Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (8 page)

She
and Tim were back inside Raymeady Manor now, standing in its vast foyer.  There
was no one else around.

Tim
put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.  “It’s a bloody nightmare trying to
find people in this place,” he said.

“I
know,” Angela agreed.  “I’m not surprised Jessica’s on edge.  Empty houses have
a way of making people skittish – especially
old
empty houses.”

“You
think that’s what’s going on?” Tim asked her.  “Simple paranoia?”

“I
hope so, because what’s the alternative?”

Frank
appeared from the east side of the foyer, his polished work shoes clicking on
the marble.  “Miss Murs, Mr Golding.  I was beginning to wonder where you two
had gotten to.”

“Yeah,
sorry about that,” said Tim.  “We’re ready to see Sammie again now.”

Frank
nodded.  “Okay.  You may be wasting your time, though.  The boy likes to watch
South
Park
during the afternoons.  He can be quite unresponsive.”

Frank
led them back towards Sammie’s room on the first floor.  Even before they got
there, Angela could hear the television blaring.  She’d never watched
South
Park
herself, but she knew it was popular.  She also knew it wasn’t
suitable for a ten year old boy.

“Why
do you let him watch the program?  Isn’t it meant for adults?”

“It
is, yes, but he gets violent if you turn it off.”

Tim
scoffed.  “Violent?  Can’t you control him, a big man like you?”

Frank’s
expression was impassive.  He did not rise to the insult.  “Sammie is stronger
than he looks.”

They
arrived at Sammie’s door and Frank unlocked it, allowing them to step inside. 
Frank grinned at Tim and said, “I’ll leave you ‘experts’ alone to do your work.”

The
door closed behind them and suddenly Angela felt very claustrophobic – trapped
even.  The room was humid and tropical like a Florida storm.  Sammie was lying
in his bed, wrapped up to his neck in sweat-stained bed sheets.  A wall-mounted
television flashed in front of him, brightly-drawn cartoon characters
frolicking across the screen.

Angela
waved a hand.  “Hello, Sammie.  How are you feeling?”

The
boy said nothing.  His gaze was transfixed on the television, his eyes
unblinking.  Angela could not be sure, but he seemed to be muttering to himself
very quietly.

Tim
stepped forward and perched on the end of the boy’s bed.  “Hey, little man.  So,
you dig
South Park
, huh?  Who’s your favourite character?  I like
Cartman.”

Sammie
said nothing.

But
there was movement beneath his sheets.

Tim
continued his attempt to get through to the boy by trying to speak on a similar
level.  “Have they killed Kenny yet?  Huh?  Sammie, are you listening to me?”

The
movement beneath the bed sheets got faster. 

Suddenly
Angela realised what the movement was.  “Tim,” she said horrified. “My God, I
think he’s…”

Tim
stood up from the bed with a disgusted look on his face.  “Sammie, you stop
that right now.  That’s very rude.”

Angela
couldn’t believe the young boy was masturbating.  The sheets were moving up and
down rapidly, the small hand beneath pumping like a piston.

“Turn
off the television,” said Angela.  “He’s in a trance or something.”

Tim
looked around.  “I don’t see a remote.”

Angela
couldn’t see one either. She went over to the television and rose up on
tiptoes, reaching for the power button.  She jabbed it with her index finger
and
South Park
disappeared.

“Look
out,” Tim shouted from behind her.

Angela
turned around to see Sammie standing on the bed, his naked body taut like a
wild animal.  The boy wore only a pair of grimy underpants, which did nothing
to hide a virulent erection.  Sammie glared down at Angela and growled.  The
noise was guttural, unfit for a child.

Angela
raised her hands in front of her.  “Sammie, maybe you should just get back into
bed and we’ll talk.”

Sammie
leapt at her from the bed, seeming to hang in the air as he covered the ten
feet between them in a single bound.  His bony fingers closed instantly around
her throat. She was deafened by the high-pitched shrieks escaping the boy’s
lungs.  Her back hit the wall and, for a moment, she worried that the mounted television
would rock loose and fall on her head.

