Fourteen Days (13 page)

Stepping through the front door of his house, Richard was greeted with Nicky, standing by the stairs, still in her work coat, with a look of surprise. “Where have you been?”

He closed the door, removed his damp jacket, and hung it on the radiator. “Just into town. Why?”

She shrugged. “No reason. Just wondering. It’s the first time since you’ve been off that you haven’t been here, that’s all. It’s nice when you’re home. I’m usually the one who’s home first.”

Ignoring her obvious dig of resentment to his long working hours, he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. “I got bored in the house—what’s for tea?”

He started for the kitchen. She followed. “I could ask you the same thing,” she retorted, playfully. “You’re the one who should be cooking.”

Entering the kitchen, he ignored the dreaded chair. He had to. But ignoring it did nothing. The woman now dominated most of the house; the kitchen was no longer the center of his fears. “What do you fancy?” he asked. But as he spoke, he noticed that both the refrigerator and freezer doors were hanging wide open. Frowning in confusion, he asked, “Did you leave those doors open?”

Taking off her coat and hanging it on the back of a chair, she replied, “No. I’ve only just got in. It must have been you this morning.”

Water had pooled under the freezer, so he grabbed a tea towel from the radiator and covered up the wet. He then pulled out the freezer drawers. “Everything’s ruined. All the meat’s defrosted.”

Walking over to the refrigerator, Nicky checked inside. “Most of this should be all right. What time did you leave to go into town?”

He started to throw the ruined food into the kitchen bin. “This morning. I’ve only been in the refrigerator this morning for milk, I didn’t open the freezer.”

“Strange,” she said, picking up an open milk carton and sniffing it. “I
must have done it then.”

He stood and looked at her. “Look, this wasn’t me or you—so who’d ya think it was?”

Checking the ham, she replied, “I don’t know. Maybe one of us didn’t close it properly yesterday.”

“What, both the fridge
and
the freezer?”

She closed the refrigerator. “Look, I’m not getting into this ghost thing again. I’m really not in the mood. I must have left it open, all right. Me. Not some ghost. It was all me.”

“I’m willing to drop it, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t you, and absolutely positive it wasn’t me, so that leaves either a ghost or an intruder.”

“Fine—it was an intruder then,” she snapped. “Let’s just leave it at that.”

He was certain she thought that something unexplainable was happening in their house, and she was just being stubborn—she had to be—but he swallowed his frustration to avoid another row. “Okay, okay. Let’s not fight again. Let’s forget about the food. I’ll go shopping tomorrow and restock.”

“Fine. Let’s just get takeaway tonight.”

He nodded, then knelt down to wipe up the wet floor with the already soaked tea towel. “What do you fancy? Pizza? Indian? Chinese? Or we could go out for food?”

She thought for a moment, then answered, “I don’t really fancy going out. Maybe Chinese. What do
you
fancy?”

“I’m easy. Chinese sounds fine,” he replied, soaking up the last of the water, then standing.

“Will you call them for me?” she requested, almost childlike. “You know I hate phoning.”

He smiled tightly. “All right. What do you fancy?”

“Let me go get a menu.”

Maybe I should just try and communicate with her
, Richard thought, as he lay in bed next to Nicky, who was reading a book.
Good luck, Gardener! Maybe I should just forget about the name Christina Long, and stay focused on Mrs. Rees, at least then I won’t have to worry about stupid Registrar Offices and police stations. At least then I could keep a little dignity
.

“Good book?” he asked.

“Not bad,” she replied, in a tone that suggested she didn’t want to be disturbed.

“What’s it about?”

She placed the open book on her chest and turned to him, with a look of annoyance. “Babe, I’m trying to read.”

He rolled his eyes, and almost musically said, “
Sorry
.”

“I’m at a crucial part. Just give me ’til the end of this chapter and we’ll chat then. All right?”

He tutted like a spoiled child and laid back, staring blindly at the ceiling, thinking of how much better he felt when she was with him—as if his ghost was powerless when she was around.

Perhaps she is
, he wondered.

After a few minutes Nicky slotted in a bookmark and closed the book. “There—all done.” She turned onto her side, facing him. “What you wanna talk about?”

