Fourteen Days

by Steven Jenkins

  Richard angrily stood up. “Look, if it was you who was missing, then I’d want to know.”

  She shook her head in astonishment. “I can’t believe you could do something so stupid. That poor man.” She rubbed her face with a palm and sighed. “So what happened then? Where did the mud come from?”

  Richard started to pace nervously up and down the room, then stopped. “He sort of attacked me.”

  Nicky’s face filled with horror. “Attacked you?”

  Nodding, he began pacing again. “With a baseball bat.”

  “A baseball bat? Oh this gets better and better. You’re lucky he didn’t call the police.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “Please tell me he didn’t call the police,” she asked, apprehension lacing her voice.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Well, at least that’s something. You could have been killed. Did he hurt you?”

  He stopped pacing. “No, I’m fine. I got away. And you’re right—I shouldn’t have gone to see him. It was mistake. A big mistake. But I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “You could have tried not going,” she sarcastically replied. “That man has lost someone close to him, and you go to his house and tell him something like that.”

  Richard had run out of things to say. Thought after thought flooded his head as he gazed into his wife’s disappointed eyes. Was she right in what she said? Had it all been a coincidence? What if he had seen the same poster elsewhere? And what if he had crushed an innocent man’s hopes of finding the woman he loved alive with one ill-advised visit?

  Had he lost his mind in less than two weeks?

  Shaking her head and sighing loudly, Nicky left the bedroom.

  “Where are you going now?” he asked, his voice filled with shame and deflation.

  “Going for a bath.” She disappeared into the bathroom. “Alone.”

  Richard sat on the bed, disillusioned. Suddenly, his predicament seemed less and less clear.

  But he had been so certain of her existence. He had seen her sitting on this very spot, looking at him through those eyes. Those tearful eyes. Eyes he could never erase from his memory. And he had felt terror. Terror he had never before experienced.

  What if he was losing his grip on reality? How would he even know? Surely all unhinged human beings believed in their hallucinations, believed with all their hearts in the world that surrounded them, the world of visions that consumed them. What if he was just another unhinged man? Perhaps his hectic job and his collapse at the office—what if they all contributed to seeing the woman in the white dress? What if this was all just a vivid dream, while he was sprawled out on the floor of his office? What if Leah was still standing over him, trying desperately to wake him? Or perhaps he was still at the hospital, and Christina Long was merely one of the nurses tending to him as he lay in his hospital bed, hooked up to a monitor, trying to break free from a coma, with Nicky standing over him, pleading with him to come back to her. Back home.

  After several minutes, he lay back on his bed and closed his eyes. Don’t be so stupid—you’re not nuts, he thought. You know what you saw in the kitchen; you didn’t imagine the smoke detectors all going off at the same time. Even Nicky saw the fridge and freezer doors open, and the TV come on by itself. You’re not some lunatic. There is a ghost in your house. And you did see her poster today for the first time. There’s nothing wrong with your mind.

  But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself, a dark and overwhelming shadow of doubt still loomed over him. Until he could get through to Nicky, that shadow was only going to get bigger.

  The bedroom lights were out. Only the faint moonlight through the window silhouetted the room.

  Richard was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, wide awake. Nicky was curled up at the other side of the bed. They had made no contact since she joined him in bed over an hour ago. He could sense the tension in the air even though she was fast asleep.

  Nights like this really got to him. He despised arguing with her, especially if it practically meant sleeping alone. After everything that had transpired since being off work, the last thing he wanted was to lie alone in bed, in complete silence.

  How was he ever going to move things forward, to draw a line through Christina Long? How was he ever going to be able to live a normal, everyday existence in this house with such a problem hanging over him? The only way he could see some kind of resolution was to convince Nicky that he wasn’t crazy, and then maybe he’d have a little more help with getting the house free from his ghost. Or accept that his wife was right, and that he did need help. Accept that there are no such things as ghosts and the supernatural. Only then could things go back to the way they were.

  Either way, Richard had a long way to go.

  As the hours rolled by, his thoughts about Nicky and their earlier fight slowly slipped away from his mind. Now all that dwelled in his head was the solitude of his darkened bedroom. He tried to close his eyes, but every time he did, images of Christina Long’s saddened expression filled his mind, forcing him to reopen them. He shuffled from side to side, trying to find a more relaxed position, but every spot had the exact same effect.

  This was going to be another long night.

  Two more hours slowly ticked by, and he finally managed to doze off. His dreams were filled with flashes of Nicky, lying in the bathtub, bathing herself, humming a generic tune. He saw visions of Carl Jones, standing in Richard’s living room, with the baseball bat firmly in his grasp and his eyes still filled with blind rage. Then Christina Long was sitting at the foot of his staircase, sobbing uncontrollably into her palms. He slowly walked up to her. Reaching her, he held out his hand. Still crying, not looking at him, she took his hand. Her hand was soaked in blood, saturating his in the process. Pulling away from her gentle grip, he saw blood pooling around his shoes. He followed the stream of blood with his eyes, only to find it was coming from beneath her white dress. “What do you want me to do?” he heard himself say.

  Slowly peering up at him, her eyes blackened with running mascara, she softly said, “Help me find him.”

