 It's all in the eyes. Unknown. It started with small things. Inside jokes between us, I'd find her not remembering. Events from a few years ago, she would get wrong, though not entirely. I think her laugh was even different. Lana. Remember when Strider fell into the lake? There was a pause and then she laughed. He was so clumsy. She replied jokingly. But as I remembered back, she had been terrified when our German Shepherd had haphazardly slid off the smooth rock and into the cool waters of Lake Erie in November. The tide had been higher than normal that evening, and he had just assumed he could venture out to his normal spot on the rocks. Wrong. Running out ahead and staring back triumphantly, a small wave had pushed him back just enough. He lost his balance and slid off the side into the waves. Strider had been unable to get back up himself due to just how wet and slippery the edge had been, and after a few terrified seconds, I managed to jump in and lift him back up onto the rocks myself. It had been four years ago, and my wife had been mad as hell at me for what seemed like a month after. I told you the tide was higher today. He could have died, she had yelled. That had been her reaction at the time, but now her response was much more light hearted. I chalked it up to growing older. People change, right? Lana was no different. Maybe looking back, she could find humor in it now. Still, I couldn't help but feel that my wife wasn't the same person, and though part of me didn't want to push the issue, I found the nagging thought of her being someone else entirely burrowing its way deeper into my mind. And things only got worse. A few weeks ago, the color of her eyes changed from dark brown to a mix of green and silver. They almost shined. Your eyes? What's wrong? She asked, standing up to examine herself in the mirror. Oh, that's just from the medication, Dom. She stated, falling back into bed and wrapping her arms tightly around me. I'm so glad I'm here with you. She continued. Hiding a sudden feeling of terror, I hugged her back and pretended everything was OK. But I don't think people's eyes just change color. Ever. Even due to medication. Over the next few weeks, I figured out something I wish I hadn't. The farther back in time I referenced, the more sketchy her memory became. Now, I know what you're thinking, that makes sense. I mean, everyone's memory is worse farther back in time. Dementia or Alzheimer's came to mind, but I've read that typically those patients suffer from short-term memory loss first. Their long-term memory is intact, at least until the later stages. Last night, I confirmed my doubts, catching Lana in a lie about her stepfather. You think George would want the old pickup? I could sell it for cheap. A moment or two passed as she thought it over. Yeah, I think you might, she replied, smiling warmly and hugging me even tighter than before. I'm so glad I'm here with you, she said again. Unwrapping her hands and standing up quickly, my eyes never left hers. Your stepfather, George, has been dead since you were 12 years old, Lana. She began to slowly laugh. So help me, God, she laughed. Ha, ha, I guess I need to figure it out eventually. Your wife, Lana, has been dead for seven months. Fear gripped me and I knew her words were true. Running now to the door, her voice behind me became more frantic. But it was too late. I was down the steps and running into the pantry. I was planning to grab my phone. I was planning to grab the keys. I was planning to stop right there. The menacing voice said, somehow in my frenzied state, I hadn't noticed two tall, dark-haired men standing just inside the back door. They both carried a handgun and my sudden entrance hadn't surprised them at all. Where are the photos? The man in charge asked, what? What photos? Who the hell? He whipped the pistol across my forehead. Nearly passing out from the pain, my eyes began to sting as the red washed across my brows and began to drip down onto the linoleum floor below me. I stared up at the two men. Who are you? The younger man kept his eyes on me but spoke to the man in charge. Maybe he doesn't know. I could only stare up in confusion as the two men discussed what to do next, then continued. Few months ago, your wife saw something she shouldn't have. She must have told you. The man in charge examined my face. Laughing was all I could do to keep it together at this point. I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. His eyes became more serious as he walked over and set the tip of the gun against my temple. We want the photos. I don't have your photos. An idea occurred to me. Maybe you should ask my wife. The tall man grinned. We did ask her. He replied with a hint of satisfaction. Right before we buried her. A moment passed between us and the younger man pointed the gun back towards me. He doesn't know anything. Let's kill him. We can search the house after. No, the tall man interrupted. Too loud. Use a blade. He said calmly, handing his partner the largest of knives from the rack hanging above the kitchen island. But before he could step forward to finish the job, the younger man dropped the knife and began to scream like a child. The once dark kitchen was now filled with a blinding silver and something behind me began to growl. The two men's faces quickly started to burn the color silver, their screams echoing throughout the house. Shoot her! One of them yelled as red hot silver began to drip from his cheeks. A hail of bullets flew across and towards the figure behind me. And then the scream stopped. The only remainder of the men being two distinct piles of pure silver. The nauseating fumes nearly caused me to pass out, but somehow I managed to stand. Using what was left of my strength, I walked over and sat down next to the body of my wife Lana. At least one of the bullets had lodged into her chest. She was still breathing. Looking into the silver eyes that had once seen cold, I now saw a warmth and love in them, holding her hand. I had to ask, who are you? There was sadness then, don't you remember? I'm your guardian angel. Putting pressure on the wound, I could feel the beginning of tears as the soft words filled the air and the silver glow in her eyes began to dim. It was so nice being here with you.