He looked at her, then shrugged. “Don’t know. Nothing comes to mind.”

Scowling, she replied, “Then why did you make me stop reading?”

He shrugged again. “I just wanted some company.”

Staring at him with a confused look, she said, “But I’m right next to you.”

“I know that, but you’re always reading your books.”

“No I’m not,” she replied.

He looked at her with suspicion. “Really? How many books have you read this month already?”

She grimaced while she tried to recall. “Just a couple.”

“More than just a couple.” He put his arm over her. “Look, I don’t mind, it’s just I like chatting with you in bed. I hate when you fall asleep before me.”

She smiled. “I like chatting with you too. And you’re right, I do read a lot of books. But if you remember, you’re the one who’s usually sleeping before me. The only difference now is that you’re not in work at the moment.”

“I know, you’re right. I was a selfish prick before.”

“No, I didn’t mean that…”

“No, I’m being serious. These last few days have made me realize what’s important in life. And of course work is important—for both of us—but you’re my priority.”

She smiled tightly, then kissed him. “I love you.”

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

She draped her arm over his bare chest, moving in close to him, with her eyes shut. “So what’s your day like tomorrow? Anything nice?” she asked, softly.

“Wake up. Have some breakfast. Go food shopping. Maybe nip into town to look around the shops. Clean the house a bit. Have a workout. Watch a film. Maybe sort out the office and put some of that junk up the attic. You know—the usual crap.”

“Sounds good,” she replied, barely audible. “When’s your next appointment with the doctor?”

“Not ’til next week. Although I’m dreading it a little. I’ve got a horrible feeling that he’s gonna tell Leah to give me
another
week off. If he does, then I think I’ll just have to tell them that I can’t, because it’s worse for my health being stuck at home all day doing jack-shit. It’s like those old retired people. They drop dead in the first year. Just like that. Nothing to occupy your mind. It happens all the time. You’ve got to have a drive. Something to keep you going. And mine’s working at TSH. D’you know what I mean, Nic?”

She didn’t answer.

“Nic?” he repeated.

She had fallen fast asleep. He grimaced with disappointment, then reached for the light switch to his side and turned it off. He was alone again.
Damn!
He tried to think of anything other than the woman in the white dress. He flooded his mind with work, trying to remember the names of all the telesales staff. He managed four people. He listed his all-time favorite movies. He then began selecting favorites from different genres, everything from best action movie to best romance. From movies he moved on to music, picking his favorite album, song, and music video.

After a while, his head was filled with only one thing: the presence that occupied his house.
God, I wish I didn’t have to deal with this!
Why couldn’t he have had just a normal two weeks off work, instead of feeling dread every time he set foot inside the kitchen or took a shower? Why did this have to happen? If only he could have had a little more notice before collapsing at work. At least then he and Nicky could have booked a holiday for a fortnight—someplace where it didn’t rain in the middle of spring, where drinking in the afternoon wasn’t frowned upon and dead people didn’t walk around, scaring the crap out of him. Why did it have to happen to him? Why was
he
so special?

As the darkness settled in, Richard braced himself for another long night of terror and loneliness.

He closed his eyes tightly and waited for the morning to come.

R
ichard opened his eyes and saw that Nicky had already left for work. After lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling in a trance for several minutes, he finally got out of bed. The room, although still daunting, was nowhere near as cold and frightening as last night.

He quickly slipped on a pair of jeans and a tee shirt and left the bedroom, yawning and stretching his arms high as he walked. He was still exhausted, unsure of how much sleep he managed to get. Two, maybe three hours at best.

Entering the bathroom, he stood next to the sink and glared at his reflection in the mirror.
Back to work on Tuesday
, he thought.
Away from this house. Away from Christina Long, or whoever that bitch is. Back to some normalcy
. Had he given up on finding the truth? Was he now content with sweeping the problem under the rug? And would going back to work really end his troubles, his sleepless nights? He knew the answer was no, but he had reached the point of hopelessness, and running away from his worries sounded like an appealing option.

