Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (14 page)

Tim
cleared his throat and sat up straight in his chair.  “I really don’t know.  I
guess not.  I think there’s definitely a mystery here.  But, let’s just say
that Sammie was possessed – hypothetically – why him?  It’s not like there’s a
long list of people possessed by demons.  It’s a rarity – if it even exists at
all – so what is so special about Sammie that it happened to him?”

Angela
thought about it.  “I don’t know.  Some schools of thought say that only the
devout are at risk of an evil entity invading their soul.  Others say that
repetition of a specific sin attracts the Devil’s minions – such as excessive masturbation
or swearing.  Some say it is a random occurrence while others say that for a
demon to inhabit your soul you must consciously invite it.”

“And
what do you think?”

“I
think evil takes advantage.  I think it plays the human race like chess pieces
on a board.  If a demon
were
ever to possess a person, it would do so
for a specific reason – to further the cause of evil.  Some say that several
demons cast out from Mary Magdalene went on to inhabit Judas, Emperor Nero,
Adolf Hitler and many other powerful men.  I think that is what truly attracts
the Devil – power.”

Tim
scrunched up his face.  “And you think a ten-year-old boy is powerful?”

“A
ten year old boy that stands to inherit a fortune one day and a place on the
board of the world’s most powerful company?  Yeah, I think little Sammie is
more powerful than you realise.  Hitler was able to influence millions towards
evil, but Black Remedy Corporation has the influence to affect billions.”

“So
you think that if there
is
a demon inside Sammie, it’s basically a
power-hungry entrepreneur?”  Tim laughed.  “Sorry, I do get your point, though. 
I guess Sammie does have a lot of potential backing him.  That would mean that
this demon is in it for the long haul.”

“If
there
is
a demon,” said Angela.  “I’m still not willing to accept that.”

The
laptop flashed back on.

The
backup file resumed playing on its own, screening more footage of the previous
evening, but this time it no longer showed Sammie’s room.  The video footage this
time was of Angela’s room.  It showed her asleep on her bed, the lights
switched on.

Tim
saw the concern etched across Angela’s face and wondered if he looked as
worried.

“What
time is this?” she asked him.

Tim
checked the time stamp.  “5AM, but I don’t understand.  I haven’t set any
cameras up in your room.  I don’t know where this footage came from.  Did you
leave the bedroom light on?”

“Yes,
I was…nervous.  I guess I must have fallen asleep and the power came back on
briefly.”

Tim
watched the footage of Angela sleeping and was lost for an explanation.  “I
don’t understand this.  How did the feeds switch?”

“Someone
was in my room,” Angela explained bluntly.  “I got out of the shower and
someone had written a message on my mirror.  Maybe they left a camera in my
room at the same time.”

“Who,
though?  Frank?”

The
laptop flashed again.  The screen changed back to Sammie’s room.  The boy was
no longer pacing the room and quoting Bible passages.  He was in bed asleep; a
normal ten year old boy.

Tim
tried to jog the video backwards, to re-examine the footage from Angela’s room,
but when he tried to rewind…

“This
makes zero sense.”

Angela
shrugged.  “What?”

“The
footage of your room is gone.  Look.”  He moved the video’s timeline back and
forth slowly.  The images showed only Sammie in his room.  “The video from your
room is gone.”

Angela
stared at the laptop’s screen.  “Or maybe it was never there.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mike
sat on a chair across from Graham. Jessica lay on the bed between them.  The
lady of the house was currently sleeping fitfully, eyeballs flickering like
loose marbles beneath her bloodshot eyelids.

“So
are you okay to take over?” Mike asked Graham.  “I need to crash or I’m going
to pass out on my feet.”

Graham’s
face was as grumpy as ever.  “Don’t have much choice, do I?  Why did she have
to go and do something so bloody stupid, anyway?  Silly girl.”

Mike
sighed.  “You know there’s more to it than that.  Just keep an eye on her. I’ll
be by again later to take over.  Frank says we call him soon as Jessica wakes
up.”

Mike
left the penthouse and headed for the second floor.  Most of the rooms there
had belonged to the live-in staff, but they were all now vacant.  When he got
there, he just picked a room at random and headed inside.  The ottoman-style
bed that met him there was a welcome sight and the thought of imminent sleep
made his body limp with anticipation.

Things
had been set in motion at the house, Mike could feel it.  There was a destiny
at work and it was finally coming to fruition.  Jessica was not going to be the
last person hurt before all this was through.  Sammie was just getting started.

Mike
stood in front of the full-length mirror secured to the back of the bedroom
door.  He took off his shirt in front of it and examined the runic symbols
carved into his chest. The thick, pink scars brought memories of agony, and the
necessary suffering he’d had to endure in order to be ready for what he would
face.  The symbols would keep him safe.

At
least for the time being.

When
Mike took the job as the household chauffeur, he knew that his eventual
responsibilities would include more than just driving the Raymeady’s Mercedes. 
His role was much greater than anyone in the house knew and his employers were
counting on him to ensure things went to plan.  So far they were.

Mike
ran his fingertips over the scars on his chest and admired the handiwork one
last time.  Then he slid beneath the sheets of the bed and got ready to sleep
through most of the day.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Angela
had spent the last hour praying to God and confessing her sins. 

In
order to perform an exorcism, one must humble herself before the Lord.  To
invoke the power of Jesus Christ, one must not withhold any part of the self.  So,
after unburdening herself, Angela finally felt re-connected to Heaven.  For the
first time in several years, she once again felt the light inside of her; she
felt pure.

To
her surprise, Angela had found her old cassock and dog collar in her suitcase.
Mike
must have looked for it
.  Wearing it again now, after so long without it,
felt strangely comforting.  It was as if she had donned another layer of skin
or a set of body armour.  She realised now how much she missed the purpose and
identity that the robes gave to her.

