Fourteen Days(55)

“I’m glad you told 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.