Richard stood in the reception, powerless to come up with a plan B. He knew he had made an error of judgement coming here. Surely there was no reason a police officer would fall for such a poorly thought-out story. But what annoyed him the most was that he didn’t even get the chance to mention her name. Stupid, he thought, as he sauntered over to the exit doors.
As he watched the rain hammer down on the road and against the glass, all he could think about was his ghost: her face of sadness, those eyes reddened from tears, her helpless tapping on the spare bedroom door. What the hell did she want? Why couldn’t she just blurt it out and say what was on her mind? And why was she so interested in him? Why not the last owner? And then it occurred to him: maybe that’s why he sold it to them in the first place. What if he had the exact same problem, a problem he just couldn’t solve? Was Richard going to end up the same—having to sell his house to the first person that showed any sign of interest? No, he would never let her beat him. Not for him, but for Nicky’s sake. It was their first home, their dream home. No one, especially not some troubled ghost, was going to drive them away. Not now. Not ever. And with that, he burst through the double doors and stepped out into the pouring rain, heading for Marble View to find the Registrar’s Office.
This time he would have to have the perfect cover story.
Richard finally had his first bit of luck. The rain had stopped and the Registrar’s Office was located exactly where the librarian had told him. It was a large, old-fashioned building, with red bricks and large windows. Its doorway was a giant stone archway with Latin words engraved across it.
Stepping up to the entrance, he waited a moment to prepare for any cross-questioning that might be thrown at him. How on earth was he going to convince them to give out details without rousing suspicion? Would he try his luck with the same web of lies he had spun to the police officer, and hope to God that the Registrar would perhaps be a little more gullible? No, he had to try a different angle; he knew good and well that his story earlier was terribly unconvincing. Could he simply tell them the truth and pray that the paranormal interested them enough to believe him? No, he was certain without a doubt that they would laugh in his face, just as Nicky did. How would he ever get what he needed if they couldn’t take him seriously—or even worse, thought that he was mentally unstable?
He couldn’t have that.
Shaking his head in frustration as nothing of any value popped into his mind, he leaned against the wall. Come on, Rich, think! What’s wrong with you? You used to be great at problem solving. You can sell ice to Eskimos. Focus!
He stepped away from the wall and stormed into the building, as if a plan had suddenly come to him. Walking up to the reception, he saw a young couple sitting in what appeared to be a waiting area. Stopping in his tracks, he turned to the couple, and asked, “Do I take a seat or…”
“Just ring the bell,” the man replied, pointing at a small window in front. “Someone’ll come out.”
Richard politely nodded, and said, “Cheers, mate,” then walked up to the window and rang the bell fixed to the wall. Waiting, he nervously whistled an unrecognizable tune.
After just a few seconds, a middle-aged woman appeared from behind the glass, smiling. “Hello. How can I help you?”
Richard was about to speak, but then the idea of rejection seemed even more daunting with the couple sitting behind him.
Forced to ignore them, he leaned in close to speak. “Oh, hi. I need a death certificate replacement for someone, please.”
“Okay. What’s the name?”
“Christina Long,” he replied, sounding confident.
“All right. Are you a relative?”
Butterflies started to build up in his stomach again. “Yes. I’m her brother.”