The Switch Husband

The two women did their best to hide the fact that something was wrong.

Kathy set the tea tray on the patio table, “It’s so nice out, isn’t it?” she said. “Especially for this time of year at least.”

“Oh, it is,” Jessica smiled. “We couldn’t have timed this better.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about Frank, though… Well I guess it’s all the better you aren’t alone today. I know the pain all too well,” the expression on the old woman’s face turned solemn

“I still can’t believe it, to tell you the truth. A part of me still thinks he’s going to walk through the front door and… Oh goodness I’m so sorry,” Jessica wiped away the beginnings of tears.

“You’re grieving darling, there, there. It’s been several years and I still don’t think I can ever accept losing Rodger. But you’re young, and there’s plenty of time for you. Maybe one day you’ll want to date again.”

“I don’t know that I ever could.”

“Not now darling, but one day. You’ll be able to carry on with yourself—as difficult as that can be.”

“No Kathy, you don’t understand. I could never bear to. He was…”

“Oh darling, what is it?”

“Frank was the perfect one.”

Kathy looked into Jessica’s eyes, full of tears. But somewhere behind them, she thought she could see something inside her screaming.

—Earlier—

Jessica thought he was acting differently, but maybe that was just the day. His smile seemed a little wider, his charm more effortless and fiery than she’d ever seen it, yet still it troubled her like the lingering fear after waking from a nightmare. “Something’s gotten into you today,” she said, “and I think I like it.”

“Not at all,” said Frank, and he began to guide the car into their driveway.

“No, I mean it, did you get a promotion at work or something?”

“Is it really that unusual for us to have a good night out?”

She supposed not, but that really wasn’t the concern. The difference was that tonight, Frank hadn’t made a single misstep. Not a phrase out of place, not a hint of irritability, nothing but the warm smoky quality of his voice, and all the right things. Frank knew how to hit the right notes, he certainly had before, but he’d never been pitch perfect—just like when they’d been on their honeymoon. She hadn’t seen that Frank in awhile, but this time it was even better. Unbelievable.

He opened the car door for her, and after both of them stepped over the threshold he removed her coat. She smelled the wine on his breath as he brought his lips to her neck in just the right way—and she hardly had a choice. He gave it to her like an animal that night.

Waking from the long night, Jessica lay with her eyes half-open on her sleeping husband. God, there wasn’t a thing she didn’t love about him in that moment—the way the sun hit his skin, showing just enough muscle, even the look on his face. Fuck, he could be doing anything as simple as making coffee, and I couldn’t get enough.

But that was a problem. A good problem, but one that would remain in her thoughts until she could pick apart the reason; it eluded her like a ball of twine, and with enough searching she could find the strand that would unravel the mystique. Why can’t I just enjoy this? she thought. Ah well. She’d make no fuss.

When Frank woke, she watched him reach down beside the bed to search for his clothes, and she lay there pretending to be asleep—or at least, making no effort to signal she was awake. He went to the closet and found a clean work uniform, which he studied a moment before turning back to toss it down on the bed. Jessica sat up, sliding her legs out from under the sheets, “Good morning, Dear.”

This time his face brought no warmth. He looked at her for a moment before turning to rummage in the dresser for his socks, “Yeah, good morning.”

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Yeah. How about you?” his voice cut into her like worn razors—not drawing blood, but not pleasing in the least.

“Oh I’m good. I’m especially good after last night.”

“Yeah, that was nice, wasn’t it?” just like his face, there was no sense of warmth. No legitimacy to his words.

“It’s just… you don’t sound like you’re in a good mood, Frank.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“I never said there was, you just sound a little upset right now.”

“There’s nothing wrong, I’m fine. I need to go to work, I love you, and I’ll see you when I get home,” he finished putting on his uniform and stormed out of the room, leaving the bedroom door open behind him. The air was now damp and heavy, and she lay down—looking up at the ceiling in contemplation. There was a dark stain of water damage, presumably from the heavy rain and faults in the roof work, which she stared at but thought little of—wondering if it was better to tell Frank, or call a serviceman herself. But her mind was already distant from the problem.

It hurt, but not for the reasons one would assume.

