The Psychotic Husband (The Husband Series Book 3) Read online

  The Psychotic Husband

  Book 3

  By Lucian Bane

  By Lucian Bane

  © 2020 by Lucian Bane

  All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of Lucian Bane or his legal representative.

  To all the readers, fans, and or reader’s clubs. Thank you for supporting my work.

  Also, if you need a different format, please contact me, the author.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my family. Thank all of you for putting up with me, for believing in me, for loving me.

  Contents

  Hello Frank

  Hello Charlie

  His Alice In Wonderland

  Bubble Baths are Essential

  Mr. Sargis

  Frank’s First Big O

  Taste Irish

  I See You

  Look and See Lucas

  Gifted Charlie

  Wongs Return

  Hello Frank

  Something was strangling him. Ben fought to claw at the chokehold around his neck. It wasn’t hands, he realized. It pressed from his shoulders to his jaw, like a straitjacket, only too tight.

  His eyes fluttered and blinked but there was only black. He needed to breathe!

  Stop fighting! Stop fighting!

  Terror surged at the desperate voice in his head. He was suffocating. He was having a seizure. He thrashed in the darkness, hitting things with his limbs as muted voices rose and fell. A hot liquid sprung from parts of his head and trickled down like fire, but it didn’t burn, it melted away whatever was causing the convulsion. The heat trickled over his jaw and neck, allowing it to shut and silence his gurgles. Next his shoulders and chest. The more the fire coated, the faster it moved. It gained speed and raced right out of his toes, leaving him feeling like he’d been baptized in a pool of eternal youth.

  He sat up and looked around. “Shit,” he whispered, catching his breath. Charlie and Alice stood several feet from him, the barrel of a gun aimed at his face. Oh fuck. He’d lost his mind again. That maniac came back.

  Don’t panic, it makes me seizure.

  He glanced over and saw Cheryl wrapped in a bloody sheet. If he was supposed to freak out, his body didn’t think so.

  He looked down and watched as his hands slid over bloody gashes on his torso then held them before him. Like a movie, the thing that had brought the blood played through his head until Ben heaved from the horror show, now fresh in his memory.

  He watched himself moving to stand, realizing he was naked when his hand pulled the cover hanging half off the bed to conceal himself. It hit him that he wasn’t the one engaging his muscles. “What…” Ben blasted, trying to stay calm. “What’s happening?”

  I’m Frank. Frank Ward. I’ve been sleeping inside you.

  Ben wanted to stab himself in the eye at hearing that. Sleeping? You call…what you’ve been doing sleeping? “Wait…you’re…you’re talking to me,” Ben mumbled.

  “Dad?”

  He spun to Charlie, his mouth beyond dry all of a sudden. “I’m thirsty.”

  “I’ll get him water!”

  He wanted to see Cheryl but instead he walked to the closet. He looked down at his legs as they went, then at his hand as it opened the door. “Fuck, this is…”

  Seizures are dangerous for us. What should we wear?

  Ben wanted to close his eyes or scrub his face, but his body wasn’t connected to him.

  I had to hide my head.

  Hide his head? The hell did that mean?

  Ben watched his hand slide over the hanging clothes. It pulled a black button up shirt off a hanger and began putting it on. I like black. He suddenly paused. Do you like black?

  He realized he actually wanted to know and at the same time, felt like it was a test. Should he like black? Did he want him to like black? And why? What would he do if he didn’t like black? Or did?

  You have a strong mind.

  Ben paused, considering what he meant by that. Did he like that? That’s what it sounded like. No, felt like. He realized he couldn’t hear what Frank was thinking but he could feel it.

  A strong mind is good. He went back to buttoning the shirt, careful to keep it off the clotted gashes on the front of his torso. I hope it won’t kill us.

  “You can hear my thoughts? Wait...what do you mean?”

  I have a strong mind. I have to keep it fractured, so it doesn’t kill me. But…I don’t have all the answers yet.

  “What answers?” Why was he acting like a confused psychopath now?

  They’re locked away inside. Stage-locked. So it can’t be stolen.

  Stage-locked? What the hell did that mean? Did he layer his sickness?

  It’s set so that I know things when I need to know them. I only know that I needed to hide. When I remember why, you will too.

  Ben gasped, even though he didn’t feel gasp-worthy. “You’re keeping me from feeling things,” he realized.

  I’m not trying to. Your gifts are blocking what I normally can do.

  “Like murder people? Hurt people?”

  I’m not a murderer.

  “Frank…” Ben fought to pace, unable to. “Can I… have some use of my body!?”

  A sudden release hit his muscles and Ben had to grab hold of the shelf. “What are you saying, Frank?”

  Oh, he said, like he remembered something. I perceive information through unusual modes of learning in an absolute capacity. That’s what I’m supposed to tell you.

  “Like how? What? Through murdering?” he said, disgusted.

  No.

  Then what?

  That’s locked away still. You’ll know it when I remember it. Your family is waiting outside the closet.

  Ben listened. “How do you know?”

  I can hear them. We need to dress.

  He watched as Frank dug through drawers like somebody who had never been in them. “Top drawer,” Ben said, feeling lost and confused. “Are you... some kind of robot?”

