Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (6 page)

After
Angela left in a fluster, Jessica sent Frank to retrieve her.  Now Tim was standing
in the room alone with the boy and his mother.

Jessica
was approaching Sammie gingerly, almost as if she feared him.  Tim stayed back by
the room’s entrance, examining the walls for anything that could help him form
a logical opinion on the boy’s behaviour and mind-set.  The kid was smart,
there was no doubting that.  There was perhaps a chance he was one of those brainiac,
savant kids, like Mozart, or Rain Man – that could explain his behaviour. 
There was also little doubt, however, Tim thought, that smart kid or not,
little Sammie was one disturbed mamajama. 

The
boy’s walls were plastered with paintings of monsters and bloody destruction. 
Tim could pick out pictures of dragons, gargoyles, wolf-monsters, and many
other creatures of the night that he couldn’t even recognise.  There were also
pictures of people: human bodies torn asunder and mutilated on spikes.  Tim
felt like he was standing inside an inmate’s cell at some high-security psych-ward
not a child’s bedroom.

“You
shouldn’t be so rude, Jessica.” Sammie chastised his mother as if
he
were the authority figure in the room.  “You haven’t introduced me to your new
friend.”

Jessica
turned around to peer at Tim and seemed extremely embarrassed.  “You’re right,
of course.  Where are my manners?  Sweetheart, this is Timothy Golding.  He’s
here to help Mommy with some things around the house.”

“What
things?” Sammie asked.  There was a sliver of aggression in his ten-year old
voice.

“Just…
things. 
You don’t need to worry.”

Tim
decided to start his investigation and asked his first question.  “Sammie, could
you tell me what you drew for Angela?”

Sammie
grinned at him, shrugged his bony shoulders.  “I just drew what my friend told
me to.  He wanted her to remember.”

Tim
nodded, but didn’t understand.  “Remember what?”

“Perhaps
you should ask
her
,” Sammie suggested. “It would be wrong of me to
discuss other people’s business.  Don’t worry, though. I’m sure I’ll find time
to draw something for you too.”

Tim
laughed.  “Funny, but that almost sounded like a threat.”

Sammie
giggled.  “Don’t be silly, Timothy.  I’m just a child.  What threat could I
possibly be to you?”

That’s
to be determined
, Tim thought as he battled a growing
feeling of apprehension.  The negative emotions rising from Sammie in noxious
waves were making Tim feel sick.  Other people may not have detected the
malodour, but Tim most certainly did.  Something was not right about the boy –
in fact, something was very wrong.  But there would be some rational
explanation, there always was, and Tim would find out what it was.  He always
did.

Almost
always.

“Do
you mind if I went and had a quick word with Angela?” Tim asked Jessica.  “Perhaps
I can get her to stay.”

Jessica
smiled at him and nodded enthusiastically.  “If you could I would be grateful.”

“I’ll
try my best.”  Tim left the woman alone with her son.  To be honest he was glad
to get out of there.  It was getting hard to breathe in the thick, bodily
stench of the room.

He
headed back over to the main hall and quickly realised he didn’t even know
where to find Angela.  The house was vast and easy to get lost in, but he
quickly had a thought that would help him.  There was an intercom set into the
wall by the foyer’s front doors and Tim dialled 904 on the keypad.  Frank
quickly picked up on the handheld receiver that Tim had seen the man carry.

“Hey,
Frank.  I wanted to talk to Angela.  Are you with her?  You are? Great.  Where
can I find you both?  Okay, I’ll see you there.”

Tim
hurried up the stairs.

According
to Frank, Angela was on the second floor in the Saunders Suite.  Tim had no
idea where that was, but he was sure he would find it.  The manor was a
labyrinth of corridors, but he was gradually beginning to get his bearings. 
The building was more or less a giant cube with four floors of luxury rooms.  How
Jessica could stand to live in such a voluminous house almost on her own, he
did not know.  Personally he would have gone crazy knocking around the mansion
all alone.

Maybe
she went crazy, too.  She does seem a little on edge.