It hurt because this wasn’t the first time she’d had that conversation. But it had been almost fifteen years ago. His name was Conroy Laughton, and he was never without the three things that became his identity: a beard, a belt, and a short fuse.

It was fifty miles away from the house she had gotten with Frank. Fifty miles and fifteen years. Conroy was driving, “I’m fine. There’s nothing wrong.”

But she could see the way he looked at the road and knew it couldn’t be, “Of course there is, come on, you can say it.”

Heavy air. Dry up in the mountains. Silence. His knuckles had gone flush with how tight they were gripping the wheel, and for a moment she had the terrifying thought of them closed around her neck.

“We’re driving home,” he said. “And when we get there, we’re going to get out of this car, you’re going to call up one of your lady friends or… whatever. And I’m going to do laundry before going to work, because everything. is. fine.”

This, all after an inconspicuous breakfast at a local diner—early in the morning after Conroy insisted she come along for some errands. They’d been to the hardware store for some replacement car parts, to the specialty AC unit dealer which he visited often for work, and then to Ted Chovich’s house so Conroy could take back lent money. She’d hardly said a thing the whole time—not because there had been anything wrong, but just because there hadn’t been a whole lot to say, except… How are you?

That was what had started it. She realized that day just how short the fuse really was, and worst of all was the realization that it wouldn’t change. Sometimes he was just angry. And like a broken pressure cooker, the relationship struggled to contain all the heat and eventually ruptured.

It ended in drawn blood. Belt marks. She shuddered to think how much worse it could have been with rings around their fingers.

But Frank wasn’t like that. Never had been. It was easier, more assuring, to think of all this as a strange coincidence. She thought of the previous night, and the memory now had an insincere tint to it that was as musty as the bedroom had become. And all so quickly. He had a bad dream, she thought. A bad dream, or… work pressure. That kind of thing happens to everyone.

She would forget about the change. While he was away from work, she would distract herself, and the sour air would leave by the time he got home. Frank would be a little tired perhaps, but there wouldn’t be anything wrong with that. Not a thing to worry about.

Jessica made a fresh cup of coffee, and that seemed to go a long way. The task of organizing the home filing cabinet was large enough to get lost in, and so she let it consume her until the setting sun glowed orange through the office window, and only a half-stack of documents remained. Then she heard the jingle of keys off in the distance, the sound of the deadbolt clicking, and she knew he was home.

She turned the corner to see Frank, looking off toward the kitchen, holding a bouquet of lilies wrapped in silver paper. He turned to face her, “Hello darling!” The warmth was back, and Jessica felt long-standing tension escaping her body. It surprised her she had even been so tense in the first place—but she promised herself things would feel right again, and they did.

“Aww, Frank, are those for me?”

“No, silly,” he smirked, “I got them for someone else—no of course they’re for you!” He stepped in close for a kiss, and set the bouquet in her hands while he looked at her with sugary eyes. Would she bring up the morning? Probably best not. She accepted him in her arms, and afterward Frank prepared steak and mixed vegetables for dinner: her favorite.

But the enigma still lingered, and although she wanted an answer for what had happened, the question could be provoking. She didn’t want to spend another day in spoiled air. No, tonight would be like last night, and that brought excitement and relief.

They were seated in the dining room enjoying dinner, when Frank looked up at her from his steak. He chewed for a moment. Swallowed. And didn’t stop staring. She looked back at him, waiting in anticipation for something he had to say—maybe a quip, or a sweet remark. But when none came, she recognized a pit that was forming in her stomach. It probably showed on her face.

He continued staring.

“Frank?”

A beat too long. His eyes darted down, then back up to meet her gaze, “Ah, yes dear, what is it?”

“Are… you alright?”

“I’m sorry. Just a little lost in thought. How’s the steak? Did I overcook the vegetables?”

He hadn’t, but that was aside the point, “They’re just right. And the steak is perfect—”

“Good, good,” he smiled, looking back to his plate to cut himself another piece. He sawed into the meat with his steak knife and seemed pleased with the juices that came running out. He clicked his teeth together and raised the loaded fork for another chewing session.

No, she thought, the air still isn’t right.

