Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (33 page)

Tim
stopped moving and put his hands up in front of him.  “Take it easy, Sammie.  I
just want to take Angela and get out of here.  Leave, just like you said.”

Sammie
shook his head.  “Oh, she isn’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.  I’ll tell you what
though: let’s see if you can make it over here before I have time to let her
fall and then come rip your throat out with my teeth.  Or…”  Sammie grinned.  “I
give you one last chance to leave.  Your choice: do you want to live or die?”

Angela
saw the fear in Tim’s eyes.  She saw that coming back to help her was just a
small blip in his cowardice.  The man only cared about himself, and right now
he was terrified.  Angela looked down at the hard marble floor thirty-feet
below her and knew it was going to be her grave.

Any
minute now.  Any minute now I’ll fall.  There’ll be butterflies in my stomach
for a second and then…nothing.

Angela
watched with weary resignation as Tim turned away and stepped towards the
staircase.  He was leaving.

Sammie
turned to Angela and chuckled.  His face contorted like a nightmarish piece of
art.  “Do you see, Priest?  Do you see what this world is made of?  Cowardice
and fear.  Selfishness and hatred.  Mankind is a cesspool.”

Angela
strained, tried to pull herself up.  “Who….Who are you?  Chamuel?”

Sammie
looked at her with pity.  “You really don’t understand a thing, do you?  I am
the new beginning.  I am what comes next.  Unfortunately, you will not live
long enough to witness it.”

Angela
closed her eyes and prepared to die.

“I
think it’s about time someone grounded your skinny little ass.” 

Suddenly
there was second hand on Angela’ wrist and Sammie’s grip fell away.  She dropped,
several inches, as the new grip struggled to keep a hold of her.  She looked
up, surprised by what she saw.

Tim
squinted down at her, the effort of sustaining her weight bringing out great
beads of sweat from his wrinkled brow.  “How about a little help here,” he
groaned as a vein pulsed in his forehead.

With
the final dregs of strength she had left in her aching back and shoulders,
Angela pulled herself upwards.  There was a ripping pain in her sides where
rarely-used muscles awakened.  At the same time, Tim’s wiry arms hoisted to the
point that it looked like his biceps might detach from the bone.  Yet, somehow,
Angela started to rise.

Her
free hand reached the banister, her fingertips clawed at the wooden surface. She
swung her body sideways, trying to gain a purchase with her leg.  With one last
effort, Tim yanked and she came sprawling up and over the railing.  She landed
hard on top of Tim, both of them winded.

There
was no time to recuperate, though.  The job was not yet done.

“Get
up,” she said.

Tim
listened and staggered to his feet.

“You
came back,” Angela commented.

Tim
shrugged.  “Guess I’d rather die with a clear conscious than live with any more
guilt.”

“Nobody
else is dying tonight,” Angela promised him.  She was determined to make sure
it was true.  She checked out her surroundings quickly, looking for Sammie and also
for one other thing: the ceremonial dagger was still jutting out from Frank’s
leg.  She hurried over to him.

Frank
was doing better, now that the initial shock had worn off.  He was sat up and
alert, staring down at the long blade sticking up from his thigh muscle.  He
was breathing heavily and looked deathly pale in the moonlight.

“Are
you okay?” she asked him, thinking the question was pretty stupid.

Frank
looked at her knowingly.  “You need the dagger.”

Angela
nodded.  She knew ripping the blade free could nick an artery and unplug the
wound.  Frank knew it too.  The sensible thing would be to keep it in place and
get help, but that wasn’t an option.

“Just
take it,” Frank said. His voice was quick and nervous.

Angela
thanked him silently with her eyes and wrapped her fingers around the dagger. 
She needed to get it out with one pull –
quick and clean
. Failing to do
so would result in more damage to Frank’s leg.

She
yanked. 

The
blade came free with a grim sucking sound.  Frank hissed in agony.  A jet of
blood spurted into the air. Thankfully it didn’t persist.  The dagger had missed
the major blood vessels.

