Deep Eyes
When George Stower’s body washed up on the shore, everyone was glad. He was a cruel man, with a temper like bubbling-hot iron and a sharp revulsion to the company of others. And he was possessive. We never saw Mary Ellen Stower without his cold, wary gaze a few steps behind. His wife was frail and meek, with deep, deep eyes that stole your breath away if you stared too long. Those deep, deep eyes described an animalistic panic, as raw and painful as a festering wound. Her pale arms showed dark bruises. Her husband’s face often showed scabbed scratches. No doubt her husband hurt her. So when George Stower’s body washed up on the shore of the lake, body bloated and oozing putrid water like the pus from an exposed infection, everyone was glad.