And she realized then that he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her why.

“I do hope you’re going to join me in bed,” Frank smiled as he scrubbed away at the dinner plates.

“Actually, I need to make a couple calls. Work stuff. But I’ll be up in a little bit.”

“That’s fine,” he continued looking down into the sink. “As long as I’m not alone tonight.”

And why would he be? she thought. Strange. He’d been charming in the way he was, but his behavior pushed her so she was sitting on edge. Different. Truth be told, she would have preferred to sleep on the couch, but he wouldn’t let her. He would be insistent—she knew. At the very least he wasn’t cold like before, and for that she was thankful.

Taking her mobile phone, Jessica walked out of the house, turned at the end of the block, and walked to the next intersection. Frank couldn’t be in earshot. She dialed the only person that she could think of who would know exactly what to do.

“Kathy?” she said when the dial tone cut out. “It’s Jessica.”

“OH, hello Jess! How are you? I was actually thinking of calling you the other day, but it must have slipped my mind. The house has been quiet these days with Rodger gone.”

“Goodness, I can imagine. Maybe we could pick a date and have lunch or something—I was meaning to talk to you about something else, but I think it would be nice to have a day out.”

“Of course, of course! How about the end of this month?”

“Hmm. I’ll have to check my calendar, but I don’t think I’m booked at all then.”

“Well alright, consider yourself booked. So what did you mean to call about?”

“It’s Frank,” Jessica instinctively looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was there. She couldn’t stand the thought of him standing somewhere, hiding, looking at her with that same desiring expression he’d had at the dinner table. “Don’t say a word about it to anyone, but I think… I don’t know, he’s just been acting differently these days.”

“Does he have a temper?”

“No, not quite. It’s just he’s not acting like himself. Honestly Kat, the way he looks at me turns my skin to gooseflesh.”

Kathy paused in thought over the line before proceeding to bombard her with questions. Was he having trouble at work? Had he changed his diet? Was he getting enough sleep? “How are things, well… in the bedroom, you know?”

“Oh, they’re fine. Better than usual even. But see, that’s the weird part, because sometimes he does seem normal. But it’s little things, his change in demeanor. I just… I don’t know what to make of it, I just needed to get this off my chest.”

“Well,” Kathy said, her voice reassuring, “To me it seems like he’s finding his place in the marriage. It’s a stressful thing for both of you, and how long has it been since the day?”

“Oh God, it was last spring, so… over six months now.”

“That has to be it. You two are still discovering yourselves, and Frank is adjusting. Rodger was that way when we were younger, and I tell ya, sometimes you’re just going to have to take it day by day and build up your patience. He’ll get through it soon enough.”

“I hope so, Kat. Admittedly, I’m a little scared to go to bed tonight.”

“Don’t let it bother you, dear, you’re safe. And I know Frank’s a good man, and he loves you. Those are good things to remember.”

They talked for a little while longer before wishing each other a good night. By the time she hung up, Jessica realized she was sinking deeper and deeper into darkness as the sun crept closer and closer to the horizon. At worst, Frank would be suspicious with how long she’d taken, but she told herself that if he were to say anything, she’d say the conversation got a little carried away. That wasn’t too much of a lie.

Jessica followed the sidewalk back to their house, and before stepping in, she took a moment to look the building up and down. She wondered if he was still working in the kitchen.

When she entered, the sink was empty, and the cookware and dishes lay neatly aligned in the drying rack. Especially orderly, she thought. Even for Frank. He wouldn’t stress about the details, and she’d grown accustomed to it, but tonight all was spotless.

The rest of the house was dark, but knowing the space well enough, she didn’t bother to turn on a light to venture on. She traveled down the hall to their bedroom and saw the door open—moonlight beaming in through the horizontal blinds that revealed smooth muscle under sheets. All at once she was anxious and eager: eager to lie down and let sleep come to her, and anxious because there was no telling what Frank would do.