  “I’ve tried,” Richard replied. “He won’t listen.”

  And then she abruptly stood, causing Richard to jump back in fright. “Help me find him!” she screamed.

  Richard awoke suddenly. Sweat was running down his face, aggravating his eyes. He rubbed his face and sighed loudly. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered to himself.

  Sitting up in bed, trying to shake off the nightmare, he contemplated putting on the light. But he glanced at Nicky beside him and remembered how cross she was with him, and decided against it. He considered going downstairs to watch TV, hoping that the light and the sound of the TV would help. But the idea of sitting alone in the living room, knowing that she was somewhere in the house, sent a cold chill through his body.

  Instead, Richard lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, waiting until the sounds of birds tweeting filled the bedroom. Only then would he feel safe.

  Or at least safer.

  Chapter 12

  Day 12: Saturday

  The rain hammered against the window as Richard listened to Nicky’s alarm clock wail. He hadn’t slept a wink all night, apart from slipping into the occasional deep trance. His eyes ached and so did his head.

  Watching Nicky climb out of bed, he croakily asked, “Are we all right?”

  She turned to him, startled that he should be awake so early. “God. You frightened me, then.”

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  She sat on the edge of the bed, staring deep into his eyes, smiling. “We’re fine,” she reassured him. “Look, I’m sorry about yesterday—I was worried about you, that’s all. I didn’t mean to go in a mood with you. But when you mentioned the baseball bat…”

  He smiled tightly as he moved his hand, placing it over hers. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t want to scare you. I just wanted you to know the truth.”

  “I’m glad you tol
d me. And I’m glad you didn’t hurt yourself. But you have to be more careful.”

  He nodded. “I know. It was stupid to go there. I know that now. I just—”

  “Look, let’s just forget about it and move on, otherwise we’ll be arguing again. And I can’t be bothered.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  Beaming, she leaned over and kissed his lips. “I love you, you idiot,” she said, as she moved her mouth away.

  “I love you too.” He returned a smile.

  Moving off the bed she reached for her jeans, which were folded neatly on the corner chair. “Did my alarm wake you?” she asked, slipping into the tight-fitting jeans.

  He sat up in bed. “No. I was already awake. Didn’t sleep all that well last night. Kept having nightmares.”

  She gave him a concerned, motherly look. “Oh, that’s not good, babe. Well, I’ll be back in a few hours. Got to go to work and sort a few things out. Maybe you should try to get some sleep while I’m gone. And then we can do something together this afternoon. What do you think?”

  Nodding, he yawned loudly, stretching his arms up high. “Sounds good. What time will you be home?”

  “About eleven—maybe twelve at the latest,” she said, buttoning up her shirt. She then leaned in again. “Right, I’m off.” She kissed him.

  “All right, I’ll see you later then.” She started for the door. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Bye.”

  Exiting the room, she closed the door.

  The sounds of her footsteps as she made her way downstairs, eventually leading to the front door, filled him with gloom at the prospect of spending his Saturday all alone. Even if it was for only a few hours, he no longer felt safe at home. It didn’t matter if his anxiety was false or true, something was happening to him, and solitude only fed his demons.

  Shuffling in bed, he contemplated trying to get a few hours of sleep, if only to put off tackling being in the house alone. But even his dreams were no escape from Christina’s hold over him. The only true escape was away from here, away from the terror. Anywhere but the house.

  Dressed, he walked downstairs and into the kitchen. He glanced at the dreaded chair; it still gave him the creeps. Why don’t I just throw it out and have done with it? I’m sure Nicky wouldn’t miss one bloody chair. Knowing that it was a ridiculous idea, he laughed it off as he pulled out a box of corn flakes from the cupboard. Pouring himself a bowlful, he ate quickly, standing up against the fridge, still not ready to sit at the table.

  One more day.

  “Thanks,” Richard said, taking the hot coffee cup from Karen. Gingerly sipping it, he scanned her living room. The room was nothing like he had imagined. There were no voodoo dolls on the mantelpiece, no dream-catchers hanging from the light fittings, and no Ouija board on the coffee table. Instead, her living room was like any other—magnolia painted walls, brown-carpeted floor, toys scattered across the far end of the room. Not a million miles away from his own home.

  “So, tell me what happened yesterday,” Karen asked, sitting next to him on the couch. “What did he say when you told him?”

  He gave her a look that suggested that it didn’t go well at all.

  “That bad, huh?” she said, sounding intrigued while her face scrunched up.

  “It was a nightmare, Karen. He wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say. He even pinned me up against the wall and then threw me onto the lawn.”

  Frowning with concern, she said, “Jesus—that doesn’t sound good.”

  “No shit. And to top it off, he picked up a baseball bat and chased me with it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Did he hurt you?”

  “No, I managed to get to my car. But I tell you, I’m never doing that again. I don’t know what we were thinking. How did we ever expect him to believe a story like that? Hell, I can’t even convince my own wife.”

  “You’re right. Maybe it wasn’t the best approach. I’m really sorry I put you through that.”

  He shook his head in rejection. “Don’t be silly, it wasn’t your fault. You only suggested what I was already thinking.”