The
Saunders Suite was up ahead. Tim rapped his knuckles against the door and it
quickly opened.  Frank stood in the doorway, blocking the room, but Angela was
nowhere to be seen. 

“She
won’t come out of the bathroom,” Frank explained, moving to let Tim inside.

“Is
she okay?” Tim asked.

“I
don’t know.  She was locked in there when I arrived.  I haven’t managed to get
her to come out and talk to me.”

“Okay. 
I’ll see if she’ll speak to me.”

Frank
shrugged.  “By all means.  Ms Raymeady really would prefer it if you both
stay.”

Tim
walked across the bedroom and stood outside the door to what was most likely an
en suite bathroom.  He tapped against the wood and tried to speak through it. 
“Angela?  It’s Tim.  I know we’ve only just met, but I was kind of hoping we
could talk.  To be honest, I think there may be something going on in this
house and I would prefer not having to figure it out on my own.  I’d like your
help.”

There
was silence.

Tim
tried harder.  “I…know there’s obviously something in your past that is making
you want to run away right now – I have a past too – but if you leave, then
you’re just letting yourself down.  If you run then your past is making a
coward out of you.  If you stay…well, then you’d have my thanks at the very
least.

The
door opened and Angela came outside.  She’d obviously been crying.  “You don’t
know anything about me, or my past.  Why are you so sure you want my help
anyway?”

“Because
Sammie went out of his way to freak you out, and that means you know something
about what’s going on – whether you realise it or not.  I don’t even know how a
ten year old boy can freak out a grown woman he’s just met, but I figure it
means he doesn’t want you here – which means that I do.  I heard about your
name being written in Sammie’s diary.  There’s a conflict happening somewhere,
because if Sammie summoned you here then he certainly didn’t act like he wanted
you here just now.  Whatever is going on obviously involves you, and I think
we’ll have a better chance of figuring it out if you stay.”

“I
can’t stay.”

“Look,”
said Tim.  “I don’t know what was on that drawing, but you’re not alone. 
Whatever happens, I’ll have your back.  Let’s figure things out and try and to
help this family.  Anyway, Frank told me we’re going to get paid a shit load of
money, so what’s to think about?  How ‘bout it?”

Angela
looked close to tears again, but she kept them back and nodded.  “Frank,” she
said, looking over at the silver-haired man.  “Could you give us both a minute,
please?  If I’m going to stay here then I’d like to know a bit more about the guy
offering to watch my back.”

Frank
obliged her and left the room.  Tim stepped over to the four-poster bed and perched
on the end of it.  Angela pulled up a chair that was tucked up beside a vanity
table.  She sat down on it and faced Tim.  It seemed like there were things she
wanted to know, questions she needed to ask.

“Why
are you all doing this to me?” was her first enquiry.

Tim
was confused.  “Hey, I’m as in the dark about all this as you are.  I didn’t
know anything about this until a couple days ago.  I figured I was just being
hired for a simple job, but then I realised it was all a big setup to bring me
here.”

Angela
frowned.  “You were set up?”

Tim
nodded.  “Well, yeah, sort of.  I guess in a way it was more of an informal
interview.  Frank and some woman were posing as a family with “ghost”
problems.  They called me to see whether I saw through their bullshit or not –
guess they wanted to see if I was a hustler.  I caught onto their scam in about
thirty-seconds flat.  So they brought me here.”

“Okay,”
Angela said after remaining silent for a few moments.  “Maybe you’re in the
dark as much as I am, but that doesn’t mean I trust
them
.  They’re up to
something, and for some reason they’ve got their sights set on me.”

“What
do you mean?”

“I
mean that they summoned me here specifically and then started playing games
with my head.  That picture… They must have looked into my past.  I just don’t
know the reasons why.”

“What
was on that picture that scared the heck out of you so much?” Tim asked.

He
didn’t expect her to trust him so soon, but it appeared that she was willing to
give him the chance.  She reached into her pocket and pulled out the slip of
paper with Sammie’s drawing on.  Tim looked at it and his eyes went wide. 

