Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (7 page)

Tim
sighed.  “I’m not so sure you’re on the right track here, Angela.  My bullshit
meter is pretty sensitive and I think Jessica is legitimately worried.  You
must sense how utterly strung-out the woman is?  It’s clear as day. And as for Sammie,
there’s no way they could coax a kid his age to behave the way he has been. 
There’s something just not right with him, and that’s why we’re here – to help
figure things out.”

“If
Sammie is so innocent then how did he know what happened in Jersey?  He must
have been briefed.”

Tim
shrugged.  “I don’t know, but we can find out the answer together.  If I get one
whiff that we’re being played for fools then I will walk right out that door
with you.  But until then, I would rather
have
your help than not.”

Angela
finally gave in.  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll stay.”

Tim
stood up and clapped his hands together.  “Great!  Because I could do with some
help setting up my equipment.”

Angela
frowned at him.  “Equipment?”

He
winked at her.  “It’s time to blind them with science, my lesbian friend.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

Angela
had decided to stay behind in her room to have a bath before doing anything
else, so Tim left her alone to enjoy her soak. He’d since made the journey down
to the Manor’s driveway and was heading over to his parked-up transit van. 
Beside it was the long black Mercedes in which Frank had led him there two
nights previous.  The five-door saloon was as financially-indulgent as the house
and grounds were.  At the edge of the pebbled driveway was a garage block, and
beyond that was a modest pond.  The water’s surface was devoid of ducks or
other wildlife, which seemed strange for the time of year.

Tim
reached into his pocket and pulled out the key for the van.  He disengaged the
lock and opened the rear doors.  A wide smile stretched across his face and he
said, “There you are, my babies.”

The
back of the van was really Tim’s office, full of his gadgets and gizmos.  The
intention of his various investigations was always to debunk claims of the
supernatural or paranormal, and science – along with common sense – was the
best way to do it.  His equipment included audio recording equipment, an infrared
camera, microscopes, barometers, thermometers, a motion detector, assorted
chemicals, and many other tools that would allow him to separate the “normal”
from the “para-normal”.  For now, all Tim wanted was his environmental testing
kit.  It would be best to start by investigating the grounds and working
inwards towards the house.

He
rummaged around and picked out a small plastic clip-case, then closed the doors
to the van.  The nearby duck pond was as good a place as any to start
investigating so he decided to head there first.  Maybe he could find out why
the peaceful habitat was devoid of wildlife when it should have been teeming
with the various species of birds, rabbits, frogs, and other creatures that inhabit
the English countryside.

Tim
detected a sharp odour as he approached the water’s edge.  It was a mild tang;
subtle, yet faintly eggy like the fumes from an exhaust pipe.  The pond water lay
still, undisturbed by the light breeze of the day.

Tim
crouched down on the bank and unclipped the plastic clip-case.  From its
contents he plucked a strip of litmus paper and doused it in the pond water. A
few seconds later he waved it to-and-fro in the air.  A few more seconds after
that, Tim examined the strip of paper and saw that it had turned a dark red. 
Acidic
. 
Factoring in the eggy smell, Tim suspected sulphur.  It could have been used by
the gardeners to alter the pH of the soil, especially if there was a high lime
content.  It could then have seeped through into the pond, which would explain
why there was no wildlife, but as Tim looked around he saw no attempt at
planting vegetables.

He
headed away from the pond, just a few meters, over to a patch of grass. He
knelt down again, picked up a few grains of soil and cupped them in his palm.  Next,
he produced a slim, plastic test tube from his testing kit and dropped the granules
inside.  Finally, he added some litmus flour to the soil sample and some pure
water from a small flask.  Rattling the test tube around for a couple of
seconds, he then waited for the solution inside to settle.  Just like the pond water,
the soil was acidic.  The liquid in the test tube had turned red.

There
was a noise behind Tim, making him spin around.  The hissing sound was coming
from the pond.  He took a step back towards the water’s edge and saw that the
surface of the pond had become unsettled.  At first it just shimmered, but then
it began to bubble and pop like soup in a cauldron.  The pond was beginning to
boil.  Tim could feel the heat coming off it. The smell of eggs grew to
eye-watering levels.

What
the Hell…

Tim
crept closer to the water, staring into its murky depths.  He got down on his
hands and knees, moved his face closer.  The pond continued to churn, frothing
violently, almost as if it could detect his increasing proximity.  He’d never
seen anything like it.  Even if there was some sort of gaseous vent heating the
pond, there was no way it could have gotten heated so fast.

The
water hissed louder.

And
then suddenly it was airborne.

Several
fist-sized drops of boiling water flew toward Tim’s overhanging face.  He swung
an arm up to shield himself but wasn’t quick enough.  Some of the liquid got
through his defence and splashed against his face.  The soft flesh of his cheek
and forehead stung in agony.

Tim
leapt backwards and twisted to the ground, holding his face in his hands.  “Goddamn,
motherf-”  He screamed out in pain.

“TIM! 
Tim, are you okay?”

It
was Angela’s voice.  Tim felt the woman hit the ground beside him and put her hands
on him. She forced him over onto his back. He still clutched at his face and
struggled to tell her what had happened.  “The water.  It, it…burned me.”

“What
are you talking about?” 

“The
pond.  The pond is hot.”

“I
don’t understand.”  She sounded frantic.  “The pond is hot?”

The
pain in Tim’s face lessened a little and he removed his hands tentatively and
pointed to the pond.  “The pond is boil-”  He stopped mid-word.  The pond was
normal again;  its surface as still and serene as a painting.  It was also full
of fish.  Goldfish zipped through the water merrily, flitting back and forth. 
Tim thought he even spotted a family of newts at the pond’s edge. 

