Fourteen Days

by Steven Jenkins

  Staring painfully at her face in the mirror, Richard could see her mascara had run down her cheeks. She tried to rub it off with her fingers, but that only made it worse. Then her chin started to quiver. She held back as long as possible, but it was no use. Her eyes began to stream with tears.

  Richard was sitting in the passenger seat of a car; the interior was outdated and scuffed. Christina was sitting next to him. She was staring down at a cell phone in her hand, clearly waiting for it to ring. “Bastard,” he heard her say under her breath. But then the sound of a ring-tone made her wince with fright. She held up the phone to see who the caller was, but lowered it back down to her lap with a look of disappointment. Richard could see the name Sophie Price displayed on the phone’s screen.

  She groaned, and then pushed the ‘answer’ button on the display and held it to her ear, forcing a smile. “Oh, hi Sophie, how are you? I was just—oh, hello, Peter. Sorry, I thought it was Sophie.” She shuffled nervously in the seat, seeming flustered. “How you both holding up?” she said, with a sympathetic tone in her voice. There was a long pause as she waited for a response. “Urrr, I can’t right now, I’ve got to get to the office. I can give you Sharon’s number if you like. She’s the on-call today.” Richard watched intently as the muffled sound of Peter’s voice increased. “Calm down, Peter,” she said, “I’m sure there’s—” Richard could faintly hear sounds of pleading through the phone, causing Christina to clench up anxiously. With her mouth away from the phone she sighed. “Listen, I’ll try to pop ’round later for a chat, but—” Peter’s voice cut her off. “All right, I’ll come straight. Just give me ten minutes.”

  She hung up the phone and sighed again.

  Leaning forward, she checked her face in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes had dried and her mascara had not run again. “You can do this,” she told her reflection. “Don’t let some pisshead of a boyfriend ruin your day. You’re better than that.”

  Richard could hear the rumbling of a tired engine as they drove past familiar houses. Everything seemed so real, even the smell coming from the air freshener hanging from the mirror. But yet it couldn’t be real. He was home. Sleeping in his bed. Next to Nicky. Or was he on the couch? He couldn’t be sure. Nothing made sense.

  Richard followed Christina across the road to a house. He tried to focus on his surroundings but the image was too foggy. She knocked on the white door and waited, nervously playing with the strap of her handbag draped over her shoulder. That door, Richard thought, I’ve seen it before. I’m sure I have.

  As the front door swung open, he suddenly knew exactly where he was.

  Peter Young’s tall and chunky frame filled the doorway. He was smiling. “Hi, Christina,” he courteously said. “Thanks for coming so quickly. I really appreciate it. Come in.”

  “It’s no problem, Peter,” Christina replied, as he ushered her inside.

  “How’ve you been? Everything going well?”

  “Urrr… good thanks,” she replied.

  He pointed to the living room. “Why don’t you take a seat in the living room and I’ll go get Sophie.”

  Nodding, she entered the room. Richard followed closely. Sitting on the sofa, uneasy, she scanned the room. Everything was in disarray. The coffee table was stacked with empty cups, pieces of food, and discarded chocolate wrappers, the cream-colored carpet was covered in dirt and various other spillages, some of the photo frames had been knocked or turned over, and the single sofa chair was piled up with rumpled clothes.

  Richard watched Christina fidget nervously on the sofa as the minutes passed. She tilted her head to see through the glass panel of the door for signs of movement—there were none. She checked her wristwatch and groaned, glancing impatiently again at the glass panel. She then stood, but the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs prompted her to remain seated. Peter entered and leaned against the doorframe, still smiling.

  “Is Sophie all right?” Christina asked, calmly, clearly hiding her anxiety. “Is she on her way down?”

  “She’s still sleeping, sorry. She hasn’t been herself these past few months. She sleeps a lot.”

  She nodded sympathetically. “I understand.”

  “She hasn’t left her bed virtually since it happened.”

  “Has she been to see the doctor? Maybe they could prescribe something to help her. I know it must have been absolutely terrible for you both.”

