Richard turned and leaped over the small wall to the side of the gate, then sprinted down the street toward his car. He frantically climbed in, watching Carl stand, angry, with the bat still firmly in his grasp.
Richard released a long breath and started the engine, skidding off away from Riverside Park. Not looking back. Not for a second. Too focused on the road ahead.
That couldn’t have gone any worse, he thought as he flew down Crandale Avenue, ignoring the speed restrictions.
As he headed home, he could feel the sweat copiously run down his face and into his eyes. He wiped it away with a sleeve. “Bloody hell,” he muttered in relief, but at the same time, he was still stunned by what had just happened. In spite of everything, a part of him had believed that he would be able to get through to Carl—that he would have, at the very least, invited Richard inside to hear him out.
The last thing he expected was to be almost beaten to death by a man brandishing a baseball bat.
Richard pulled up outside his house. Nicky’s car was parked just up from the house. Dread slowly built in the pit of his stomach. What was he going to tell her? She would never understand, no matter what the evidence.
How do I ever expect to convince Carl that the spirit of his dead girlfriend haunts my house when I can’t convince my own trusting wife?
Climbing out of the car, he slowly walked over to his house, apprehensive about facing his wife. He entered the house, trying to pretend that everything was normal. He wiped away another build-up of sweat from his forehead before walking into the living room. Nicky was sitting on the couch watching TV. Her face lit up when she saw him. “Hi, babe,” she said, picking up the remote control and muting the sound. “Where’ve you been?”
Forcing a smile, he calmly replied, “Just to the supermarket.”
“I know that, I’ve already seen the shopping in the fridge. Where’ve you been since then?”
“Oh, urrr…” he stuttered, realizing his mistake. “Just been out for a drive, trying to clear my head a little.”
With a concerned frown she added, “What’s wrong with your head?”
He shrugged. “Nothing much. Just a headache. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Take some painkillers.”
“I will. Going to take a shower and then we’ll have something to eat. Okay, babe?”
“All right, take your time—I’m not that hungry yet anyway.”
He forced another smile and turned to leave. Just as he was about to walk out into the hallway, Nicky asked, “Why have you got mud on your ass?”
Richard’s heart almost stopped in shock. It had completely slipped his mind that his jeans would be dirty after his collision with Carl’s lawn. He turned back to her, not meeting her eyes, and touched the dirt, as if discovering it for the first time. “Shit, forgot about that. I slipped earlier getting out of the car.”
“Where were you to slip?” she asked, suspicious.
“I just got out of the car to get some fresh air down by the park and slipped.” He looked directly at her, noticing her large, untrusting scowl. “Look, I’m not having an affair if that’s what you’re thinking. I haven’t been having sex with someone in the bloody mud. I just slipped, that’s all.”
“I never said you were.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his tone raised.
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve done something wrong?”
“Well, you can’t blame me. You’re the one who’s come home, looking all hot and bothered, with mud all over your jeans. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“Why can’t you just take what I say at face-value? Why does there always have to be some conspiracy with you?”
“I do take what you say at face-value—but not when you’re acting all weird.”
Richard wanted desperately to just come clean and tell her exactly what had happened, if only to stop her interrogation. But the truth would only lead to even more questions, and right now, a full-on cross-examination was the last thing he wanted. “Look, I’m going up for a shower. I can’t be bothered with all this.”
He stormed out of the room and headed upstairs. Nicky didn’t follow.