Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (23 page)

Against
his better judgement, Tim rested his eyelids for a second.  Eventually he had
no choice but to let sleep take him.

***

Angela
opened her eyes to darkness. The candle in the room had extinguished.  Usually,
whenever she woke from a deep slumber, there was a brief moment of confusion as
she wondered where she was, but in this case she opened her eyes and instantly knew. 
Her alert mind was unwilling to let her forget where she was even for a moment. 
She was still trapped inside the house.

She
sat up and could almost feel the darkness moving around her like a living
thing.  She listened out for noises, worried there might be someone else in the
room, then remembered that Tim had promised to watch over her.

She
called out.  “Tim, are you there?”

There
was silence in the room.

Angela
slid her legs off the bed and onto the floor.  She cringed at the thud they
made on the carpet.  “Tim,” she called out again.

Still
no answer.

Angela
crept across the room, arms out in front of her as feelers. She bumped against
the chair Tim had been sitting on.  It was empty.

Damn
it, Tim!  Where are you?  You promised to stay with me.

Angela
wondered if he’d perhaps just gone to get a drink or something to eat.  He
doubtlessly was exhausted, too. Maybe he’d needed something to keep from
falling asleep himself.  Even so, Angela didn’t want to be alone in the house
and didn’t like the thought of Tim wandering around on his own, either.  They
needed to stick together.

She
left the bedroom and sidestepped into the corridor like a secret agent on a
mission of stealth.  If anybody else was around, she wanted to be sure she
spotted them before they spotted her.  As it turned out, the corridor was
deserted.

She
decided to go downstairs and look for Tim in the kitchen. She headed for the
stairs.  The moonlight shone in through the windows and Angela took the opportunity
to check her watch.  It was 6AM, yet the moon was still high in the sky.  The
sun should have been muscling its way onto the horizon by now.

Angela
reached the staircase balcony and realised she wouldn’t have to look any further
to find Tim.  He was right in front of her.

“Tim? 
What are you doing?”

Tim
looked down at her from where he balanced atop the railing.  His eyes were
murky white and unfocused. 

Angela
looked over the railing, at the three-story drop to the cold, harsh marble on
the ground below.  “Tim, please, could you get down from there?”

He
stared at her vacantly.  The antique bannister beneath his feet rocked back and
forth; his knees wobbled like loose springs.  One false move and Tim would fall
to his death.

There
seemed to be no sign of Tim getting down from the bannister of his own
volition.  It was almost as if he was sleepwalking or under some kind of
spell.  Maybe he had taken something to help him sleep, something he shouldn’t
have.

Angela
crept forwards, one foot carefully placed in front of the other; she didn’t
want to startle him.  “Tim? It’s Angela.  I thought you were going to watch
over me while I slept?   I woke up and you were gone.  I was worried.”

A
strangled moan escaped Tim’s lips, almost as if he were a prisoner trying to
escape his own body.

Angela
took another step.

Tim’s
moaning continued, grew louder.

She
reached out toward him.

Tim
flinched.  His foot slipped.  He fell.

Angela
managed to grab a hold of the back of Tim’s shirt just in time.  She dragged his
weight and managed to direct his tumble backwards to safety instead of forwards
to his death.  He landed in a crumpled mess on the carpet with Angela lying
beside him.

“What
the hell were you doing?” she shouted at him.

The
milkyness had cleared from Tim’s eyes and he seemed confused.  “I-I…how did I
get out here?”

“You
don’t remember?”

Tim
propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head.  “I remember sitting in
the bedroom.  You were snoring…”

Angela
blushed.

“…and
I must have fallen asleep.  I-I don’t know what I was doing.”

“Are
you a sleepwalker?” Angela asked him.  She hoped he
was
so that they had
a reason for his behaviour that didn’t involve something sinister.

Tim
shook his head.  “If I am, this is the first time.  I wonder how long I’ve been
out here?”

“Well,
it’s past six now.”

Tim
frowned at her.  “What?  But it’s still dark.  Shouldn’t the sun be rising by
now?”

Angela
shrugged.  She didn’t understand it either.  “Come on.  I think we should go
back to my room.  This time you get the bed and I’ll keep watch.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Mike
was clueless as to why the windows were suddenly unbreakable, but it fit well
into his plans.  Everyone needed to remain inside the house.  Mike didn’t know
what was going to happen, but he knew that an awakening was at hand – and that
would require certain sacrifices.  It didn’t matter if Angela and Tim were
suspicious of him or not; it was too late for either of them to do anything
now.

To
make things even better, Jessica didn’t remember a thing about what had
happened in her bedroom – about him choking her unconscious.  Her voice was
croaky and it was clear she had a bruised windpipe, but she was oblivious to
the fact that Mike had been the one to inflict it upon her.

Jessica
was currently sat on Sammie’s bed, weeping quietly to herself as she cradled
the boy’s grimy pillow.  Mike was amazed that the woman still felt maternal
over the wretched little monster - he was no longer the loving little boy he used
to be.  Sammie had become a monster, something inside manifesting like mould on
a loaf.  The boy’s soul had gone bad.

“Are
you okay, Miss Raymeady?” he asked Jessica.

She
looked over at him with teary eyes but managed to smile.  “No, not really,
Michael.  I feel like I’ve just woken up from a coma.  Nothing is making any
sense right now, especially with Sammie missing.”

“I’m
sure he’s just playing games; hiding somewhere inside the house.  I should
really get back to looking for him.”

Jessica
raised her hand.  “No!  Stay with me.  I don’t feel safe without Frank in the
house.  I don’t want to be alone.”

Mike
nodded.  “I understand, but we really shouldn’t leave Sammie running loose with
those two con artists in the house.”

