For Your Eyes Only
By Daniel Dowell

Jonathan Drake awoke when the morning breeze settled a wisp of hair down across his forehead. The breeze and the accompanying warm sunlight felt good on his face. The rest of his body could only remember the warmth of the sun and the playful caress of the morning breeze. He squeezed his eyes and blinked the sleep away. Other than the flutter of his eyelids, there was no movement—no slow stretching of his limbs, no arching of his back and thrust of his fists into the morning air. Jonathan Drake lay completely still, paralyzed from his shoulders to his toes.

It had been three long years since the accident. Though he remembered little of his car crashing through the guardrail on the canyon highway, the tube taped to his trachea and the low hum of the ventilator beside the bed were constant reminders of how close he had come to death. He could still move his head, though he was careful not to dislodge the breathing tube. He could still see, hear, and speak in short conversations. But in reality, the rest of Jonathan Drake had died that night three long years ago.

“Good. You're awake. How did you sleep last night, Darling?” Rebecca Drake reached across the window and pulled heavy brocade draperies across the sheers, throwing the room into momentary darkness. She reached across the dresser and turned on a small table lamp. “I do wish that housekeeper would consider your need for rest. I'll speak to her the moment she gets in.”

Jonathan started to protest, but decided to save his throat from fatigue of labored speech so early in the day. Besides, Rebecca's morning routine was precise. She would address him briefly with a false but lilting morning greeting. She would then fluff the pillows on either side of his head, kiss him on the forehead, and then proceed to tell him her itinerary for the day, starting with tennis lessons from the handsome young club pro, Jimmy Tillis. He never understood the need to fluff the pillows, as Rebecca had not slept in the large four-poster since the night he came home from the hospital.

“J T says that I've got a very strong backhand. We're going to work on my serve this week. He's such a little tease,” she said with a schoolgirl giggle. “He said I have great legs. What do you think, Jonathan?” She parted her robe, showing nothing against her skin but the blue satin wrap. Jonathan closed his eyes. If only he could close his ears as well. “What's the matter, Baby? I'm still for your eyes only. Oh, I forgot. That's all you can do.” She shrugged and walked toward the door, as her satin robe slowly slid from her shoulders to the floor. At the door she turned, posed for a moment, then softly blew him a kiss. He heard her giggle as she walked naked down the hallway.

Jonathan almost regretted the lifestyle that his successful writing career had afforded Rebecca. A series of best selling romance novels assured him of the best home care for his own medical needs. Unfortunately, his fortune was also the only bond that now kept Rebecca even remotely tied to his bedside.

“Jonathan, are you awake? Time to rise and shine. There's a whole new day out there and we've got a deadline to make.” Jonathan opened his eyes. He wasn't sure just how long he had been lying there since Rebecca's teasing departure. The heavy brocade draperies were once again pulled aside, bathing the room in sunlight.

Melissa Parker stood beside his bed smiling, a steno pad in her left hand and several sharpened pencils in her right. Melissa—or Missy, as Jonathan had taken to call her—was his writing assistant. She had been with him two years before the accident and the three years since. Her work prior to the accident was nondescript. But since the accident, she had become more than an assistant. She had become Jonathan Drake, having assisted in the writing of two bestsellers and writing the last bestseller from cover to cover by herself.

“I see Rebecca has been up to her old tricks again,” she said as she picked the blue satin robe up from the floor. “Jonathan, you are too good for her.” She placed her hand on Jonathan's cheek. Like a puppy, Jonathan rubbed his cheek against her palm. They remained silent, staring at one another for several seconds.

“I'll meet you at the club in a few minutes, J T.” The voice came from the room monitor receiver on the nightstand. It was Rebecca's voice. “I know, J T, I'm late. It's Jonathan's fault. He's getting to be a bigger burden every day.”

Missy reached over to turn the eavesdropping monitor off, but Jonathan grunted, “No.” The conversation that followed angered Missy and tore at the last string of hope that Jonathan held deeply inside his paralyzed chest.