  No. I'm a human. I have gifts, and they want my head.

  “Who wants it? And for what, exactly?” Ben tried to focus on dressing, realizing, “I still don’t like underwear.”

  I don't either, Frank seemed to remember, returning them to the drawer.

  “Third drawer for pants,” Ben said when he went hunting again.

  I don’t remember who wants my head, or why. I just know that I can't let them have it.

  He watched his pants get pulled on, feeling unreal. “Have I lost my mind? Am I dead?”

  No. It’s been exactly forty-nine days since you’ve lost your mind. We’re sharing mine.

  “Ben?”

  Your wife is knocking. And your uncle is here with a big gun.

  Ben considered the things he felt in those two statements. First, the way he said his wife felt like he considered her a problem. And his uncle, he acted like he was surprised he had a gun. He’s here with a gun because you turned me into a fucking lunatic. Where do you think all this blood came from?

  It came from you. Are you going to answer?

  “Coming,” Ben called. From him? How is this supposed to work? Are you planning to take over my mouth and body now? My mind? I won’t let you hurt my family. I’ll kill us first.

  I won’t force you to do anything unless I need to.

  “Getting dressed,” he said again. Need to? For what? I won’t be a pawn in your sick murder-spree games. You don’t want whoever using you and I don’t want you using me.

 
Okay, he said like that was no problem.

  But do you agree?

  I agree.

  Ben shook his head. I need to hear you say you won’t hurt my wife or my family.

  I won’t hurt your wife or your family.

  The more he complied, the more unconvinced Ben was.

  And you won’t use me to hurt my wife and family.

  I won’t use you to hurt your wife and family.

  His easy cooperation made it perfectly unbelievable. He wanted to get him to agree not to kill anybody or use him to hurt anybody.

  He’d wait to see what he was up to. He seemed to be able to feel his intentions and thoughts, and so far, there wasn’t a single sign of the diabolical shit he’d been dealing with. But then he’d locked up his so-called Super Brain, which meant he could just be hiding it.

  Ben realized. I have to tell her that I can hear you in my head.

  His head began to shake a lot. I don’t think that’s a good idea.

  Why?

  She’ll think you’re crazy.

  “Stop shaking your head.”

  He did, then shifted form foot to foot. The less people know, the better. That’s what I tell you, that’s what you need to know.

  “Why are you acting so fucking weird? I tried to kill her. No, you tried to kill her,” he seethed, pissed. “She already knows more about you than I ever wanted her to, Frank. And I won’t lie to her.”

  He finally stood perfectly still. You like her living?

  “What does that mean? Is that a threat? That sounded like a threat.”

  Not from me. I’m not your enemy. I’m your friend.

  Ben wanted to punch himself in the mouth at those genuine, innocent sounding words. You’re not my enemy? Are you really going to pretend like you don’t know what you’ve put my family through from your sick life? Ben tried to rub his face and Frank resisted. I can’t rub my own face now?”

  You don’t want to do that.

  Why?

  Bloody.

  He looked down and flashes of what brought the blood hit his mind again like a satanic bomb, making him dizzy. He realized they were both dizzy.

  I’m not used to feeling that.

  Ben blinked several times. Feeling what? Remorse?

  Is that what it is?

  God, he was so confused. That the psycho didn’t know remorse was the first thing to make sense. Did that mean he could now feel sorry about what he did? Like he’d believe that.

  We’ll finish talking later, Frank said. Ben felt it as a promise. Odd that he could feel some things with him and not others. He was definitely being selective with that. But for whatever reason, Frank wasn’t being a threat, he was being Mr. perfectly normal.

  Ben remembered what he said about seizures being dangerous for him. That was it. It wasn’t much, but it was something. If Sicko-Franko got out of line, Ben would find a way to have a major panic attack and give him a life-ending aneurysm, maybe.

  He had a million questions he needed answers to, the first and foremost one being what kind of psychopathic shit was he expecting to do with Ben’s mind and body? Ben would kill himself before he let that happen.

  ****

  Cheryl’s breath caught when the closet door opened, and Ben stepped out in black shirt and pants.

  “Hold it right there,” Uncle Leroy kindly instructed, aiming his shotgun at him.

  Her heart hammered and broke at seeing Ben appear so…sane looking and harmless. And sorry. Charlie stepped closer to her and she grabbed his arm tight as Ben raised both hands slowly.

  “I’m okay,” he said.

  “Now I ain’t exactly sure how we’d know that,” Uncle Leroy half sang. “So, I’m gonna have to insist on restrainin’ you for a bit till we can assess your… mental condition,” he said. “You understand?”

  Ben nodded. “I understand.”

  “Charlie, get the restraints, will you son? Ben, you slowly make your way downstairs to that cellar. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you’re nice and comfortable. And Cheryl, you get washed up and let me know if you need a doctor. Then we’ll talk about what we’ll need to do.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t need a doctor,” she assured at seeing Ben’s troubled look on her. She covered her mouth when the need to sob grew, then finally lowered her gaze, unable to hold his without needing to run and hug him. She didn’t know if it was really him yet. Uncle Leroy was right, they needed to be sure.