She
picked up her exorcism kit and exited the room.  Tim and Frank had arranged to
meet her outside Sammie’s room and she headed straight there.  Both men seemed
impatient when she finally arrived.

“Beginning
to think you weren’t going to show,” said Tim, quite seriously.  From the sound
of his voice it seemed that he wasn’t just impatient, but anxious also.

“Sorry,”
she said.  “I needed to prepare.”

“No
worries,” Tim forgave her.  “Are you ready now?”

“Almost. 
I just need to run through a few things with you both first.”

“Such
as what?” Frank asked.

“If
– and I mean
if
– it turns out that Sammie has been infiltrated by a
demon, there are several rules you need to abide by at all times.  Number one:
Do not converse with the demon – leave any talking to me.  Number two: Do not
challenge the demon in anyway.  Remember that it can hurt Sammie.  Number
three:  Control your emotions.  Any sign of anger, fear, or even empathy, and
the demon will use it to control you.  Number four: Do not touch Sammie once I
have begun, and do not hand him anything.  Finally: Do not try to interfere. 
Once this process begins, Sammie will appear to get worse as the demon is
brought forth.  No matter what, though, you must let me finish.  Do you both
understand?”

Tim
nodded and Frank grunted.

“Okay,
then.  Let’s go and see Sammie.”

Frank
opened the door for her and Tim to step inside.  As soon as they entered, the
now-familiar stench of stale sweat fell over them.  Sammie was at his desk as
usual, half-naked, and sketching away with his various-coloured crayons.

“Don’t
we need him lying down in the bed or something?” Tim asked.

Angela
shook her head.  “No, that’s just in the movies.  As long as he can hear me.”

“Should
we at least make a circle of protection?”

Angela
hushed him with a finger to her lips and then told him, “The Lord will protect
us.  You can keep your circles of salt for Halloween parties.”

Sammie
leapt up out of his chair and faced them.  The movement was sudden, violent,
but now the boy stood, looking at them serenely.  “How lovely to see you again,
Miss Murs – and in your Christian armour no less.”

“Jesus
Christ is my armour, Sammie.  Do you know who Jesus Christ is?”

A
slight grin crept across Sammie’s face.  “A character of history, as I
understand it.  A creation of mankind to lend credence to its own importance.  Fiction,
Miss Murs.  You are wasting your life on fiction.”

“It
is not fiction, Sammie.  Jesus Christ is here with us now.  He sees you.”

“I
fear you are misguided,” he said calmly, but the awkward twitching of his
cheeks spoke of some underlying irritation.  Of all the times she had seen
Sammie, he now seemed different – spiteful.

Angela
took a step closer to the boy and made sure she got good eye contact.  “He
loves you, Sammie.  He wants you to come to him.”

Sammie
laughed.  It was a bitter, guttural sound.  He made no other reply.

Angela
took another step toward the boy.  This close she could see that there were
scratch marks all over the boy’s skinny arms and sallow chest as if he had been
clawing at his own flesh, trying to escape his own body.  “When did you last
eat, Sammie?”

“I
have all the nourishment that I need, Miss Murs.  Thank you.”

“Do
you get that from your
friend
?” Tim butted in.

Angela
shot a glare at Tim to remind him of his promise to stay quiet.  He averted his
eyes and stared down at the floor, chastised, apparently catching her drift.

Sammie’s
smile grew wider.  “Naughty Tim.  Angela is in charge here, don’t you know
that? So quiet your insolent tongue.”  He winked at Angela.  “Am I correct,
Miss Murs?”

“Yes,
Sammie.  I am in charge here.  I am an adult and you need to answer my
questions.  Okay?”

“Why,
of course.  I wouldn’t dream of obstructing your investigation.  Although,
you’ll have to forgive my confusion; what exactly are we investigating?”

“You,”
said Angela.  “We don’t think you are very well, Sammie.  We want to help you
get better.”

“Seems
like an utter waste of your time, priest, seeing as how I’ve never felt
better.  Perhaps it is you who is sick.”  Sammie empathised the word “sick”;
almost spat it at her, in fact.

Angela
ignored his attempts to sow doubt.  “This is about you, Sammie.  I want to know
how you’re feeling.  Tell me about this friend that came to see you.”

Sammie
looked upwards and smiled, as if imagining a beautiful day at the beach.  “At
first we were not friends at all.  In fact, he disapproved of me.  Came to
change my ways.”

“Did
he tell you to do bad things?”

Sammie
shrugged. His shoulders were like loose pegs.  “Let’s just say that we didn’t
see eye to eye on things.”

“And
now?”

“Now,
my friend prefers to take a back seat.”

Angela
asked the question she really wanted the answer to.  “What is your friend’s
name?”

Sammie
shook his head.  “I’m afraid it would be unkind for me to impart such
information.  Names have power and I wouldn’t like to compromise someone so
dear to me.”

Angela
took two steps forward, almost to within arm’s reach of the boy.  “Let’s be
honest with one another.  I’m not talking to Sammie now, am I?  Who are you? 
By the authority of Jesus Christ, I demand that you name yourself!”

Sammie
snarled, his face contorting like the cragged rocks around a lighthouse.  “Your
words mean nothing, priest.  They do nothing but insult me.  Leave!”

“No,”
said Angela, reaching into her pocket and bringing out her silver crucifix. 
She held it in front of Sammie’s face.  “Be gone, demon.  Leave this boy and
never return.  I ask you, Jesus Christ, to cleanse this unclean spirit.  I
banish you, demon.  Return to hell and never come here again.”

Sammie
clambered back, falling across his desk in a bundle of skinny arms and legs. 
He thrashed and kicked, screamed and whined.  His crayons and drawings
scattered onto the carpet.