  His smile slowly vanished. “Yes it was. Especially her. But,” he glanced up, “she’s sleeping now.”

  “Well maybe I could call ’round another time then—when she’s up and about.” She started to get up from the sofa again.

  Moving away from the doorway, he held out his hand in protest. “No, there’s no need to go. Why don’t you just go up to see her?”

  Grimacing in confusion, she said, “But she’s sleeping.”

  “Yes, but she’ll probably get up for you. She just needs to hear your voice. We haven’t been getting along all that well, and I think she didn’t believe me that you were downstairs. She could really use a friendly face.”

  She paused for a moment as if wanting desperately to think of a valid excuse to leave. “All right,” she said, defeated. “I’ll pop up to say hello.”

  His smile returned. “Great.” He walked out into the hallway, Christina behind him. Richard followed closely. Just at the foot of the stairs, Peter stopped and turned to Christina. “Why don’t you go up? I want to bring her a drink. Do you want something as well?”

  “No thanks,” she replied, shaking her head. He walked past her, heading for the kitchen. “Which room is it?” she called out.

  “It’s the one straight ahead.” He reached the kitchen. “Just go straight in. She won’t mind. Honestly.”

  Richard trailed after her up the stairs. He could sense her reluctance as she approached the closed bedroom door. Reaching for the doorknob, she hesitated. She then took a deep breath and gingerly opened the door and entered. Like the living room, the room was a mess. Dirty clothes were scattered across the floor, the bedside tables were filled with used cups and dishes, and Richard could smell a horrible, rancid stink in the air, prompting him to see if the window was open. It wasn’t. And judging by the aroma, it hadn’t been for some time.

  Sophie was curled up, buried in a mass of duvet. “Sophie?” Christina delicately whispered. There was no reply, so she moved a little closer. “Sophie? Are you awake? It’s Christina—Christina Long.” Still no reply.

  Edging closer, stepping carefully over the clothes on the floor, she whispered again, “Sophie?”

  Christina was now standing at the side of the bed, leaning over. “Sophie?” Still she failed to answer. “Sophie, it’s Christina. Are you awake? Peter said it was all right for me to come up and speak to you.” Still nothing. Frowning, she reached forward to give her a gentle prod. Touching the thick and puffy duvet, her hand sank straight down to the mattress. With a look of puzzlement, she prodded another section. The duvet was completely hollow. She pulled the bedding away, only to find the bed deserted. She took a step back. She must have the wrong room, Richard thought, as he moved out of her way.

  Christina turned to leave the bedroom.

  Peter was standing right behind her.

  “Jesus Christ!” she shouted in fright. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  “Am I in the wrong room?” she asked, a clear tone of fear in her voice. “She’s not in the bed.”

  Peter took a moment to answer.

  “Sophie’s not here,” he coldly said.

  “Then where is she?”

  A tear rolled down Peter’s cheek. He sniffed loudly, and then softly replied, “She dead.”

  Richard could see the whole of Christina’s body shudder, causing her to back away into the side of the bed. “What do you mean? You sent me up here to talk to her.”

  Peter moved closer to her, forcing her to sit on the edge of the bed. “She
hung herself.”

  Christina’s eyes widened with shock. “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to move over to his side. “I had no idea. No one…”

  “It’s your fault!” he snapped, mirroring her every movement. “You killed them both.”

  “What do you mean? How could it have been my fault?”

  “It was your job to keep him safe. Your job to help Sophie. And you failed.”

  She managed to climb off the bed, then tried to slip past him out the door, but he cut off every possible route. Richard tried to move between them but couldn’t. He found himself watching from the far corner of the room, powerless to do anything, as Christina backed away from Peter into the wall. Leave her alone! Richard screamed. But no one took notice.

  “We did everything we could,” Christina said, tears running down her face. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

  Peter shook his head; his face filled with wrath, yet still focused. “We trusted you. You said that everything would be fine.”

  “I’m sorry. Sometimes things happen, things go wrong. You can’t always stop it from happening.”