She removed her clothes, setting them on the dresser with little care to be tidy, and crawled into the bed listening as Frank breathed in and out. Softly. Unobtrusively. Asleep already, she thought, and now felt bad for calling Kathy. She’d been right, he was just adjusting, and Jessica knew just as well that he loved her. There would be tough days, but things couldn’t be difficult forever. She wrapped her arms around him tentatively—enjoying the pose, but not wishing to rouse him from sleep—

“I was wondering how long you’d be out.” His voice was lucid without a hint of drowsiness. But this time his words were playful, and a smile colored his tone of voice. It was startling no less.

“Oh baby, I thought you were asleep.”

“How could I be, with a beauty like yourself on me?”

Yes, she assured herself, he’s adjusting.

He said nothing more, and she fell into uneasy dreams.

She watched from her rearview mirror as Frank walked by the window. Once. Twice. Five times total. Once with a cardboard box, and the other times she couldn’t be sure if he was carrying anything with him at all. She turned to look at her own subtle reflection in the car’s driver side window. Am I losing it? she considered the possibility. Either I’m crazy, or he’s hiding something from me. I’d rather take being crazy at this point.

Jessica had shouted to him from downstairs that she was on her way to the grocery store. The one on the other side of town. Just a few things. If he didn’t mind, she had a recipe to try out. He didn’t. She left her wallet on the dining room table, and would’ve smirked then if she didn’t question how good of an idea this was.

But it was the only idea. And at best, what would she find? Nothing.

He’s adjusting, Jessica. You know he loves you.

She would go on with a clear mind, give Frank his space, and they’d figure it out. They’d find a way to be happy together in the end. She drove the car two blocks down the neighborhood, turned right, and continued until she came to an empty lot that separated two houses. She parked and waited thirty minutes—staring out the window and asking herself if she was really about to do this. Then at the right moment, she dialed Frank’s number and waited. He didn’t take too long to answer, “Hello? Jess?”

“Hey darling, I’m so sorry to bother you. I got our groceries, but I’m here at the checkout and I can’t find my wallet, so is it possible for you to bring it down here for me?”

“Yeah,” Frank sighed, “I’ll be there. Where did you think you left it?”

“The kitchen? Our bedroom maybe? I must have set it down before I left.”

“Okay, yeah, just give me a few minutes. You said which store?”

“Costco, the one on the East end of town.”

“Okay, yeah,” he sighed again.

“I’m sorry love, call me when you get here.”

The line died.

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling that pulled at her stomach. It was the feeling she’d done something bad, and with one misstep, things could be a lot worse than they were now. But the fear that something was amiss felt all too urgent. On a weekend like this, there was no better time to find out.

Jessica waited fifteen minutes just to be safe, then she let the car creep back down her street until she could see their driveway—Frank’s car missing from its spot. Without hesitation, she pulled in and stumbled into the house. There would only be so much time before Frank would arrive at the store, and even less time to factor in her stop at the local market, and her inconspicuous trip to the store to meet him. And how would she explain any surplus time? That would be too difficult to wiggle out of—not without him asking more questions.

So she ran through the house looking for anything out of place. Coming to a stop at their bedroom, she sat down on the bed and looked back into the dim hallway. What could he be doing in there? She paced—going from bed to hall in search—until finally she paused, looking up at the ceiling. Water damage…

No way. I’m crazy for thinking this.

And what if you aren’t? she asked herself? What then?

Near the bedroom entrance was a plain attic door in the ceiling that released a built-in ladder when opened. Though it excited the panic in her stomach, the need to open it was irresistible. There wasn’t any time to waste. She undid the latch, opened the door, and pulled the ladder to ground before testing it with her feet before starting her climb.

The smells of dust, mildew, and rot tainted the air. The attic was small—beams and rafters running through it with room for little else—except in the corner where the stain was on the ceiling. At first she didn’t recognize him at all, but saw the scene that lay hidden in shattered fragments that her mind struggled to piece together; there was a brown, sticky mess that pooled on the floor, a metal box the size of a mini-fridge that hummed and flickered with its unusual digital interface, and a face which rang of familiarity.

His features were defined, jaw chiseled, facial hair matted in dry blood, and what really threw off her recognition: the fact that not far above his eyebrows—pulled back in a tense stare that looked horrified into nothing—the top of his head was cut short. Not cracked open like an eggshell or sawed through, but cut with the surgical precision of a laser. A metal apparatus peeked out of his hollow cranium like a silver spider having just devoured his brain. Jaw wide open. A scream never to be heard.