“I know, baby, I know. I promise I'm only doing the bare necessities to maintain his life. The homecare people are around too much for me to do any less.”

Missy looked at Jonathan. He was staring at the ceiling. A quick blink sent a small tear down his cheek.

“What do you mean ‘how long?' How should I know?” There was a pause. “We can talk about that when I see you,” she said impatiently. “Do you still think I've got great legs?” she asked. “You naughty, naughty boy,” she said to his reply.

“Missy, I think it's time we got started on the final draft today,” Jonathan broke the silence in the bedroom.

“But, Jonathan, she—”

“Missy, Rebecca didn't mean anything by that. She's lonely and, unfortunately, craves attention. Obviously, I can't give it to her. She doesn't mean anything by it.” Jonathan smiled and winked at his assistant. Missy looked at the monitor and knew she had much more to say about Rebecca Drake. She also knew that Jonathan didn't believe a word he had just spoken.

Missy and Jonathan had been collaborating for about twenty minutes on the new draft when Rebecca walked in dressed in a short white tennis skirt with a very low cut navy and white top. Missy scowled as Rebecca leaned over Jonathan and kissed him on the forehead, pausing to give him an ample view of her breasts.

That was all it took to send Missy into a fit. When Rebecca left the room for her tennis lessons, Missy followed her to the front door.

“Jonathan may pretend not to see what's going on around here, but I'm not going to remain silent,” Missy snapped at a startled Rebecca.

“Why, my dear, I don't know what you mean,” Rebecca responded.

“Don't play miss coy and demur with me, Rebecca. Your fooling around behind Jonathan's back is bad enough, but to withhold the care he needs just to get rid of what you call a burden is inexcusable.”

“You are out of line, young lady,” Rebecca hissed. “In fact, you are so out of line, little miss assistant, that you're fired!”

“You can't fire me,” Missy said. “I don't work for you. I work for Jonathan.”

“Wrong again. You work for me. Just take a look at the signature on the bottom of your paycheck!” Rebecca screamed. “Now, you have three seconds to get off of my property, before I call the police.” Missy started back toward Jonathan's bedroom. “I said to get out now. I'll send your things over to you this afternoon. Now get out! ”

Tears of anger welled up in Missy's eyes as she drove away from the Drake estate. Several blocks away she pulled to the side of the road and wiped her eyes. She couldn't leave Jonathan alone in that house any longer. She turned the car and drove back.

By the time she arrived, Rebecca's Mercedes was no longer parked at the top of the circular drive. Missy parked on the street just down from the drive and walked up to the house and tapped lightly on the massive oak door. She was relieved when Mrs. Losario, the housekeeper, answered with a smile. From Mrs. Losario's friendly welcome, it appeared that Rebecca hadn't had time earlier to tell her not to allow Missy in. Graciously, Mrs. Losario led her down the hallway to Jonathan's bedroom.

“Ah, Miss Parker, so good to see you today.”

Startled by a familiar voice, Missy looked toward the far corner of the room and saw Dr. Setzer packing his stethoscope into his leather bag.

“Just checking in on our patient here,” Dr. Setzer offered.

“Good morning, Doctor Setzer,” Missy replied. “How is Jonathan doing?” She smiled as she nervously looked back down the hall toward the front entryway.

“Fine, fine. Nothing to worry about. Strong as an ox, that one,” he said with a chuckle.

“Doc, it's okay,” Jonathan interrupted. “Missy can handle the truth. Maybe the truth will explain the urgency in finishing this draft we're working on.” Jonathan gave a slight nod of his head to the doctor.

Dr. Setzer's smile disappeared immediately. He turned and met Missy's inquisitive gaze. He coughed nervously and then spoke slowly. “The truth be told, young lady, Jonathan has less than a few weeks to live.”