Angela
held the dagger in front of her and frowned at the blood on its shaft.  The
sight of it turned her stomach.

A
cry of pain behind her called her back into action.  Sammie had reappeared and
was hanging off Tim’s neck as if he were just a normal ten-year-old boy wanting
a piggyback ride.  Tim wailed and screeched as Sammie bit at his neck, tearing
away strips of rubbery flesh.  Angela raced forward to help him.

Sammie’s
eyes caught sight of her sprinting towards him with the dagger in her hand.  He
released Tim from his clutches and hopped away.  Tim staggered forward,
clutching his bleeding neck.  “Jesus Christ, that hurts.”

Angela
put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a quick shake.  His wounds looked sore,
but they weren’t going to kill him.  There was no time to indulge their aching
bodies and torn flesh, not yet.  There was still evil at work, and Angela was
going to banish it to Hell.

She
pointed the dagger at Sammie, who snarled at her defiantly.  “It’s time to end
this,” she said.  “I’m tired and I haven’t had a drink in hours.”

Sammie
scuttled across the carpet like a spider and somehow scurried up the wall.  He
sprung sideways towards Angela and caught her by surprise.  She staggered
backwards, once again hitting against the balcony’s railings.  Sammie was right
on her, rushing her with his arms out in front of him, ready to tackle her
right over the ledge.

Looks
like I have a date with the marble floor after all.

Tim
shoved Angela aside and met Sammie head on.  The boy’s unnatural strength
presented itself again and sent Tim crashing clear through the railing.  The
ancient, wooden bannisters broke apart, splintered like termite-infected
balsawood. 

Angela
had fallen to the floor, helpless as Tim disappeared from the balcony.  She got
to her feet as quickly as she could and raced over to the splintered railing. 
What she saw below hurt her soul.

Two
floors below, Tim’s body sprawled across the marble floor like a pretzel. He
was unmoving and one leg had twisted around at a sickening angle.  The fall had
crushed him.

God
bless you, my friend.  May Heaven welcome you with open arms.

Angela
turned around just in time to see Sammie launch another attack.  He leapt at
her with the obvious intention of sending her right after Tim, but she was able
to dodge aside and avoid the blow.  She hurried away from the balcony,
determined not to meet her end on the marble floor below.  Sammie rushed her
again, this time too quickly to avoid.  Angela tumbled to the floor from the
blow but quickly oriented herself onto her rump, hoping to face down any
follow-up attack.  Sure enough, Sammie swung a claw-like foot toward her face.
She barely dodged it by rolling sideways onto her front.

The
next kick caught her square in the ribs.  Something broke inside of her and all
of a sudden she could not breathe.  Sammie strolled toward her, giggling with
childish glee.  Angela clawed at the carpet, tried to drag herself away from
him, but the hot coals inside her lungs made it impossible to move.  Remarkably,
she still held the ceremonial dagger in her hand, but it would do her no good
now.

Sammie
stood over her, staring down.  His eyes swirled with malevolent darkness.  “I’m
bored of you now,” he said.  “I think you should die.”

Sammie
raised a foot as if to stomp her skull to pulp, but his ankle returned to the
floor as if attached to elastic.  He tried lifting his foot again, but it
became clear that something was impeding his movement.  Angela rolled onto her
stomach and lifted her head to see.  

Frank
lay on the floor behind Sammie.  His arms were wrapped around the boy’s shins
and he was forcing them together.

“You
need to pierce the feet, right?”  Frank struggled and managed to get Sammie’s
feet side by side.  “So do it already.”

Angela
nodded, seeing stars but clear in what she needed to do.

Frank
squeezed Sammie’s legs even tighter so that his feet overlapped.  Angela took a
breath and raised the dagger in her hand.  Its tip pointed downwards and she
thrust it downwards with ever last ounce of energy she had left.  The dagger
plunged through the small bones and pliant flesh of Sammie’s feet, so
forcefully that the tip embedded itself in the floorboards.