Brushing his teeth, he fixed his eyes on the reflection of the open door behind him. He had seen enough horror movies to know that something always appears in the mirror. But at least he would be ready for it. For her.

When he took his eyes off the mirror for a second to spit into the sink, his head jolted back up to see if the coast was still clear. It was.

Maybe she’s sleeping. Do ghosts even sleep? What the hell do they do in-between scaring the crap out of the people? And what if no one’s home to frighten? Do they get bored waiting? I bet she can’t believe her luck, having me home so much. I bet she’s thinking, “Thank fuck for him collapsing—I was about to die of boredom.”

His thoughts trailed off as he finished up in the bathroom.

He shortly left and headed for the kitchen, where a note lay on the worktop. It read:

Morning babe. Hope you slept okay. Some extra things I need from the supermarket: table salt, eggs, salmon, baked beans, tortilla wraps, detergent (the big box), shampoo. Love you loads. Nic x.

He had completely forgotten about doing the shopping. Grabbing the note, he slipped it into his pocket and checked the fridge for anything else they needed when he pulled out the milk to make his breakfast as quickly as possible.

With his over-filled bowl of corn flakes, he made his way into the living room. He sat on the couch, turning on the TV with the remote control. As per usual there were only tacky morning makeover shows and various other shows which he found unbearable.

After watching a random, uninteresting talk show for almost half an hour, he switched off the TV, frustrated. Suddenly the room was eerily silent. He could feel dread and isolation slowly start to seep through the walls and creep toward him, surrounding him like a pack of hungry wolves. Not willing to succumb to the hold she had over him and the house, he shook the feelings off and got up. “To hell with this.”

With that, he exited the living room, grabbed his coat from the radiator by the stairs, and left the house.

Richard pulled up outside the supermarket. He felt his jean pockets for his wallet and shopping list, locked the car, and then proceeded toward the supermarket entrance.

Pushing a cart with one hand and holding the list in the other, he glided down each shopping aisle, collecting various items from the list, including several others from his memory. He almost never wrote down lists. He would always try to remember any tasks—which was what got him into his mess at work in the first place. If only he could have remembered to backup the missing files before the system crashed, and then everything would have been fine. No added stress. No time off work. And just maybe, he could have avoided dealing with a dead woman.

As he strolled around, he aimlessly filled the cart with things he and Nicky didn’t really need—like a giant pack of toilet rolls he was sure that they already had.
Just in case
. A multipack of crisps, even though she had forbidden him from buying such things because of her ongoing diet. And of course several bags of dried fruit, which neither of them needed nor wanted.

This was exactly why Nicky always did the shopping.

Reaching the register, he placed the shopping on the conveyer belt and watched the lady as she scanned each item.

“Would you like a hand with the packing, sir?” the lady politely offered.

“No thanks,” he replied, shaking his head and smiling. “I’m all right.”

After he had refilled his cart and paid the cashier, he walked away, heading for the exit. Passing the supermarket’s café, he paused for a second to readjust one of his plastic shopping bags, making sure that the eggs were still at the top of the bag. As he started up again, something caught his eye. Attached to the wall on his right was a large cork notice board, filled with various For Sale items, business advertisements, and other public notices. Fixed to the left corner of the board, and overlapped by a few other cards, was an A5 sized poster, with a small photo scanned in the center, and the title, ‘
Have you seen me?
’ printed in bold letters above it. He leaned in for a closer inspection.

His heart nearly missed a beat.

Written beneath the photo was the name Christina Long.

The bottom half of the poster was buried behind another pinned flyer. He pulled the drawing pin out, letting the flyer fall to the floor, revealing a small paragraph.

Missing since June
2012. Please could you contact Carl Jones with any details of her whereabouts? My number is 0798575433332. Thank you
.

Richard’s mouth began to dry up, and a cold sweat formed on his neck and forehead. With a trembling hand, he pulled the poster from the board, causing several other notices and drawing pins to fall to the floor. He ignored them. Eyes wide open, he examined the photo. Despite the fact that she was wearing a tee shirt and a pair of blue jeans, and her brown hair was tied back, there was no doubt in his mind that it was her. No matter how faded the photo was, no matter how small, it was the woman in the white dress.