Missy gasped, bringing the back of her hand up to her mouth. She looked quickly at Jonathan and then back to Dr. Setzer. “But, there must be some mistake. Jonathan and I—”

“Please, Missy, there's no mistake,” Jonathan whispered. “I've known for quite some time now. That's why I've pushed so hard to finish my…my last novel.”

Missy was surprised at how matter-of-fact Jonathan was.

“I just think it is important for you to know the truth for a number of reasons. After Doctor Setzer…leaves, I'll explain in…greater detail.” Jonathan was pausing more often between words. “But for now, all you…need to know is…that Rebecca…mustn't know.”

Jonathan and Missy talked for hours after Dr. Setzer left. Shortly after the doctor's departure, Mrs. Losario had escorted a rather distinguished gentleman into the back bedroom for a brief discussion with Jonathan. Jonathan introduced him to Missy as Henry Calvert, his personal attorney. Calvert stayed briefly and then left. Finally, Jonathan and Missy began to work on the unfinished draft.

“What is she doing here?” Rebecca Drake screamed as she pushed the partially closed bedroom door open with such force that the door handle nicked the plaster wall. “I specifically told you to get out,” she added.

Without a word, Missy picked up her tablet and papers and stepped to the door. She brushed briskly, but intentionally against Rebecca as she passed. “You are a cruel, cruel woman. Jonathan deserves better,” she said, choking back tears as she paused at the door.

“And I suppose you would be the one to provide for him what he deserves?” Rebecca asked. “You don't know what it's like. You don't have to spend the best years of your life not being held, caressed…touched.” Rebecca slowly brought her hands up around her shoulders. She tilted her head slightly to the left as she looked at her own reflection in the dresser mirror. She began to sway gently from side to side.

“Jonathan, are you sure you'll be all right, I could stay if—”

“Of course he'll be all right. I'll see to his every need. Haven't I always?” Rebecca slowly turned toward Missy. A smile spread across her face, but it was the look in her eyes that scared Missy. It was the look of pure evil.

Jonathan watched as his wife straightened the draperies and fluffed the pillows on either side of his head. From the moment the front door closed behind Missy, Rebecca had been a smiling, attentive wife. “There now, is there anything else I can get you, Darling?” she purred. She reached across the end table to turn off the lamp.

“If you wouldn't mind, there…is something you can…help me with,” Jonathan whispered. “I've got a deadline…for a sample chapter…due tomorrow. And since you've sent my assistant away…” He paused. “Could I dictate it…to you now? It…it won't take long.”

Rebecca's smile faded as she looked at her watch. Jimmy would be waiting at the club. “Oh, all right. But promise it won't take too long. I've got some things to attend to.”

“It won't…take long. I…I promise.” Jonathan forced a smile. “Just a few lines,” he said.

Rebecca set the pen down on the bedside table and looked at the two pages of dictation she had just taken. She had to admit that her husband could create a romantic scene and mood with words better than anyone she had ever read.

Jonathan had set the scene by telling her that the passage was to be a love letter from a Union soldier preparing for his last battle before returning home. The young soldier, Pvt. Richard Depner, had made plans with his sweetheart for a life together upon his return from the battlefield. His sweetheart, Jennifer Traylor, a young seamstress from Roanoke , seemed to question Richard's sincerity in her last few letters to him, leading him to emphatically profess his love and devotion to her in his last letter. The passage was a masterpiece. As she read it back to him, Jonathan smiled with satisfaction.

“Rebecca, my love,” Jonathan whispered, “be sure to sign the…passage with Richard's initials. I have to…remain consistent…to the rest…of the draft.”

“Then shouldn't I put her initials on the letter as well, Darling,” she asked impatiently looking at her watch.

“That…that's a great idea,” Jonathan said. “Then just put it…in that envelope on the dresser. My agent will…send someone over…tomorrow.” He watched her sign the note with a sweeping R D . He smiled again as Rebecca folded the passage and placed it in the envelope. She reached quickly for the lightswitch. “One more thing, if…you don't mind,” he said.

