Sam: A Novel Of Suspense Page 6

  “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?”

  “I’m going to confront Ms Raymeady’s assumptions head on. If she believes there is some sort of demon at work then I will first seek to disprove that.”

  “How?”

  Tim smiled. “Best way to get a bear’s attention is to poke it.”

  Angela didn’t know what that meant, but she had a feeling things would only get weirder.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Angela sat patiently on an antique chair while Tim hefted his equipment up to the first floor. He was amassing it in a cluttered circle outside of Sammie’s room. Frank had agreed to help with the experiments and was currently inside with Sammie, setting up some infrared cameras, microphones, and seismographs. Tim had explained to her that he would be able to record the data and video feeds onto a laptop twenty-four hours a day. It all seemed like silly videogames to Angela – boys and their toys – but she was determined to show Tim, and his methods, the proper respect. They were colleagues after all.

  Tim came up the stairs, now on his fourth equipment run. This time he was carrying what looked like a doctor’s saddle bag. “That’s everything,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead with his free hand.

  Angela stood up from her chair and nodded to the satchel he was carrying. “What’s in the bag?”

  “Medical supplies. I want to see if Sammie is physically healthy before we explore anything else.”

  “Are you qualified to perform medical tests?”

  “Nope, but I haven’t been sued yet. Besides, it’s not as hard as it looks.”

  Frank opened the door to Sammie’s rooms and stepped outside to join them. “Your equipment is all set up. What’s all the rest of this junk you’ve left out here?”

  “Oh, you know, just an Ecto Containment Unit, proton packs, the usual.”

  Frank stared at Tim blankly.

  Tim shook his head and sniffed. “That was a joke. The small machine that looks like a coffee maker is a blood analyser. The larger machine on the right is an ultrasound machine and heart rate monitor.”

  “Where did you get all this stuff?” Angela asked.

  “Various places. Auctions mostly, but some stuff I got pretty cheap from China. They don’t give a shit who they’re selling to over there.”

  Angela stood beside one of the cherub statues outside Sammie’s door. “Let’s get started then.”

  Frank backed them as they walked into the bedroom. Tim brought his doctor’s bag with him and set it down on a nearby dresser against the wall. He opened the clasp at the top and pulled the two sides apart, then reached in and pulled out a syringe.

  “What do you plan on doing with that?” Frank demanded.

  “I thought I would use it to play darts.” He sighed. “What do you think I’m going to do with it? I’m going to draw some blood.”

  “He’s already been poked and prodded enough. I don’t know what you have to learn.”

  “Well,” said Tim. “If you don’t mind, I would like to take a small amount of blood anyway.”

  “You’re very welcome,” came Sammie’s reply from the far side of the room. The boy was looking out of the large bay window that stood in front of his crayon-covered desk. For the first time since Tim had arrived, Sammie was wearing clothes.

  Frank rubbed at his eyes and shrugged. The man seemed extremely tired. “Well, I suppose if Sammie doesn’t mind…just do what you need to do.”

  Tim nodded and headed over to Sammie, who had already rolled up one of his shirt sleeves to offer out his veiny arm. There was a knowing smile on the boy’s face that made Angela feel uncomfortable even from ten feet away and just observing.

  “Okay, Sammie,” Tim said soothingly. “This will just feel like a little pinch.”

  “It’s okay. Pain doesn’t bother me, Mr Golding. Go ahead and take your blood.”

  Angela watched in anticipation while Tim rubbed Sammie’s arm with a disposable swab. Next, he uncapped the syringe and placed the nib against the boy’s flesh. Angela moved up closer, mainly to get a closer look at Tim’s medical skills, but also because she wanted to be nearby if Sammie had another bout of aggression. She needed to watch Tim’s back the same way he had watched hers.

  Tim prodded the needle against Sammie’s skin, but there seemed to be resistance. The nib unable to penetrate the skin. Tim moved the needle away and repositioned it somewhere else along the boy’s arm. He pushed the needle again. Angela cringed as the needle scratched against flesh.

