imagined it—“

“I did not imagine this, Dr. Orlov. It was as if I was looking through someone else’s eyes,” said Tamara, trying hard to contain her shock and horror. “Out of someone else’s eye,” she corrected.

“Interesting,” said Dr. Orlov, looking at Tamara, but with an unfocussed look that said she was deep in thought, somewhere else.

“Not interesting at all, Doctor. Not interesting! Horrifying, yes. Scary as hell, yes. But not interesting.”

Dr. Orlov snapped to the present, and looked at Tamara.

“I’m sorry, Tamara. I didn’t mean to make light of your situation.” She paused. She started to say something, then stopped, and looked again at Tamara. “I don’t know what to say. I have no way to understand what you said happened to you. The best that I can suggest is a mild sedative to help you to relax.”

Tamara was beginning to feel frantic. “What if it happens again! What do I do? I can’t see that again. I can’t.” She hung her head and started to cry. “It was too terrible.”

After a few minutes, Tamara sniffed and looked up at Dr. Orlov. “Help me.”

“I will try, Tamara. I will try.” 

They sat in silence, until Dr. Orlov spoke up. 

“Do you know anything about optography?”

Tamara shook her head.

“In the 1850s it was believed that the retinas of the dead held the image of the last thing they saw. It was hoped that it could become a tool for forensic investigations — you know the last thing a person sees is their murderer, and voila,” she snapped her fingers, “crime solved. It was proved to be junk science.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Dr. Orlov sat there for a moment before speaking. “While not an actual thing, optography may be the key to your situation.”

Tamara looked at the doctor, understanding donning on her face. “What are you saying? That my new eyeball has a memory?” She looked at the doctor with disbelief. 

“No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m just saying … I don’t know what I am saying. I have to do more research.”

*****

That night, at home, unable to entertain the idea of sleep, Tamara sat with her open laptop in front of her and a glass of merlot to the side. Her research about optography proved that what Dr. Orlov said was correct — it was junk science. But it also highlighted how little the medical community knew about the human eye.

Striking out with optography, she searched for information about the woman that she had seen in her … her what? Tamara was stumped. What could she call the horror she had experienced? She settled on waking nightmare. Yes, she decided, that summed up what she had experienced — a waking nightmare.

Tamara had no idea where to start, or more correctly when to start. She didn’t know anything about the woman, only what she had seen. 

She opened Google, and typed in “female stabbing victims.” Over six million hits in a little under half a second. She had to narrow it down. She limited her search to North America, timeframe to the last twenty years, and she included hair colour in the search. Finally she included the work SLUT in her search. She found her victim, or rather one of the victims of the serial killer, Slasher Man.

NUDE BODY OF MAYOR’S NANNY FOUND MUTILATED IN PARK

Police are asking for the public’s help in locating the murderer of Mayor Janice Dumphrey’s nanny, Paula Lisk. Ms. Lisk’s bound and naked body was found this morning in the Western Park, by a man walking his dog. She had been stabbed and mutilated. Police believe Ms. Lisk was the latest vicim of Slasher Man, a serial killer terrorizing the area for the last five years …

There was a photo of Paula Lisk accompanying the article. Tamara felt the bile rise in her throat. It was the woman she had seen in her waking nightmare.

Who killed Paula Lisk? She typed her question into the search bar, and almost immediately, found her answer. Guy Buddy Brown had been found with the body of his seventh victim, a fifteen year old girl he had abducted as she walked home from a late basketball practice. He was arrested, tried, and convicted of the murders of his last two victims — Paula Lisk, and Brittany Oldevai, the last victim.

She Googled his name. There were thousands of hits on Guy Buddy Brown. Stories about his rein of terror as Slasher Man, information about his dysfunctional childhood — a seriously sadistic alcoholic mother who was not only a prostitute herself, but felt no compunction selling her young son to anyone willing to pay for the pleasure. Young Guy Buddy Brown had been swept up in a child pornography ring when he was eleven, and spent the next seven years in and out of foster care and juvenile detention. He disappeared from the official record until he was arrested at the age of twenty-two for the murders of Brittany Oldevai and Paula Lisk.

Doctors who examined him believed he was killing his mother over and over with each of his victims. 

The last story that Tamara read was a notice of Guy Buddy Brown’s death. He had been stabbed to death in prison. Some felt it was apropos. The word SLUT had been written in his blood.

Tamara was stunned. He had died the day before her surgery. She had Guy Buddy Brown’s eye. She picked up her phone to call Dr. Orlov’s service. She wanted to scream at the doctor, demand to know why she thought it was alright to give her the eye of a serial killer.

Before she could call, her sight dimmed.

No! No! No! Please, no! She felt, more than heard, a chuckle coming from inside her head.

Take my eye, will you! it said.

Then the nightmare began. Tamara was powerless to stop it. She saw the murder of each of Slasher Man’s victims. There were eleven murders, not seven, and Tamara was subjected to each of indignities Buddy Guy Brown inflicted on their bodies. She passed out, her mind no longer able to face the horror.

*****

When Dr. Orlov arrived at her office the next morning, she found Tamara curled in a ball on the front step.

“Tamara! What are you doing? Are you alright!” She rushed towards her.

Tamara lifted her head to face the doctor. There was a bloody socket where her left eye should have been.

“Your eye —“ before she could finish, Tamara stood and threw the bloody eyeball at Dr. Orlov. It hit her in the chest, leaving a bloody imprint. Dr. Orlov skittered back, away from the gelatinous mass at her feet.”

“How could you?” croaked Tamara. “You knew who he was, but still you gave me his eye.”

Dr. Orlov was stunned. “Who …” was all she 

“Guy Buddy Brown!” She spat the name at the doctor. “You knew all along. You gave me his eye, and now he’s in my head. Look what he made me do!” She pulled up her shirt with her left hand. The word SLUT was carved into the skin of her belly.

“I … I … I didn’t know … how could I have known .. I don’t … I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Let me help you.”

Before Dr. Orlov could take a step towards her, Tamara raised the carving knife in her right hand and charged the doctor.

“You did this to me!”

*****

Detectives Terry Waits and Carlos Ito looked down at the body of Dr. Amanda Orlov.

“She was an ophthalmologist. Who wants to kill an ophthalmologist?” asked Ito.

Waits crouched beside the body, careful not to contaminate the scene. She pointed her gloved hand at a bloody mound beside the doctor.

“Maybe the person owns this eye,” she said. She lifted the blood-soaked blouse from the wound on the doctor’s stomach. SLUT was carved into her skin.

“I thought that guy died a couple of months ago in prison,” said Ito, pointing at the wound. “What was his name?”

Waits straightened. “Brown. Guy Buddy Brown,” she said. “He did die. He was stabbed to death, like all of his victims,” she said. “Karma’s a bitch,”

“So, what do we have? A copycat? A fan? The ghost of Guy Buddy Brown?” asked Ito.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure when we find the owner of that eyeball, we’ll have our answer.