  God, she wanted it to be him so badly.

  “His water!” she cried out as they turned with him. She hurried it over and gave it to Charlie. “Give it to him, he’s thirsty,” she whispered before turning for the solitude of the bathroom.

  Hello Charlie

  Charlie and Alice followed behind his uncle who followed behind his dad. Or was it Frank? Alice’s parents called and they were on their way over immediately. Mr. Haiku told them his dad had a violent episode. Charlie was glad they were coming. They shouldn’t be the only ones having to deal with this. Something bothered him with all of it. How could they not know more about this donor? How could Frank know or do all this stuff, and them not know anything about it?

  “Go see about my mom,” he whispered to Alice when they got to the cellar door. He didn’t want her going down there in case his dad had another attack or whatever it was he was having.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Please be careful.” He stopped long enough to kiss her on the lips, making it count just in case. He had no idea what was coming. He trusted God, but he didn’t pretend to know what God’s will was in his life. He did know that if he had to die for his dad, he would.

  “Go ahead and sit there,” his uncle instructed, pointing next to an old looking furnace.

  Again, he complied with no issue.

  “Now, Charlie, I’m gonna need you to hold my shotgun while I do the securing.”

  “Okay,” he said, trying to keep his voice even as he took the gun. He couldn’t bring himself to look at his dad while they tied him like a psychotic criminal. He watched Uncle Leroy attach handcuffs to his wrists and then ankle cuffs with a chain linked between them. Then he looped another chain through the center of the hand cuffs and attached it to the burglar bars covering the window above him.

  He straightened and turned, reaching for his gun. Charlie handed it back along with a breath of relief.

  “You wanna go… check on your momma while I have a talk with him?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Alice is with her. I’d rather stay.”

  “You okay with sittin’ with him while I go put on a pot of coffee?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Charlie said, his stomach tensing with dread. He didn’t want to leave his dad, but he didn’t want to be alone with him either.

  His uncle handed him the shotgun and patted him on the shoulder. “Be back in five, Charlie Brown.”

  Charlie watched him head up the stairs, knowing his uncle was being intentionally light-hearted for his sake. He didn’t need to, but he understood why he did.

  “For what it’s worth Charlie, I’m so sorry,” his dad said. “And I know that’s not enough.”

  Charlie forced himself to look at his dad. The sight of his genuine expression brought tears to his eyes and he quickly wiped them on his shoulder. “I don’t blame you for any of it, dad. I’m sorry too,” he whispered. Charlie couldn’t shake the feeling that his dad was like a zombie. Bitten and infected, and it was just a matter of time before he’d turn, and they’d have to put him down.

  Then he remembered everything they’d learned and realized he never got a chance to tell him. He needed to while he was in his right mind. Hoping that he was. Maybe it would bring out the identity of who currently occupied his mind.

  “Did you know that Frank left clues for us to find, dad?”

  He got an immediate stare from him. “You mean the music notes?”

  Charlie nodded. “Alice and I figured out what the music notes meant. She used music cryptology and got the
letters for the pitch, and when they were put in the algorithm, it spelled something. Do you know what they spelled?”

  At getting only a clueless look, he went on. “The letters spelled C-H-A-R-L-I-E.”

  “What?”

  Charlie nodded at his shock. “That’s not all. The numbers for the letters? Was our address.”

  He closed his eyes and mumbled, making his heart rate speed up at the crazy looking symptom.

  “We went visit Frank’s mom too,” Charlie went on, eying him for signs that would give away who was sitting before him. “She said he was a good boy the entire time we were there. Pretty sure the past seven generations there are cursed.” Again, he waited a couple breaths. “She said Frank wasn’t killed by vehicular homicide like the paper’s claimed, but by suicide. At first, I believed her, but then I realized she might be delusional.” Still no signs of anything unusual in him. “We ended up taking pictures of the suicide or love note as his mom called it, and all the stuff in Frank’s workshop where his mother said he figured out the puzzles of the universe.” Charlie stared into his gaze, searching. “After seeing inside, I decided that maybe Frank isn’t just a psychopath, but a genius psychopath.”

  Charlie continued to hold his dad’s perturbed gaze. “The numbers from the music notes were scrawled on every inch of the walls in his shop.”

  He closed his eyes, mumbling again.

  “Who are you talking to? Am I talking to Frank? Will Frank talk to me? I have questions for him and maybe answers he wants.”

  His dad’s head hung for several seconds till he thought he’d not heard him. “Frank's here. Although he just said five minutes ago, he didn’t want anybody knowing he was,” his dad accused.

  Frank was there.

  Charlie scrambled to sort the questions in his mind, not sure how long he had with him. “Can Frank come and go when he wants?”

  His dad shifted his legs a little, making the chains clink lightly. “He thinks so.”

  “Are you… talking for him now?”

  He looked to the right. “Seems like it.”

  He sounded annoyed. “Is he making you?”

  “I don’t know, are you making me?” he mumbled off to the left. He turned a dry smile to Charlie. “Says he’s not making me.”