Conroy.

It couldn’t have been anyone else, and apart from his current condition he hadn’t aged since her last memory of him. With all this running through her mind, the attic itself felt like anything but reality—like she’d stepped into another world. She blinked, and the body remained frozen in its place. The interface flickered.

Immediately she was running through the layout of the house in her mind, trying to think of everything she needed to flee. And who would she call? It was too much to think of at once as she climbed down the ladder.

Paperwork. She dashed to the filing cabinet and made quick work of finding her important documents—neatly filed from the other day. Then she looked through each room and grabbed only the most essential items to throw into her car. She was standing in the kitchen, wrapping up her inventory, Notebooks, phone, documents—

“I think you’re forgetting something, Jessica,” she heard Frank just beyond the front door. The familiar jingle of his keys.

Oh fucking hell.

She remained paralyzed as the front door opened and Frank stepped in—smiling ear to ear in a way she never could have imagined aside in nightmares. He held her wallet between his fingers, tapping it against the wall as he stepped closer to her. “You know, Jessica, I would have expected better of you than to try to trick me like that. Are you pleased with yourself?”

He didn’t stop smiling.

“What the fuck even are you?!”

“Jessica, baby,” those sweet smoky eyes turned on in an instant, “I just love you so much… That’s all I want is to be with you. Why don’t you trust me?”

She was unconsciously backing away with his every step, “I… I…” play dumb, she thought. Play dumb. “I don’t know Frank, you’ve been acting unusual at times—”

“But are you happy?”

“Well, yes Frank, I am, but I’ve been worried about you.”

The smile vanished, replaced by a cold grimace and twitching left eye, “Worried enough that you’d try to lie to me like that, you fucking bitch?!”

“Frank, you don’t understan—”

“I damn well understand. You don’t think I haven’t been tracking your car? You think I haven’t done everything I can to make this work, Jessica? Have you ever thought maybe you’re the one who doesn’t understand?”

I don’t, she thought, but I don’t need to understand to know I shouldn’t be here. “Maybe you can explain then, Frank. Maybe you can help me understand.”

Closing his eyes, Frank lifted his hands to his cranium and pulled it off his head. There wasn’t a drop of blood or gray matter she could see, but instead, a fuzzy green shape that could’ve been a tennis ball—the key difference being its dark-spotted, rippling surface. Moving with life. He let the top half of his skull come clattering down on the tile and reached his arms out to pull her close. She squirmed under his grip, but was quickly transfixed by the way he whispered into her ear, “All I’ve ever wanted was to live my life with you, Jessica. I knew that as soon as I saw you.” He kissed her shoulder gently. “That’s all we know, Jessica. Love.”

“We?” she said under her breath.

“You can’t even hope to understand us, Jessica—only that we love. It is our essence. And I knew you loved Frank, and you’ve loved before—so what a joy it was to think you’d love me with all of them combined. Perfect for you.”

“W-wait, where is Frank?”

“Oh, I am Frank. I’m him and twice as much—”

“What did you do to him?!”

“You know, Jessica. You saw the attic. I’m Conroy too, and if you’d waited to be so damned nosy, I could’ve been everyone you’ve ever loved. I would have found them Jessica, and we could all be together.”

She watched as the spinach-green mass oozed out of Frank’s cranium and onto her shoulder. She tried pushing at Frank with her whole body to knock him over, but he held fast in place while she squirmed and shrieked and watched as the green stuff—warm and gripping like a slug—made its way up her arm. It sprouted tendrils that coiled around her neck and shoulders, and it whispered to her—not as Frank, but in its unusually calm, true voice that traveled through her very being as well as her ears, “Jessica, please don’t fuss. I’m everything you’ve ever wanted. Everything and more.”

“No you AREN’T!” she yanked herself backward, causing both her and Frank’s body to come tumbling down. And oh God my husband, she thought, what did it do to my husband?

She lay on the floor as the green licked away her tears. It said nothing more as its formless shape pried her mouth open and began to crawl inside.