  Sammie was smiling politely. “Is there a problem, Mr Golding?”

  “I…er…I am finding it hard to break a vein.”

  “Perhaps you should try harder.”

  Tim cleared his throat and suddenly seemed very nervous. Angela wasn’t sure, but his hands might have been shaking as he continued struggling with the needle. He still seemed unable to break the skin.

  Tim prodded and poked, stabbed and pricked. Eventually the needle went in.

  It went in deep.

  A torrent of blood arced high into the air. The dark-red arterial spray soaked Tim’s face. He stumbled back, spluttering and spitting. His thighs hit against Sammie’s desk and he tumbled onto his knees.

  Angela ran forward to help her colleague, but quickly realised it was Sammie who needed the help. The boy was bleeding badly, his bodily fluids jetting into the air in a fountain of gore, puddling on the floor in a grisly lake.

  “Jesus Christ,” Frank shouted as he rushed across the room. “What the hell have you done? Jesus!”

  Sammie snarled at Frank as he approached and spat a mouthful of viscous black fluid right into his face. Frank clutched at his cheek and was clearly disgusted by the foul liquid that came away on his hands.

  “Blasphemer!” Sammie bellowed

  Angela stood still, in shock and unable to move.

  Then the bleeding stopped, as suddenly as it had started. The arc of blood disappeared as if someone had turned off a tap inside the boy’s heart. Sammie turned slowly to face the bay window and seemed almost to slither towards it. He sat down at the chair of his drawing desk and started sketching with his crayons. His bare feet had left blood prints on the plush cream carpet.

  “What the fuck just happened?” Frank shouted at the top of his lungs.

  “I have no idea,” said Tim. “A syringe can’t open up an artery like that. And bleeding that heavy doesn’t just stop either.”

  Angela bent forward, the tang of fresh blood taking her mind to a place of nightmares and misery. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Tim came and put an arm around her. “Come on. Let’s get out of here until we can
think this through.”

  “Yes,” said Sammie, sketching away calmly. “Why don’t you all just GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE AND LEAVE ME ALONE?”

  The boy’s voice was the deep baritone of a circus strongman, not that of a skinny, ten-year old boy. The words were so loud and full of bass that Angela’s ears rattled against her skull. The surprise of it stopped her dead in her tracks for a moment, but Tim gently pulled on her arm and got her moving again.

  “I don’t know if we should leave him,” she said. “Maybe we should go get a doctor.”

  Tim continued dragging her towards the door. “He’s fine. Look at him. It’s like nothing ever happened. Anyway, I got what I needed.”

  “And what was that?”

  “I got Sammie’s blood,” said Tim. “It’s all over me.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You need to get those con artists out of this house,” Frank told Jessica. She was currently lying in her bed, trying to sleep off a hangover. “They almost killed Sammie just now. There was blood everywhere.”

  Jessica sat bolt upright. The urgency returned to her eyes at the news of her son having been in danger. “What? Sammie? Is he okay? Frank, tell me.”

  Frank ran a hand over his throbbing forehead. “He’s fine, somehow. I don’t quite know what happened to be honest, but I know it started when that ginger-headed clown stuck a needle in your son’s arm.”

  “Where is everybody now?”

  “Sammie is drawing at his desk. Angela and Tim are somewhere in the house planning their next performance.”

  Jessica patted the bed beside her and, reluctantly, Frank sat down on the spot she’d indicated. Jessica began to rub his shoulders. “Frank, you promised me that you would give this a go. These two people are the only hope I have left. I know that you don’t agree with their methods, but let’s just see what they come up with. I fear Sammie is doomed otherwise.”

  “I think he’s in more danger since they turned up, but…” He sighed. It was pointless arguing, nor was it his place. “If that’s what you want, Jessica.”

  “Thank you, Frank.” She began kissing the nape of his neck and stroked his chest. He stood up quickly, not because he was adverse to her touch, but because he knew he couldn’t deal with the distraction right now.