Fourteen Days by Steven Jenkins Page B

in bewilderment, he watched as her car pulled off down the road.
    He then went back inside and closed the door.
    Sitting on the foot of the stairs, he picked up the disconnected smoke detector and played with its plastic cover, in a trance.
    The idea of spending the entire day alone in the house made him almost retch with fear. He had to get out. To hell with relaxing at home , he thought. I was calmer at the office. Any longer cooped up in this house, I’m gonna lose it. Big time .
    Setting the device down, he went upstairs to change out of his pajama-bottoms and tee shirt. Opening his bedroom door, it occurred to him that he hadn’t showered, or washed in any way, since Monday. He sniffed an armpit, and then straightaway pulled a face of revolt. Better take a shower. Or maybe a bath would be safer. No, a shower. Have to face it sooner or later. And it’ s much quicker.
    Tiptoeing across the landing, he could feel his palms begin to sweat, his heartbeat thunder. He stepped into the bathroom. Dropping his clothes on the floor, he switched on the shower, checking behind him, quickly inspecting the bathtub. Not willing to wait for the water to heat up, he climbed inside, wincing as the ice-cold water hit his body. As he was about to slide shut the glass doors, he paused for a moment to reconsider. Best leave the door open . Lukewarm water sprayed all over the floor, so he frantically adjusted the nozzle, pointing it down instead. Filling his palm with a big dollop of shower gel, he lathered his entire body, including his hair—but not his eyes; those were fixed straight ahead in case Mrs. Rees decided to put in another appearance. Rinsing as fast he could, with his ears still covered in foamy soap, he climbed out onto the wet floor, almost losing his footing. He held onto the shower door as he reached for a towel and let out a long breath. Clean at last . Maybe now I can go to the library to check out the Internet. Or pop in to see Phil and his kid. No, he’s probably working.
    Everyone’s probably working. Except me, of course.
    He stepped out onto the landing, cold and naked, heading for the bedroom.
    Maybe I could visit Gran and Gramps. Haven’t seen them for a while. I could take them both out for lunch, to The Farmers. They’d love that. They’d never expect it. They’d both have a heart attack if I turned up to take them out. Got to start calling ’round more often. Have to make more of an effort. Even if it’s—
    He froze.
    She was sitting on the edge of his bed. Watching him.
    His chest tightened as he stared deep into her reddened, tear-filled eyes.
    His mouth dropped open, incapable of screaming or swallowing.
    Powerless to take his eyes off her, he slowly backed away toward the spare bedroom, unable to find the courage to go forward to the staircase to run out the front door. Almost choking on his own saliva, unable to breathe, he backed up against the wall, opposite his bedroom, and reached for the spare bedroom door handle to his right. After a few failed attempts, he managed to grasp the handle and open the door, eyes still locked on the woman as she gazed at him. He backed into the room, losing sight of her, and closed the door behind him.
    He sat on the edge of the bed and convulsed back and forth, staring at the door handle.
    After several minutes of dead silence, with only the sound of his heartbeat thumping, he heard gentle footsteps on the landing, outside the door. His shallow breath and his narrowing vision had brought him to the edge of passing out. He struggled to stay focused, watching for signs of movement under the door. Helpless to move from the bed even to hold the door shut, he sat, his muscles clenched to the breaking point.
    The footsteps from the landing vanished, but Richard was nowhere nearer to moving. He had never been so petrified in all his life. Nothing before today could compare to it. Everything else seemed trivial—a walk in the park.
    Suddenly it occurred to him: he was