Tim’s
mouth started working back and forth, but no sound came out.

“What’s
wrong?”  Angela asked him.  “I don’t understand what’s happened.”

Tim
tried to catch a breath and calm himself down.  “I…Oh, hellski, I don’t have a
clue.   Maybe I’m losing it.”  His face no longer burned and, as he fingered
the skin of his cheeks, it felt completely normal.  “Can I ask you a question,
Angela?”

“Of
course.”

“What
does my face look like?”

Angela
looked confused, but she gave him an answer.  “Ugly, same as usual.”

Tim
laughed.  “Cheers.  No…burn marks, or anything, though?”

Angela
shook her head.  “You want to tell me what happened?”

Tim
heaved himself up onto his feet and shook his head.  “Nothing happened.  At
least it appears that way.  Come on, let’s go back inside the house.”

Angela
didn’t ask him any more questions about it, but as they walked away, she
stopped and pointed down at something on the ground.  It was his environmental
testing kit.  “Do you need that?” she asked him.

“No,”
Tim replied.  “I’m beginning to think that my usual methods might not be as
effective as I hoped they would be.”

“Guess
you need a Plan B then.”

Tim
scratched at his fuzzy beard.  “To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever needed a
Plan B before.”

“I’m
going to take that as a bad sign,” said Angela.

“Yeah,”
replied Tim, thinking about things a little deeper.  “Me too.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Frank
unlocked the door to the Security Office and stepped inside wearily.  He hadn’t
slept in over twenty-four hours, too mistrustful of the recent house guests to
allow himself to sleep.  He would need to set some time set aside soon – his
mind was beginning to get cloudy – but right now there was too much going on. 

Frank’s
main priority now was the protection of Ms Raymeady and her son.  With a disgraced
priest and a professional ghost hunter-come-whackjob in the house, Frank needed
his mind fresh and alert.  He needed to be ready for any tricks the two charlatans
might pull.  While Tim had proven himself previously to be a man that looked
for facts rather than fantasy, Frank still did not trust him.  He didn’t trust
either of them.  If Jessica wanted them here then that was her prerogative, but
it didn’t mean he had to like it.

Then
again, he didn’t have any better ideas to help young Sammie.  The boy was a
grade-A nutcase heading for life in the funny farm, but he was also Joseph
Raymeady’s son and the only existing link to a man that Frank had spent the
last ten years serving.  He would do what he could to protect Sammie, but at
this point he had to admit that things were looking pretty hopeless.

Frank
took a seat at his desk and gave a quick glance to each of the CCTV monitors in
front of him.  The house seemed to be in order for now.  Mike and Graham were
in the kitchen fixing another batch of their gluttonous sandwiches to take out
to the car.  Jessica was in the piano lounge with a large glass of wine, per
usual.  The two tricksters, Tim and Angela, were currently walking around the
grounds, thick as thieves. 
No doubt colluding on whatever con they’re about
to spin. 
Finally, Frank checked on Sammie.  The boy was in his room (which
was now more of a dirty cell) scribbling away at his desk. 

The
boy had a sick mind, that was for sure.  The things he drew were obviously the
concoction of a deeply disturbed mind.  They were also frighteningly astute. 
Frank himself had received many sketches from the boy and they had shown things
from his days serving in the Army.  He drew scenes of torture in Sierra Leone
one day and then dead children in Northern Island the next.  The one thing the
pictures always had in common was that Frank had seen them all first hand.  It
was as if Sammie was reaching into Frank’s nightmares for artistic inspiration,
presenting him with the faces of all the men who had died fighting at his side.

The
worst picture Sammie had drawn for Frank had featured a soldier firing cartoon
bullets into a pregnant woman. The foetus was spilling from her guts and
landing on the sandy floor in a sickly pile.  Frank knew the soldier was him. 
What he did not know was how Sammie could have seen his darkest secrets.  The
secrets from the day he led his men into a quiet little village that had seemed
safe but was, in fact, nothing but a trap.  His bad decision making had cost
lives, and a pregnant woman her baby.

One
of the television screens flickered. 

Frank
gave the monitor a tap, but it just made things worse.  The picture had become
scrambled with static.  Frank hit the monitor again, harder, and then flinched in
his seat.  The picture suddenly snapped back into focus. Sammie was no longer
at his desk. The boy was now just ten feet away from the CCTV camera lens,
staring up at Frank and grinning.  His eyes were dark orbs and his teeth jutted
out from swollen, brown gums.

Frank
leant closer to the screen, trying to work out what the boy was doing.  Sammie
was inching closer and closer to the camera, which Frank knew for sure was a
good eight feet off the ground.  It was almost as if the boy was levitating. 
Getting closer and closer…

Crack! 

The
monitor’s screen split from corner to corner, a deep furrow carved into the
glass.

Frank
leapt back in his chair.  The screen was shattered, struck by an invisible
hammer.  Frank was silent.  There was nothing that he could say, alone as he
was in the room.  Instead he chose to sit and think for a moment, twiddling his
fingers as he processed the facts in his mind.  From the way things were going
it could well turn out to be another twenty-four hours before he got any sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

Angela
was still freaked out by the picture Sammie had drawn her – and the incident
with Tim and the pond had done nothing to calm her nerves – but she was now
determined to take charge of the situation.  She would not be manipulated or
frightened.  If this was all just one big set-up then she would make sure those
responsible regretted it, and if not…  Well, if not then Angela was determined
to get to the bottom of things.

The
only person she trusted right now was Tim, and that was only because he seemed
as freaked out as she was.  There was little doubt in her mind that he was here
for the same reasons that she was (primarily money) and for now she was willing
to work with the dishevelled young man.