All that dwelled there was a single bed, several boxes of junk, and a small wooden chest of drawers. In addition to the sound of a car passing outside, and a dog barking in the distance, he could smell the damp old clothes Nicky had stuffed into a charity bag.
And taste the rancid fear in his mouth.
He began to slowly crawl backwards onto the bed, all the way to the headboard, to gain a better view of the room and door. He pressed his bare back against the cold surface of the wooden headboard. But the ice-cold sensation on his skin didn’t bother him. His only concern was the door.
Tap…Tap…Tap.
Did he just imagine it?
Did his petrified state plant the sound in his head?
Or was she still behind the door? Still waiting?
Taunting him?
His body tightened even more, and he bit down hard, unconcerned with chipping his teeth. His frantic breathing was now confined to his nostrils. His vision started to blur as his breathing become more and more erratic.
Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave. Please leave…
The light of the room faded into darkness, and he passed out.
Sitting at his kitchen table, he watched the rain hit the large window in front of him. The dreaded chair held no significance as he listened to Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson on the radio.
Lightning lit up the room like an explosion, causing him to shudder. “Where the hell’s Nicky?” he heard himself ask. “Must be with her mother.” He tapped his fingers to the rhythm of the song, humming it also. “She’ll be home soon, I’m sure of it.”
Standing up from the table, he glanced at the clock on the wall. 10:30 p.m. “She’s really bloody late.” He frowned. “Strange for her.”
He left the kitchen and walked along the hallway, staring up at the ceiling. Noticing the smoke detector was reconnected, he smiled. “Good old Nicky. She’s more the man of the house than me.” A loud knock sounded at the front door. Answering it, he saw Karen stood outside in the pouring rain, soaked through. Confused, he asked, “What are you doing here? And where’s your umbrella?”
“I left it at home,” she replied, stepping up into the porch.
“Don’t you have a client today?”
“No, my calendar is totally free. I haven’t got anyone ’til Saturday morning. Thank God.”
He ushered her inside, taking her wet coat from her and hanging it on the banister.
Looking up at the ceiling, she beamed. “The smoke alarm is fixed. Finally. It’s not safe to keep those unattached. You could have a fire.”
Looking up too, he said, “Yeah, good old Nicky. She’s the real man of the house.”
She nodded. “Is she home yet?”
“Who?”
“Your wife, stupid. Nicola. Is she home?”
Grimacing, he snapped, “Don’t call me stupid!”
With a look of remorse, she said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. Just a slip of the tongue.”
“That’s all right, Karen. Yes, I think she’s here somewhere.” He walked toward the living room door. “She should be home by now. She’s been with her mother all day.” He paused for moment as if to correct himself. “At least she should be with her mother. I’m not so sure anymore.”
He entered the living room.
“Oh, here she is, Karen,” he said, surprised. At first glance the woman sitting on the couch seemed to be Nicky: same hair, same clothes, same shaped body. Then, in the blink of an eye, it wasn’t.
In her place, with two hands over her abdomen, was the woman in the white dress. The room darkened as she stood, revealing her blood-soaked dress. Horror filled his body as she edged closer, holding out her arms as if to hug him. “Come to me,” she ordered, in a soft, desperate voice. “Don’t leave me here. Please.”
He backed toward the door, unable to run or scream. “Who are you?” he struggled to ask.
“Let me go,” she said, inches from him. “Please. I’m sorry. It wasn’t my fault. Please, let me go. Take me away from here.” She started to weep.