  “You’re a liar! You cut corners. You could have stopped this. And now I’ve lost my son and Sophie.”

  “Please, I’m sorry for your baby, but I swear to God there was nothing anyone could have done to save him. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

  “And what about Sophie?” he asked, his fists clenched tightly. “What about her? Was her death just ‘meant to be’?”

  She shook her head, now weeping uncontrollably. “No, of course not,” she struggled to say. “I had nothing to do with it. Please, just let me leave. I just want to go home. Please, Peter.”

  He slowly shook his head. “I can’t let you leave.”

  “Why?” she sobbed, spit flying out as she spoke.

  Moving closer, he raised his fist up. “I just can’t.”

  Richard watched in horror as Peter drove his knuckles hard into her jaw.

  Christina’s legs buckled and her eyes rolled back.

  Leave her alone! Richard screamed again as she crashed onto both knees.

  Richard fought to move forward to protect her, but couldn’t. Get away from her!

  He closed his eyes in defeat as Peter slammed his leather shoe into the side of Christina’s face.

  The sound of the door opening caused Richard’s eyelids to slowly open; he braced himself to see the state of Christina on the floor.

  She wasn’t there.

  The sound of groaning took his attention over to the bed. Richard’s stomach churned at the sight of Christina sprawled out on the bare mattress. A white cloth had been wrapped around her head and stuffed into her mouth as a gag, and her wrists and ankles were bound with rope to the bedposts. Bastard! he said. Fucking bastard!

  Richard trembled when he saw Peter standing calmly in the doorway.

  “I’m sorry I had to hurt you,” Peter said, as he walked over to the bedside. “I just got so angry. I didn’t mean to hit you. I’ve never hit a woman in my life.”

  Christina struggled with her bounds, while the flesh around her ankles and wrists reddened. Cries of anger or for help distorted by her gag filled Richard’s heart with sorrow and frustration.

  “Look, you need to calm down if you want me to pull out the gag,” Peter said, as if speaking to a child. Christina stared at him, her eyes streaming with tears. “Well? Are you going to calm down? Or do I have to leave it in?”

  Christina stopped moving and began breathing noisily through her nostrils.

  “There we go,” he said. “That wasn’t so hard.” He reached forward and pulled out the gag.

  “Please, Peter,” she pleaded, “will you let me go? I’m truly sorry for everything you’ve been through. I just want to go home. Please. I’m begging you.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed as if nothing was amiss. “And I will—I promise—but not yet.”

  “Please. Let me go home. Carl will be wondering where I am.”

  “You may be right. But he won’t find you, I’ll make sure of that.”

  Struggling to breathe as the sound of saliva bubbled in her throat, she started sobbing. “He knows I’m here. He was there when you called me. He’s going to come looking for me.”

  “Well then, I’ll just have to cross that bridge when I come to it. But right now you need to get some rest.” He stood up and headed for the door. “And please don’t scream. It’ll only make things worse—for both of you.”

  “What do you want from me?” she screamed, her body convulsing with anguish.

  Reaching the doorway, he stopped and turned to her. “I’m just going to take back what you took from me.” He left, closing the door and locking it behind him.

  Richard suddenly found himself at the side of the bed. He stretched out his arm to touch her skin but couldn’t. Don’t worry Christina, he said, I won’t let him touch you. I swear to…

  “Stop screaming!” Peter ordered, forcing the gag back into Christina’s mouth. She bit down hard on it, clearly hoping to catch his fingers. She didn’t.

  With the stale smell in the room, the stained mattress, and the state she was in, it felt to Richard that weeks had gone by, not mere seconds. The skin around her wrists and ankles was now bloody and scabbed. Her brown hair was in disarray and was partly stuck to the sides of her face with sweat. Her white dress was soaked through with sweat. And her eyes had deep bags beneath them, with the color drained from both cheeks.

  She had clearly been through Hell.