Jessica
frowned at him.  “Why do you think they’re con artists?”

Mike
huffed.  “Come on, what have they done since they’ve been here, other than
injuring Sammie and causing trouble?  They’re probably the reason Sammie is
hiding; he’s probably scared of being cut open with a needle again.”

Jessica
shook her head.  “I believe they’re trying to help.  Whether or not that’s
enough for me to let them to stay, I’ve not yet decided.  What time is it,
anyway?  I need to make a decision about them before the new day begins.”

Mike
checked his watch.  “I’m afraid the day’s already started.  It’s a little after
eight.”

Jessica
looked at him like he was mad.  “What?  You must be mistaken.  It’s still pitch-black
outside.  It can’t be morning yet – I mean, not late-morning as you’re
suggesting.”

Mike
had not actually realised it was still dark outside.  There was so much going
on in his mind that the familiar surroundings of the house had become merely an
unnoticed background.  Now that he was aware of it, however, it left him a
little disconcerted.  The extended night-time, along with the sealed and
unbreakable windows, made Mike feel uncomfortable.  He was supposed to be
marginally involved in the events to come, but he was beginning to fear that
his part would be bigger than he intended. 

Mike
stroked at the raised scar-tissue hidden beneath his shirt. He hoped the
ancient flesh carvings would be enough to ensure his safety.

Jessica
dropped her son’s pillow and pulled herself away from his bed.  “Come on,
you’re right.  We should be looking for him.”

Mike
opened the door for Jessica and followed her out into the corridor. He watched
her sway unsteadily as if drunk.

Ironic,
seeing as it’s probably the first time she’s actually been sober in six months.

Jessica
stopped halfway down the corridor and glanced up at the wall.  The Edwardian grandfather
clock there displayed the exact same time as the digital display on his watch. 
Jessica was shaking her head at the clock as if she suspected it of playing
some cruel prank on her.  “Impossible,” she muttered.

She
got moving again and Mike continued after her.  When she reached the staircase,
she chose to head downwards, reaching the ground floor and marching across the
foyer to the front door. 

Jessica
rattled the handle for a few seconds and then spun around on her heels, looked
at Mike with both her eyebrows raised.  “Why won’t this door open?  Have you
done something to it?”

Mike
shook his head adamantly.  “I don’t understand it myself, but no one has been
able to open it since Frank left last night.”

“That
makes no sense.  What about the other doors?  The ones in the piano lounge? The
exit in the kitchen?”

“All
the same.  No one can get out anywhere at the moment.  We were all waiting for
daylight to investigate properly.”

“Well,
the sun seems to have forgotten itself today, so we need to sort this out now.”

Mike
shrugged.  He knew trying to get the door open would prove useless, but Jessica
was his boss and refusing her would raise questions.  He stood before her,
awaiting orders.

Jessica
looked around the foyer then back at him.  “Well?  Go and find something to
help.  No point standing there like a monkey without his bananas.”

“Of
course,” said Mike, fighting off the urge to mock-salute the bitch.  She was
almost back to the bossy, unbearable woman she’d been before her husband passed
on. Perhaps she wasn’t the hopeless mess she’d appeared to be lately.

“I’ll
go check the kitchen,” Mike said.  “Maybe we can try and pry the door open with
a knife or something.”

“Fine,”
said Jessica.  She continued rattling and punching at the door’s handle, every second
adding to her frustration.

Mike
entered the main kitchen and instantly caught a chill.  The lack of soft
furnishings, in addition to the metallic surfaces and appliances, made the room
harsh and cold.  But Mike knew that the chill running through his bones had
nothing to do with the kitchen; it had a lot more to do with the fact that
Sammie was sitting on the centre island, grinning at him while his little legs swung
back and forth.

“Hello,
Michael.”

Mike
took a step backwards and flinched as his back hit the wall.  “Sammie?  We’ve
all been looking for you.”

Sammie
smiled knowingly.  “You for different reasons than the others, I think.”

“W-what
do you mean?”

Sammie
hopped off the work counter and planted his dirty feet on the tiled floor.  “I
get the impression that you have some sort of interest in me that goes beyond simply
being my mother’s chauffeur.”

Mike
nodded.  “That’s because you’re a very special boy, Sammie.  Very special.”

“Why,
thank you for saying so, Michael.  What a lovely compliment.”

“My
pleasure.”

Sammie’s
smile grew wider.  “You seem nervous.”

Mike
shifted uncomfortably.  “No, not nervous.  Just tiredness, I think.  I’ve been
up all night.  You have too, Sammie.  You should really be in bed.”

“Perhaps. 
I seem to have less and less need for sleep recently.”

Mike
nodded.  “Sleeping is unnecessary for someone like you.”

“Because
I’m special,” Sammie stated.  “I wonder just how special I can be.”

“You
have no idea,” said Mike.

Sammie
reached over the nearest workspace and slid something long and metallic across
its surface.  “Don’t I?”

Mike’s
breathing increased as Sammie stepped slowly towards him with the knife held
out in front of him.  “W-what are you doing, Sammie?”

Another
step. 

The
knife came closer. 

“What
do you think I’m doing, Michael?”

“I-I
don’t know.”

Sammie
thrust the knife out at Mike.  Mike yelled, the sound a strangled whimper. 

Then
Sammie flipped the knife over and presented it, handle-first.  “You came in
here for a knife, didn’t you?”

The
air came out of Mike like a deflated balloon.  “Yes, I did.”

“You
best get back to my mother with it then.  You know how she can get.”

Mike
took the knife and felt a quick spark run through his wrist.  “Of course,” said
Mike.  “Whatever you require, I am at your service.”