“Is
this…is this
you
, here in the corner?”

Angela
nodded and Tim looked closer.  The childish artwork depicted the interior of a Christian
church, complete with alter and oversized crucifix.  Tim assumed it was some
place Angela had once worked.  There were blood-soaked walls depicted by thick,
red crayon and a crudely scrawled carpet of stickmen-bodies making up the
bottom of the picture.  In the corner of the church was a doodle representing
Angela. Opposite was a tall man with bright red eyes, holding a knife.  The man
looked crazy and malevolent.

“What
is this supposed to mean?” Tim asked Angela.  “It’s sick, horrible.  Are these
bodies down there at the bottom?  What does this have to do with you?”

“This
drawing is a snapshot from my life,” she said.  “That picture happened to me
for real.  I was involved in a church massacre.”

“Jesus
Christ!”

“Jesus
had nothing to do with it,” she said.  “It was a parishioner named Charles
Crippley.  I was stationed in Jersey at the time.  It was a dream position: big
house, private island full of rich and generous parishioners. It was a cushy job. 
But I had one parishioner who was a bit of a handful.

Tim
nodded.  “Charles Crippley?”

“Yes. 
He was a local farmer, a quiet man, kept to himself.  Some people said that he was
mentally disabled, like a child in a man’s body. I have to admit that the man
was strange, but I didn’t think he was unintelligent.  He was more odd than
stupid.”

“How
was he odd?”

“He
spoke to an imaginary friend, for one thing.  Barley, he used to call him. 
Said that
Barley
was his friend.”

“Just
like Sammie says
he
has a friend?”  Tim ran a hand through his brittle,
ginger hair and wriggled his bony butt on the edge of the bed, trying to get
comfortable.  “That’s a coincidence I can’t say I like.” 

Angela
agreed with him.  “Exactly,” she said.  “That’s why I know this family is
messing with me.  They know that the church ordered me to perform an exorcism
to try and cure Charles Crippley of his delusions.  He had been brutalising the
livestock on his farm, and publically condemning people that he felt were
“sinners”.  The local community started to complain, so the diocese decided to
do something about it.  I visited Charles at home every day for over two weeks,
but every day he was worse.  He took to spitting at me and blaspheming.  He
became sickly and stopped looking after himself.  I performed The Rites on him several
times but they only seemed to exacerbate his condition.  His friend, Barley, was
becoming more and more present and all I felt like I was doing was bringing
something vile to the surface, like pus from an infected boil. But I continued
anyway, even when Charles said that Barley was going to punish me, along with
anyone who followed me.”

“So
what happened?”

“Sunday
services happened.  Charles wasn’t even there when I started, which was strange
because he was always one of the first to arrive.  I started more or less as
usual, and gave a sermon about the Good Samaritan and the importance of helping
your neighbour.  I was almost finished when Charles came down the aisle.  He
was shouting that we ‘were a flock of immoral lizards being led by a soulless
dyke’.  He knew I was a lesbian, even though I’d never admitted it to anyone at
that point.  In fact, I’m not sure I even knew
myself
back then.”

“That’s
weird,” Tim said.  “Maybe the guy had one of those gay-dars or something.”

Angela
took a deep breath and continued.  “As soon as he came in I noticed he was
carrying the knife.  It was one of those big, curved blades that they use in
slaughter houses.  He was blocking the doorway and shouting.  Then he got
started.  He killed nine people by the time he was done.  I was the only
survivor.”

“That’s
horrible,” Tim said, empathising with how Angela no doubt felt. Looking at her,
he could almost see the torment etched into the creases of her face.

Angela
blinked and a tear fell down her cheek.  “Enough,” she said, wiping it away.  “I’m
done with trips down memory lane.  My point was only supposed to be that Jessica
and Frank have done their homework. They’re using my past to try and manipulate
me.  Worst of all is that they’ve involved a ten-year old boy in their schemes. 
Did you see the shape Sammie was in?”