The woman from his house.

He could barely breathe.

In spite of all that had gone on, a part of him still believed that there had to be a logical explanation for everything. Even seeing her sitting on his bed, no matter how clear she was, still carried a certain percentage of doubt. How could anyone believe such a thing could be possible? A ghost? But now, after seeing her name and photo, he could put all his doubts to rest.

His head was a mixed bag of emotions. On the one hand he could feel the terror resurfacing, even in such a built-up place as the supermarket, and on the other, he could feel a certain level of excitement develop at the prospect of solving the mystery… a mystery that had plagued his life for almost two weeks.

He folded the poster and slipped it into his pocket. Pushing the cart dangerously fast, he continued for the exit. He could barely contain himself as he left the supermarket. Reaching the car, he opened the trunk and dumped the shopping inside, not worried about breaking the twelve-pack of eggs. He slammed the trunk shut, raced around to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and sped out of the parking lot, heading for home.

On the way, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, and dialed Karen Leigh’s number, swerving his car as he did.

“Karen, it’s Richard,” he said, frantic. “I really need to speak to you. Can we meet?”

“Hi Rich,” Karen replied. “Everything all right? You sound flustered.”

“Everything’s fine. When do you finish work?”

“Well, I suppose I could meet up in about an hour. What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain when I see you. Got to go now—I’m driving.” Before she could reply, he hung up and dropped the phone onto the passenger seat.

He had an hour to kill before meeting with Karen, so he slowed the car down. He tried to control his breathing, but it was no use; the adrenalin was just too much. He had never felt so freaked out in all his life. Surely now, after all the evidence, Nicky would have to believe him. No one could be
that
stubborn.

Yes, they could.

She didn’t believe the smoke detector was anything out of the ordinary; she didn’t think that both fridge and freezer doors being open was bizarre. Why would she think anything different now?

As he approached his house, he tried to forget about Nicky. His focus would be on finding out the truth about Christina Long. He parked the car, unloaded the shopping from the trunk, and raced across the road, struggling to hold all six bags as the plastic handles dug into his fingers. He entered the kitchen, threw the food into freezer and fridge, and then marched into the living room. He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece as he paced the room, unable to sit. Forty minutes.

Come on, Karen, I’m bursting
.

As he walked, he pulled the poster from his pocket and stared at the photo. Still in a state of shock, he took a seat on the single couch, eyes still fixed on Christina Long’s image. “I can’t believe I found you.” And then suddenly a wash of sadness flooded his head. In the picture, she looked happy and fun-loving—in fact, he was sure that it was a holiday snapshot. But the woman he had seen in his house was far from happy. Her eyes told a story of depression and loss. A million questions filled his head. What could have happened to make her that way? Was it simply losing her life—or something more? Why hadn’t she crossed over yet? And where was her big shining light? But it hadn’t even been a year since she died; perhaps it takes some time, especially if you die young. Maybe it’s harder to accept, to let go. He shook his head, disheartened by the whole concept of the afterlife. He had always believed that when you pass away things became simpler, not harder; that misery was a thing you left behind. But was his belief from his heart, or was it merely from Hollywood? Was there a difference? After all, Richard wasn’t sure of anything. What he read in books and saw in movies all stemmed from someone’s research, or someone’s imagination. No one could be certain of anything. But at least now, after everything, after centuries of speculation, he was closer to finding out the truth. Christina Long would soon open the floodgates to another world, and he would have front seats. He was confident.

No, Richard Gardener was positive.

Karen Leigh sat next to Richard on the couch, holding the poster, staring intently at the photo. “And you’re sure it’s her?”

Richard nodded. “It’s her. I’m certain of it. That face is unmistakable. And it’s the same name: Christina Long.”

She shook her head in astonishment, and then a grin slowly formed. “This is amazing. This is absolutely amazing. Do you understand how incredible all this is? This is…”

“I know. I can’t believe it either. I actually, one hundred percent, have a real ghost in my house. I mean, I always knew it was true, but a part of me still thought that there must be a logical explanation. Hell, I even thought I could be losing it at one stage. But this, well, this is
unreal
.”