Tim
rushed over to help; the shock and surprise in his eyes palpable.  Together,
they struggled to remove Sammie’s clawed fingers from around Angela’s throat. 
The boy was trying to snap her windpipe with unnaturally strong hands.  Angela
tried to cry out, but her voice was restricted.  Her eyes felt like they were
popping loose from her skull.

Tim
grabbed Sammie’s left arm, tried to work it free, but failed to gain any
leverage.  Angela felt the blood vessels in her face overload as the pressure
rose in her head. Frantically, she clutched for an idea. 

She
stopped struggling with Sammie and pointed her left hand at the television
above her head, then made eye contact with Tim.  She tried to make him
understand without being able to tell him. 

After
what seemed like an eternity – Angela’s life choking away – Tim finally got
what she was trying to tell him. 

Tim
leapt up and bashed the television’s power button with his palm.

“Screw
you guys, I’m going home!”

The
television was back on.  Sammie released his grip.

Tim
placed a hand against the boy’s shoulder and eased him back towards the bed. Angela
slumped against the wall, clutching at her throat and hacking.  Her windpipe
felt like sandpaper.  Another couple of seconds and she would have been
unconscious for sure.

Or
worse.

Tim
got Sammie back into bed and came to check on Angela.  He helped her to stand
up by putting an arm around her.  “Hell’s bells, you okay?”

“I’ll
live,” she said, wondering if it were even true.  “I think so, anyway.  What
the hell
was
that?”

“I
don’t know, but he’s the strongest ten-year old I know.  If he hadn’t let go, I
don’t know what I would have done.  We need to be more careful from now on.”

“No
shit,” said Angela, fingering her bruised throat.  Her mouth had filled with
saliva.

“Come
on.”  Tim took her away from Sammie’s bed.  “Let’s go get you checked out.”

“I’m
fine,” she said, but quickly reconsidered.  “Although, I could use a drink.”

Tim
looked at his watch.  “It’s one in the afternoon.”  Then he smiled.  “What took
you so long?”

Angela
let out a laugh and wasn’t surprised to find that it hurt a lot.

CHAPTER TEN

When
Angela and Tim entered the lounge they were surprised to find Jessica there
sitting alone.  The lady of the house had a half-finished bottle of white wine
in front of her and was nursing an empty glass as though she was contemplating
whether or not to pour another.

Angela
took a seat beside Jessica while Tim went behind the bar to get drinks.  They’d
agreed to have just one, considering the early hour. “Are you okay, Jessica?” Angela
asked.

Jessica
returned a grim smile.  “I’m fine.  Just, you know, thinking about things.  I
used to be able to do my thinking
without
alcohol, but lately things
have become…
fuzzy.
  It’s hard to think straight in this place since my
husband passed.”

Angela
nodded.  “I can imagine.  Have you thought about living somewhere else?”

“I
have, but this was Joseph’s home.  It wouldn’t feel right to sell it.  Anyway,
it’s still in probate for the time being while the lawyers sort out my late
husband’s estate.  Perhaps I’ll think more about it then.”

Tim
sat down with the drinks: a whisky for Angela and a beer for him. Then he said,
“We went to see Sammie again.”

Jessica
sighed.  “I hope you didn’t turn off his program.”

“We
did,” Tim said.  “Won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m
sorry if either of you were hurt.  I’ll tell Frank he needs to pay closer care
to the both of you.”

“Don’t
worry about it,” said Angela, rubbing her sore neck.  “What was more concerning
was what he was doing
while
he was watching the television.”

“I
know what you’re referring to,” said Jessica, the shame abundant in her eyes. 
“He started
touching
himself a few weeks ago.  The first time he did it,
the maids were still here.  He ejaculated into his hand and threw it into one
of the lady’s faces.  That was the last we saw of her, of course.”