  “Why do you keep doing this?” he asked, out of breath as he secured the gag. “Haven’t you learned anything after all this time? What’s the point in wasting your energy trying to fight me? It’s got you nowhere.”

  Christina glared at him with bloodshot eyes.

  Richard watched in horror as Peter sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gently placed on her thigh. Get away from her, you sick bastard! Richard screamed, as Peter delicately lifted up her dress. You bastard! Get your stinking hands off her! he screamed again, as her dress was pulled up past her underwear, revealing her bare stomach.

  Richard struggled to breathe when he saw the bump.

  No. Richard shook his head in disbelief. Please, God. No! Please. He could feel his entire body tighten with repulsion as he watched Peter gently stroke her swollen stomach.

  Richard could no longer bear the pain of seeing her in such a way, or that monster touching her skin. So he closed his eyes and prayed to be home again.

  “Not long now,” Richard heard Peter say, as his eyes slowly came back into focus. “Another week or so.”

  Please God, Richard pleaded. Please let me go home. I’ve seen enough.

  “Best get some sleep now,” Peter said as he stood up from the bedside, heading over to the doorway. “You need your rest.”

  He left, locking the door behind him.

  Christina was no longer crying, just staring into space. Broken. The mattress was now stained gray and her dress clung tightly to her body with sweat and dirt.

  How long has she been in here? Richard thought. But he had no way of knowing for sure. Maybe three or four weeks. Maybe longer. But he could only guess. He knew very little about pregnancy, only what Nicky had told him, or what he’d seen on TV.

  He watched her head slowly lift from the bed to see her baby bump. And then it dropped heavily back down.

  She closed her eyes. Richard did the same.

  Richard could hear the sounds of the TV.

  I’m home.

  He could feel himself being dragged out the darkness back into the light of morning. Away from his nightmare. Away from this stranger’s home.

  Back to his home.

  But then the faint cries of a baby pulled him away. He was back at Christina Long’s side.

  Back in Hell.

  He saw Peter sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling something in his arms.

  A baby.

  Christina’s baby.

  The unbearable
turmoil returned to Richard’s stomach. Please, God. I can’t take any more.

  Christina’s eyes were half-open, her hair drenched in sweat, the flesh around her wrists and ankles bleeding, and the gag still in her mouth.

  Bastard, Richard said, lowering his eyes away from her tired and tormented face, down her body. Her dress had clearly been pulled back down to cover her abdomen, but her underwear had been cut away from her and just left hanging from the side of the bed. Richard retched when he noticed the small pool of blood between her open legs.

  Look what you’ve done, you sick fucker! he screamed to Peter. How could you? But Peter didn’t seem to notice even when the pool of blood became bigger. He was too concerned with kissing the baby’s forehead.

  Christina’s eyes slowly closed completely. Peter smiled at her, and mouthed the words, “Thank you.” He then rose up from the bed and walked toward the door—still holding her baby.

  Peter didn’t lock the door. There was no need to.

  Christina was already gone.

  “What the hell have you done?” Richard heard a woman scream from the foot of the bed. “How could you have been so stupid?” She was a thin woman in her thirties, with jet-black hair that was tied back.

  Peter was in the doorway, leaning against the frame; he had a hand on his forehead and a look of distress. “You have no idea what I’ve been through,” he said, his voice quivering. “I’ve been through Hell and back!”

  The woman turned to him, her face filled with rage. “And what about this poor woman? What about her hell?” She shook her head. “How could you do something like this? How could you be so heartless?” She started to cry. “What would Sophie think?”

  Peter suddenly straightened. “Where do you get off asking me about Sophie? You only ever bothered to meet her twice. And where the hell were you when we lost our child?”

  “Don’t try to turn this back on me. You chose to cut yourself off from the family. You can’t just…”

  “I had more important things to worry about.”

  “Like what? Getting drugged up to your eyeballs?”

  He edged closer to her. “Like starting a family—of my own. Making something of my life. Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for us? Do you? You have no idea what it feels like to go through three miscarriages, and then be told that it may never happen for you. You haven’t a fucking clue!”