Sammie
bellowed, shaking the floor and walls around him with the might of his voice.  For
a brief second Angela thought the volume would reduce her brain to mush.  Black
smoke came off of Sammie fetid skin in great, swirling wafts.  It looked like
Sammie’s entire body was made of ash and a hurricane had come to displace it. 

From
the floor, Angela watched in awe as the ceremonial dagger began to shift
upwards, sliding out of the boy’s wound like pus from a zit.  Eventually it
popped out of Sammie’s feet completely and cluttered to the floor.  The wound disappeared.

With
one last, final bellow, Sammie flew backwards through the air and hit the floor
with a resounding
thud!
  His tiny body went still.

Angela
shook and was unable to take a full breath.  Her vision blurred, spotted with
stars. She wondered if she was going to pass out.  When she was sure she was
not going to, Angela slowly climbed up onto her knees, and then her feet. 

Frank,
too, had managed to get himself standing, although he was favouring his left
leg which was obviously burning with pain.  He limped towards her, looking up
at one of the house’s many windows.  “Look,” he said, pointing.  “It’s getting
light again.”

Angela
looked outside. The moon was retreating and the sun rolled up to replace it. 
It was like being caught in some bizarre time-lapse nature documentary.  Before
they knew it, the day had finally arrived and the endless night was defeated. 
The house felt different, too.  The malignant veil which had seemed to hang
over everything had lifted. 

Angela
got herself together and hurried over to Sammie.  His tiny body had been
through a great deal and she wasn’t certain if he would survive fully intact. 
She knelt down beside him and saw immediately that things were different.  The
boy’s pallid skin was already beginning to fill with colour.  His crooked teeth
were straighter. His dark, sunken eyes were now a pleasant green.  The boy had
been cleansed; his body was once more his own.

Frank
came up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder.  “Is he…?”

“He’s
alive,” she quickly assured him, pointing to the steady rising and falling of
his chest.  “The blood exorcism worked.  The demon retreated.  Sammie is going
to be alright.”

“Thank
God,” said Frank, tears in his eyes.

“Yes,”
Angela agreed, smiling, with a warmth in her chest that had been absent for far
too long.  “Thank God indeed.”

Epilogue

Angela
lay, tucked-up, in the luxurious four-poster bed of her room. For the first
time since she’d arrived, she was actually managing to enjoy being at Raymeady
Manor, if only for a brief moment while resting. 

Angela
had decided to stay behind for a few days to help Frank put everything in
order.  There was a heavy police investigation going on and both Angela and
Frank had a lot of explaining to do.  That was beyond her concern, though.  She
knew now that God had never stopped watching over her and whatever was meant to
be would be.

The
best news to have come out of the last couple of days at the house was that Tim
was going to make it.  Apparently his awkward landing had taken the biggest
toll on his right leg, snapping it like kindling, but his other injuries were
far less severe: a couple of broken ribs and a nasty concussion.  He was going
to live, albeit with a life-long need of a walking stick. It was still a good
result as far as she was concerned.  Tim’s body may have been injured, but she
knew that his bravery in saving her had done a massive amount to repair his
damaged soul.  He would have no regrets.

Sammie
was doing well, too.  It turned out that he was actually a very shy boy at
heart with a kind, playful personality.  He’d stopped talking like an adult and
now exercised the type of vocabulary one would expect from a ten-year-old boy. 
He was looking a lot healthier, too.

Sammie
was now at least a stone heavier.  His rosy skin had filled out and was now
smooth and plump.  His near-nakedness had ceased and adequate clothing had
resumed.  All in all, Samuel Raymeady seemed like quite a normal little boy. Considering
what he’d been through, and that both his parents were dead, that was a miracle. 

Frank
had confided to her that he intended to fight for custody of the boy and raise
him as best he could.  Angela intended to help him with that cause in any way
she could.  There was also a part of her mind that was thinking of rejoining
the clergy, but that was something which would require more thought.