  “Yes I know, but you were the one who didn’t really want to go.”

  “I know that, but I still knew I had to.”

  Just as Karen was about to speak, the door to the living room burst open and in walked Karen’s six-year-old son, wearing Spiderman pajamas. Rubbing his eyes, he had clearly just woken up.

  She turned to him. “You all right, Tom?”

  He nodded shyly and ran over to her, clutching her tightly.

  “This is my boy, Tom,” she informed Richard. “Say hello, Tom,” she said, now directing her voice to her son.

  “Hi, Tom,” Richard said, putting on an uncomfortable childlike voice.

  The child said nothing, still clutching his mother.

  “Don’t be shy,” she said. “This is Richard, Auntie Nicola’s husband.”

  Still the boy said nothing.

  “Sorry about this,” Karen told Richard. “He hasn’t been very well. I think he’s had a bug.” She kissed Tom on the forehead, and then told him, “Why don’t you go play in your room while mammy talks to Uncle Richard? Okay Tommy boy?”

  Tom nodded, hopped off his mother, and silently left the room.

  “He’s a cute little one,” Richard said, smiling.

  “Yeah, he’s great. Can’t believe how fast he’s grown though. Feels like yesterday when he was crawling across the carpet.” She grinned mischievously. “You and Nic’ll be next.”

  He smiled awkwardly. “I don’t know about that. Maybe one day. Still feel like a kid myself.”

  “Yeah. One day. That’ll be nice. Trust me—it’ll be the best thing to happen to you.”

  Nodding, he quickly changed the subject. “So, anyway, what are we gonna do about Christina Long? Lately, I’ve been worried that all this is in my head. I mean, what if it is? What then?”

  “It’s not in your head. How could it be? You found the poster and it had the same name. And the same photo.”

  “I know that, but Nicky got me thinking that what if I subconsciously saw the poster somewhere else.”

  “It’s possible. But very doubtful. The poster was only small. It’s very unlikely that you would have taken in the name and the photo with one glance. You would have had to pick it up and study it to recall all that information. I know I would have.”

  He nodded, convinced. “You’re right. I don’t know why I let her talk me ’round.”

  “You let her talk you ’round because you love her and because you trust her. And she’ll never be convinced because—like I said before—she’s not open-minded, and she probably never will be. She’s too scientific. If she can’t see it with her own eyes, or read it in some science book, then it must be mumbo-jumbo. She’s always been like that. But the ironic thing is that all this is science—we just haven’t been able to document it properly yet. Just because our science is still primitive doesn’t mean that the psychic and spiritual world doesn’t exist. It does—I’ve seen it, you’ve seen it. Millions of people have seen it. Hell, most people have seen it, they just don’t believe it—or know it.”

  “You’re right. I know you’re right. It’s just it would be nice if she’d believe me even a little bit.”

  Karen smiled tightly. “Don’t worry about her. Her belief isn’t important right now. What is important is Christina Long. Now, have you had any more messages from her?”

  “Yes. Last night. Well, at least I think I did.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Well, it could’ve been just a dream.”

  “Did she come to you again?” she asked. Her eyes were glowing with intrigue.

  “Yeah, but only in my dream again. She was sitting on my stairs, crying and bleeding, and she said ‘Help me find him.’ It was horrible, Karen.” He shook his head. “So real.”

  Shuffling in her position, she sighed. “Look, it’s clear that she wants desperat
ely for Carl to know that she’s dead, otherwise why would she bother contacting you in the first place?”

  He took a sip of his coffee. “So what can I do? There’s no way I can go back and speak to Carl again after what happened. He threatened to call the police, too. Maybe I could write to him.”

  “You could, I suppose.” She thought for a second. “I wonder what happened to her. At least if we knew where her body was then we’d have something to tell the police, and then they could speak to him instead of you.”

  “Yeah, that would be better. Much better.” He stood up from the couch and began to pace. “Is there any way we can get a message to her? Can’t we have one of those séances and find out more about her? It’s pretty obvious that she’s struggling to communicate with me, otherwise her messages wouldn’t be so vague.”

  She nodded. “Yes, she is struggling, but we can’t have a séance.”

  Scowling in confusion, he stopped pacing. “Why not? Seems like the easiest option, or we’re just going ’round in circles.” He smiled, excited at the notion. “Come on, I’ve always wanted to do one.”

  Karen’s face showed signs of repulsion at the very mention of it. “We can’t—it’s too dangerous.”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “I thought that was your thing.”

  “Unless you’re an extremely skilled medium, things can go very wrong in a séance.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like accidentally contacting the wrong spirit.”

  Richard leaned against the mantelpiece, sipping his coffee. “What’s so dangerous about that? Just tell ’em to piss off and try again.”

  She shook her head. “There’s always a chance you could contact something evil, a vengeful spirit. And unless you know what you’re doing, it could be very difficult to send them away. And I’m in no way skilled enough for that sort of thing.”

  Exhaling lengthily, he started to pace again. “What about an exorcism?”

  “What are we exorcising?”

  He stopped pacing and turned to her. “Her out of my house. Send her back to wherever she came from.”