Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (28 page)

Angela
picked up speed, her feet cracking down on the marble floor, each step taking
her agonisingly closer to freedom.  In only a few seconds she would be outside,
breathing fresh air away from the house. 

Just
a few more steps.

Angela
reached out for the door just as it slammed shut. Angela couldn’t stop her
sprint and went hurtling into it, bashing one elbow and both her knees against
the thick wood.  She bounced back and skidded along the marble on her back. 
Tim went over the top of her and ended up on the floor as well.  For a moment
the two of them just lay there, stunned.

“What
the fuck?” Tim shouted angrily as he struggled back to his feet.  He extended a
hand to Angela and helped her back to her feet.  Then he went over to the door.

“It’s
sealed again, isn’t it?” Angela said, already knowing the answer.

Tim
tried the door handle, rattled it, shook it.  Kicked it.  He turned around and
looked at her, his skin ghostly pale in the moonlight.  “Yeah, it’s locked. 
Looks like we’re still stuck here.”

“Too
bad Mike is dead.  If there was one person that knew what was going on here it
was him.”

Tim
nodded.  “He was pretty convinced that Sammie was involved, too, but I guess
we’ve already come to that conclusion.”

“He
mentioned Joseph not being Sammie’s real father.  You think maybe it has
something to do with Black Remedy?  Maybe they killed Joseph and had Mike kill
Jessica so that Sammie would inherit the company.  Then they could prove he was
illegitimate and take the shares away from him.”

Tim
frowned.  “You think this whole thing is just some sort of power play?”

“Maybe. 
The whole house could be rigged.  Mike could have been controlling everything
that’s happened.  There might not be anything unnatural going on at all.  Maybe
we’ve been played.”

Tim
seemed to like the idea.  It was no doubt within his usual realms of being a
ghost hunter/debunker.  He latched onto the idea and ran with it.  “Yeah, and
the front door could be on electronically controlled hinges.  It’s being held
shut mechanically.  After what we’ve seen here, I have to admit that the
supernatural is a possibility, but I’m still always happier to look for the
rational explanation and this seems like it.  I bet that arsehole, Graham, was
in on the whole thing, too, as Mike’s partner.  Don’t ask me where he got the
whole backwards man costume from, but enough money can get you anything.”

“That
doesn’t explain the Ouija board or the glass shards making messages in the TV room. 
Also, what part are we supposed to play in all this?  Why do we need to be here
if the plan was just to eliminate Sammie’s parents?”

“That
wasn’t part of the plan.  Jessica called us because she didn’t know what was
going on, and now we’re just stuck in the middle.”

“Or,”
Angela said, “we’re here as witnesses; a cover story.”

“So
you think this
Chamuel
is just a fabrication?”

“Maybe.”

“I
don’t know what crap you two are talking about,” said Frank as he entered the
foyer, “but you’re forgetting one thing.”

“Oh,”
said Tim.  “What is that?

“What’s
wrong with Sammie?  If you’re suggesting that a ten year old boy is part of a
conspiracy to kill his parents then you’re both crazier than I thought.  I know
this family.  Joseph offered me a job when I was at a low point, just about
ready to throw in the towel.  I have dedicated my life to them since then; I
know them.  Whatever made Sammie ill, made him change like he has, is not down
to a conspiracy.  You were brought here to help Jessica’s son, and that is
exactly what you are going to do.  I promised I would look after him, to keep
him safe.  I intend to do just that.”

Angela
was as confused as she’d ever been. 
Is there evil in this house, or is it
just the machinations of evil men?
  The only thing Angela had confidence in
was that Sammie was just an innocent boy.

An
innocent boy that needs rescuing.

“Okay,”
said Angela, adjusting her collar.  “Let’s figure this thing out, once and for
all.  It’s time for another exorcism.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

“What
exactly are you intending to do?” Frank asked Angela in the piano room.  Tim
had carried Sammie out into the foyer while they talked.  “Haven’t you already
tried this?”

“No,”
said Angela.  “In fact I have never tried this.  A blood exorcism is very
dangerous, but it’s the only option left.  If we are all in agreement that
Sammie is…I’m just going to say the word,
possessed…
then this is what I
have to do.  The entity inside of him – this
Chamuel –
was too powerful
to expel with the normal Rite of Exorcism.  We have to go deeper.”

Frank
crossed his arms.  “Deeper?  I don’t like the sound of that.  I won’t allow you
to harm Sammie.”

“Please,
understand,” said Angela, “that my
only
intention is to
help
Sammie. 
I am not in the business of hurting people unnecessarily.”

“It’s
when it
is
necessary that worries me,” said Frank.

Angela
looked at the man and actually felt sorry for him.  Despite his strength and
abilities, his job to protect the Raymeady family had been a complete failure. 
It was obvious that the burden weighed heavy on his soul.  “Look, Frank,” she
said.  “I want to see Sammie healthy again, a normal little boy.  I want
exactly the same as you.  Let me do what I need to do, okay?”

Frank
swallowed a lump in his throat and looked down at the floor.  “Fine.  Just help
him.  I can’t take any more of this.”

Angela
went over to Frank and took his hand in hers.  She looked him in the eye.  “We’re
going to sort this, Frank, I promise you.  Let’s get Sammie back to his room
and we’ll get set up.”

Frank
nodded.  “Yeah, okay.”

Angela
left the piano bar and the dead bodies of Mike and Jessica, and re-joined Tim
in the foyer.  He had taken Sammie out with him, away from the bloodshed.  It
was clear, though, that he was uncomfortable being alone with the child. He
seemed relieved to see Angela and Frank return.

“Everything
okay out here?” she asked him.