He didn't see her roll her eyes. As she turned toward him, she forced a bittersweet smile.

“What else can I do for you, Darling?” Her teeth clinched behind her lips.

“First, it would…help if you cleared…my tube. I've talked too…much. I'm afraid I've drained a bit…into my tube. Just a simple…pinch should do it.”

Clearing the breathing tube was something that Rebecca usually had Mrs. Losario or one of the home care workers do. But Mrs. Losario had gone home more than an hour earlier and home care wasn't due until later that evening. So Rebecca reached down and pinched the tube a couple of inches above where it was inserted in Jonathan's neck.

“I'm afraid you'll have…to do it harder…than that,” Jonathan whispered. You'll have to…create enough pressure…for the ventilator to…move the discharge.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and turned her head away as she pinched the tube between her fingers. The ventilator whirred louder. There was a gurgling sound in Jonathan's throat. Panicked, Rebecca released the tube.

“Much better,” Jonathan said with a smile.

Rebecca rubbed her hands vigorously with a tissue as she got up from the bed and stepped toward the door. “My love, there is one…last favor.” Jonathan stifled a smile as he saw Rebecca drop her arms to her sides and slowly turn back toward the bed. “I think it would…be best to close my…business account…at the bank. We could then…open a new one…with your name…on it. I…I think…it's time.” Rebecca was stunned. What an unexpected stroke of luck. No more waiting for her monthly allowance. She would now have control of the honey pot.

Rebecca Drake stormed out of the First United Bank and Trust. Since the account was only in Jonathan Drake's name, only Jonathan Drake could close it. Rebecca had tried without success to explain how ridiculous that notion was, but the bank had its rules. Armed with new account signature cards and a power of attorney form, Rebecca arrived home shortly before noon.

“My love,” Jonathan soothed, “this isn't…the end…of the world. Simply sign…my name to everything. If the bank…questions it, I'll confirm…the signatures…as my own.” He laughed at the thought, but knew that the only person who could contest the validity of his signature was he himself. As long as he confirmed the signature, the bank would have to honor it.

Calmed and confident, Rebecca returned to the bank with the forms completed in her handwriting. When Jonathan heard the car engine start up, he looked slowly around the room. The only noise was the whirring of the ventilator motor. He held his breath and turned his head quickly. The ventilator whined louder.

Two hours later, an angry Rebecca Drake sat across from the bespectacled branch manager of the First United Bank and Trust. “Call him. Go ahead and call him. I'm telling you as sure as I'm sitting here that this is my husband's signature. Call him.” Rebecca was practically screaming at the little man across the desk from her. She sat back with a confident smile when he picked up the receiver and dialed the number she had given him.

“Yes, this is Mister Winthrop at the First United Bank and Trust. Could I please speak to Mister Jonathan Drake?” Mr. Winthrop's forced smile quickly faded. “Oh, dear lord. Oh, of course. Yes, she's right here. Would you like to speak—”

The person on the other end interrupted the astonished banker.

“Yes, yes of course. I'll see to it immediately.” Winthrop hung up the receiver and slowly looked up at Rebecca. “Missus Drake, that was a police officer. Something terrible has happened. I'm afraid I'll have to freeze the assets in this account.” Before Mr. Winthrop could explain, Rebecca was already on the sidewalk.

“Who are you?” she asked the detective that answered the door. “And what is she doing here?” she screamed when she saw Missy Parker emerging from her husband's bedroom. “I want answers. Is there something wrong with Jonathan? What happened?”

“That's what we'd like to know, Missus Drake. Your husband—Mister Drake—is dead. It appears that his ventilator tube dislodged.”

“Pulled out is more likely,” Missy sobbed. “And don't look so shocked, Rebecca.”

Rebecca started to respond.

