Fourteen Days(54)

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.”