Tim
shot a sideways glance at Sammie, who was awake again and stood staring out of
a nearby window, humming a quiet tune.  “Yeah, as well as can be expected. 
Kid’s just been standing there, staring out at the moon.  Hasn’t said a single word;
just humming that creepy song.”

“Twinkle
Twinkle Little Star,” Angela said.  “It’s what was playing on the piano just
before we found Graham.”

“Joseph
used to sing it to the boy,” Frank explained.  “I’ve heard him humming it many
times before.”

“Think
it means anything?” Tim asked.

Angela
answered, “Probably that he misses his father.  Perhaps it’s his way of finding
comfort.”

“Come
on,” said Frank.  “Let’s get him back to his bed.”

Angela
stepped over to Sammie at the window and placed a hand on the clammy flesh of
his bare shoulder.  She looked out the window and saw what he saw: a black,
featureless night broken only by the ethereal glow of the moon and stars.

Twinkle
twinkle little star…

Sammie
broke from his stare and looked up at Angela.  “You know, some people say that
the stars are angels in Heaven and that a shooting star is an angel falling
from grace.”

“You
mean like Lucifer?” Angela asked.

“Who
is that?” Sammie asked.

Angela
expected that the boy knew full well who Lucifer was, but she decided to play
along with his ignorance.  “According to the Bible, Lucifer is the Devil.  He
waged war against Heaven and was cast out for his sins.”

“Why
didn’t God forgive him?”

Angela
looked at Sammie and saw that his expression was earnest.  “Well,” she said.
“Would you forgive someone who tried to destroy everything?”

“But
I’m not God,” Sammie explained.  “I thought God was supposed to forgive?”

“He
does forgive, Sammie.  He forgives all the time.”

“When
it suits him, it seems.  Sounds like your God is a hypocrite, Angela.”

“No
one is perfect, Sammie.  It is overcoming our flaws that makes our existence
worthwhile.”

“Do
you think God forgives you?”  Sammie asked her, drilling into her with his
coal-black eyes.

“For
what?”

“For
licking pussy and seducing young girls.  You’re no better than the catamites; a
perversion of God’s creation.”

Angela
fought the sudden urge to slap the child.  She was not prone to violence, but
the feeling of anger came over her so quickly that it almost took control.  “I
don’t think you understand the things you’re saying, Sammie.  One day, when
you’re all grown up, you will see that people are very diverse.  We all follow
our own paths and worship God in our own ways. You don’t have the right to
judge anyone.”

“Don’t
worry,” Sammie said.  “I’m not judging you.  That is not my place.  You’ll be
judged in the next life.”

Angela
felt a chill down her spine and tried to ignore it.  “Let’s get you back to
bed, Sammie.  You must be tired.”

Sammie
allowed Angela to take his hand and, along with Tim and Frank, they all made
their way upstairs.  Sammie continued to hum and swung his hand back and forth
gleefully. Angela had to fight to hold on to it.

Tim
asked a question as they travelled through the house.  “So, Frank?  Did you
have any idea that Mike was working against the Raymeady family this whole
time?”

Frank
growled like an antagonised pit bull.  “What do
you
think?  I would have
killed that Judas sooner if I’d known.  It’s obvious to me now that Joseph knew
there was a traitor in his midst, but he never found out quick enough to save
his life.”

“Joseph
trusted you, though,” Tim said.  “There was an email on his computer from some
investigation agency.  Apparently the only member of staff that Joseph trusted
for sure was you.”

Frank’s
eyes flickered for a moment and his head lowered to the ground.  “That only
makes it all the worse that I failed to protect him.”

“Don’t
beat yourself up,” Sammie chimed in.  “I’m sure if he could send you a message
somehow he would forgive you.”

Frank’s
head shot back up and he scowled at the boy.  It was the first time Angela had
seen the man show anything but concern for Sammie.  He said nothing, though,
and eventually looked away.

“You
okay, Frank?” Angela asked.

Frank
nodded.

Eventually,
they reached Sammie’s room. Tim stepped forward to open the door.  The stink of
sweat hit them as they entered the room and Angela immediately felt the walls
closing in on her.  She had begun to hate the child’s room.  It was a lair; a
den of evil.

“Could
you get into bed for me, please, Sammie?  The adults need to talk alone for a
moment.”

Sammie
did as he was told but had a sly grin on his face.  Angela took Tim and Frank
into a corner of the room and held a whispered conversation with them.  “I need
to get some of my things and prepare,” she said.  “Are you two okay to stay
here with Sammie while I go get them?”

Frank
nodded, but Tim seemed less sure.

“Everything
is going to be alright, Tim,” she assured.  “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Five
minutes is all it takes for things to go Amityville around here,” he said. 
“But you do what you got to do.  If I could get my ass out of here, I would,
but seeing as that isn’t an option, I’d rather be here with Kevin Costner than
anybody else.”

Frank
growled.

“Okay,”
Angela said.  “If I’m not back in ten minutes…well, I
would
say call the
police, but I guess the only thing you can do is start praying.”

Angela
left the room and went to get what she needed.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Tim
lit up as many candles as he could find.  It was obvious that power cuts were
regular because every room in the house was well-stocked with candles, but Tim
knew this particular power cut had nothing to do with the National Grid.

He
had a sickening feeling that by the time the electricity finally did return, more
people would probably be dead.

Just
hope I’m not one of them.

Tim
took a hard look at Frank.  The strong man now seemed weak, standing over
Sammie with almost fatherly concern.  Of all the tragedies that had befallen
the house, they had clearly hurt Frank worst.  It was obvious the man had loved
Jessica, and most probably her late husband, too. Sammie’s safety was now the
only concern the man had left – and even that was a lost cause as far as Tim was
concerned.

Tim
went over to check on Frank.  “How you holding up?”