“Before you say anything, Missus Drake, maybe you should have your lawyer present,” the detective who had met her at the door cautioned.

“Lawyer? Why, what on earth for? I wasn't even home? You saw yourself that I was at the bank.” Rebecca quickly regained her composure. “How dare you even insinuate that I…What motive would I have? This is absurd,” she stammered. “Now all of you, get out of my house!”

“Missus Drake, we called the bank back just after…just after you left. Could you please tell us how you obtained a signature and a power of attorney from someone who has been unable to move his arms, let alone sign his name, for more than three years?”

“But Jonathan said—”

“And while you're at it, could you explain this note we found in the envelope on the dresser?” The detective handed Rebecca the dictated passage from the evening before.

“That…that's a passage for the draft my husband is…was…working on. He dictated it to me last night. His agent was sending someone to pick it up. Jonathan said something about a deadline.” Confused, Rebecca looked at the unbelieving faces staring back at her.

“Detective,” Missy interrupted. “I'm Jonathan's assistant, and I can truthfully say that the draft she is referring to is already completed. We finished it yesterday. A copy is on the front seat of my car. I can get it for you, if you wish. If there was anything further for Jonathan's agent, I would have known.”

“She's lying. Look. Read it. It's a letter from a soldier to his sweetheart. Read it!” Rebecca screamed.

Missy took the paper from the detective and slowly began to read aloud:

My dearest J.T.

We have both suffered the lonely nights longing to be in each other's arms. It won't be long now, my dearest, until I can feel your touch throughout the night as we lay in each other's embrace. How I miss your touch on my skin. It has been three years…almost too long to remember. Can anyone fault me for feeling so lonely? My only regret is that I must go out tomorrow and kill so that I might once again drink the sweet nectar of your love.

“I think we've heard enough, Miss Parker,” the detective said.

“Detective, the note is signed ‘R D,'” Missy added.

“But, I can explain—”

“Detective, we found a pretty good set of prints—a thumb and a forefinger—on the tube. Should be easy to match,” a bookish man in a white lab coat interrupted.

“But, Jonathan asked me to clear his—”

“You never once cleared his tube. You always refused to touch it. Missus Losario and I were the only ones that cleared the tube when the caregivers weren't available.” Missy was emphatic.

Missy Parker watched as Rebecca Drake was placed in the back seat of a waiting squad car. The black and white police cruiser sat in stark contrast to Rebecca's sleek Mercedes parked nearby.

Rebecca sat bewildered staring out of the small side window as the cruiser moved slowly down the drive and out onto the street.

Missy turned sadly and walked down the drive toward her own car.

“Excuse me, Miss Parker. May I have a word with you?” Missy turned toward the familiar voice. Henry Calvert stepped out of the bushes and walked down the driveway toward her. Miss Parker, my name is Henry Calvert. We met briefly in Mister…in Mister Drake's room the other day. Mister Drake instructed me to give you this in the event of his death.” Mr. Calvert paused. “I must say, I didn't expect to carry out Mister Drake's wishes so soon. But…” Calvert held out a large manila envelope.

Missy looked down at the manila envelope sitting on the car seat beside her. In large block letters the words “FOR YOUR EYES ONLY” were printed across the front. She picked up the envelope and tore the tape sealing its contents. She removed a single white sheet of paper with the letterhead of Henry Calvert's law firm. Slowly and incredulously she read the words:

Dear Missy,

Grieve not, my dearest friend. My death is but a meaningless catalyst to the future successes of the writings of Jonathan Drake. You are now Jonathan Drake. Continue my writing and reap the rewards of your efforts. There were only two obstacles standing in the way of my plan for you to continue my work—my wife, Rebecca, and money. I instructed Mr. Calvert to take out a fairly substantial life insurance policy on me, with you as the sole beneficiary several months ago. The policy pays off only upon wrongful death. I believe murder qualifies. As for Rebecca, well, I believe I've taken care of that minor obstacle as well…