“Don’t
worry, I’m sure it wasn’t her first time,” said Tim, but then seemed instantly
embarrassed by what he had said.  “Sorry.  Bad joke.”

“Indeed,”
said Jessica.  “None of this is very funny to me, Mr Golding.  The only reason
you are here is because of the success you have had with finding rational
explanations behind some very high profile cases.”

“I
apologise, Ms Raymeady.  It’s not my intention to offend you.”

“That’s
quite alright.  So, have you formed any opinions about my son yet?  Can you
help?”

Tim
shook his head and let out a sigh.  “I really don’t know, but I will try my
best.  I think it’s safe to say that something very strange is happening to
him.  I for one would like to know what.”

“Me
too,” said Angela.  “I’m determined to stay and get to the bottom of this.”

Jessica
seemed to lighten at the sound of that.  “So you’ll perform an exorcism?”

Angela
frowned.  “I didn’t say that.  I’m not about to admit that Evil has anything to
do with this.”

Jessica
seemed frustrated.  “Then what help
are
you going to provide?”

“I’ve
a lot of experience with sick people behaving in bizarre ways.  I’m certain my
observations will tell me more about what is wrong with your son.  I won’t need
a Bible to help you.”

“And
I’ll run some tests,” said Tim.  “Try to find out if there’re any environmental
factors for what is going on.”

Jessica
let loose a breath and it whistled between her teeth.  “Thank you, both.  Now,
if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go have a lie down now that‘s settled. 
Please don’t hesitate to contact Frank if you need anything.”

“Will
do,” said Tim, waving goodbye.  Once Jessica was gone, he turned to Angela with
a sad look on his face.  “Poor lady.  I think she’s at breaking point.”

Angela
agreed.  “Can’t say I blame her.  This whole thing is very strange.”

“You
ever see anything like it before?”

“I’ve
seen a lot of messed up things in my time, none of which I wish to speak of now.”

Tim
looked her in the eye.  “Do you believe in Evil?  Did you ever do a
real
exorcism?”

“I…yes,
I believe so.  Once.”

Tim
nodded.  “Charles Crippley?”

“Yes,
but it’s a story for another time.  Have you ever encountered a genuine case of
– what do you call it – the paranormal?”

“I’ve
seen a few things, here and there, which I can’t explain.  Most of the time,
though, it’s just hoaxes and superstition.  There was one time, though…”

Angela
leant forward.  “Go on.”

Tim
shrugged and seemed to change his mind about wanting to talk about things. 
“Well, let’s just say that at the beginning of my career I was indeed a conman,
just like Frank thought I was when he booked my services.  I was screwing
people over, left and right, playing off their grief to get their money.  Truth
be told I was a pretty reprehensible piece of shit, but one night in a hotel
changed my entire outlook on life.  Now I try to help people.  I try to find a
rational explanation for the things that are scaring them.  Ninety-nine per
cent of the time I manage to do just that.  The other one per cent keeps me
awake at night.”

Angela
let out a joyless chuckle.  “Funny in a way, because I feel like I used to be
nothing but a conman too, back when I worked with the church.  I played off of
people’s grief and gave them the same line of bullshit that you probably did. 
I just wrapped it up in a different bow.”

“Guess,
we’re going to make pretty good partners then, huh?”

Angela
shrugged her shoulders and felt a knot come loose from her injured neck
muscles.  “Think the jury is still out on that one for the time being.”

Tim
nodded, then stared into space for a moment as he seemed to turn over a thought
in his mind.  Eventually he said, “So what’s the plan?  You have any ideas how
to tackle this?”

Angela
shrugged.  “I just plan on spending time around Sammie.  See what I can
observe.  When I was enlisted as an exorcist I took an interest in psychology; I
thought it would be pertinent.  In most cases a person’s mind is a lot more
likely to be damaged than their soul is.  Anyway, what about you?  What ‘tests’
are you going to perform?”