Fourteen Days(6)

“My car keys,” she answered.

Finishing the last few flakes, he took the bowl over to the sink and joined the search. “When did you last have them?” he asked, glancing at the key-rack by the sink. He could only see his own set of car keys hanging. It puzzled him why Nicky found it so difficult to hang them up. He stopped himself from bringing it up again. The last thing she needed was to have her nose rubbed in it. Not this early in the day.

“I had them when I came home yesterday. I thought I put them on the stairs when I saw you. Do you remember?”

He thought for a moment, and marched over to the stairs.

“Don’t bother checking, they’re not there. I’ve looked.”

Ignoring her, he examined the foot of the stairs, convinced that she had just missed them. They were not there. He entered the living room, hoping to be the hero of the hour. He dug his fingers deep between the leather sofa cushions, checked the mantelpiece, coffee table, and wooden cabinet at the far end of the room, pulling open each drawer. After coming up empty, he stood by the doorway, scanning the room for one last check. The faint sound of a woman’s voice crept inside the room. Assuming that it was coming from outside, he glanced at the window behind the couch. It was ajar. He walked over to it, stood on the couch, and pulled it shut. He then left the living room, empty-handed, and returned to the kitchen.

“Any luck?” she asked, crouched down by a bag that was draped over the chair.

“No—sorry. Have you checked the bedroom? Or the office?”

“Yes. I’ve looked everywhere. They’re gone and I’m late—again.”

He walked to the rack and unhooked his car keys. “Just take my car instead.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m not going anywhere today. And I’ll keep looking for yours. They’ll turn up somewhere.”

“Thanks babe, you’re the best,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll see you at five o’ clock.”

Smiling, he gave her a small tap on her ass as she left the kitchen. “See you later. Love you.”

“Love you too,” she said, racing out the front door.

The door slammed shut, and he was left with a feeling of solitude again. Ignoring it, he flicked the switch on the kettle and grabbed a cup from the cupboard.

When the coffee was made, he sat at the table and turned on the radio. Failing to get a decent signal, he turned it off. Useless piece of crap.

He sat, sipping his coffee, trying to plan out his day of nothingness. I’ll read that book Nicky’s been banging on about. Maybe even check my e-mails. “Damn it!” he shouted, remembering that she had gotten rid of the computer. Maybe I could borrow someone else’s laptop? He considered the idea for a few seconds, but then decided that it was too risky. She’d kill me.

Staring at the wall, deep in thought, he remembered the new website. I wonder if they managed to get it up and running. Probably not. At least not yet anyway. Most likely by the end of the week—thanks to me. He picked up his cell phone and tried to access the website, but the signal was non-existent. After several minutes of staring at a blank screen, and pointing the phone to various parts of the room, he gave up and threw it down on the counter. He shook his head in disappointment.

Maybe I could rent a DVD, he thought. And then he remembered that he had loaned Nicky his car. Not wanting to give up on the idea, he decided to continue the search for the missing car keys. The one place he hadn’t looked was the bedroom, so he made his way toward the staircase.

Halfway down the corridor, he felt a sudden cold sensation brush past his arm, like an icy chill on a winter’s morning. He stopped for a moment to rub down the goosebumps on his forearm. Assuming that it must have come from another open window, Richard continued toward the stairs. As his foot touched the first step, he noticed something glimmer on the second step. There, on the stairs, was the missing set of keys. He paused for a moment, thinking back to when he first checked. I’m sure I looked there. Frowning, he picked them up and jangled them in front of his eyes. He shook his head, shrugged, and put them into his pocket.

After putting on his shoes he left the house, climbed into Nicky’s car, and headed for the video shop.



Richard carried his chicken and bacon sandwich into the living room. Setting the food on the couch, he played the DVD. He had rented American Psycho, one of his favorite movies from college. He and his friends would watch it after a night out, quoting lines and describing scenes, spoiling it for anyone who hadn’t seen it.