Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (29 page)

Frank
looked up at Tim and offered a thin smile.  “Still can’t say I trust either one
of you, but I’m not going to kid myself any longer by saying things weren’t
already bad before you got here.  I’ve failed to protect Joseph’s family, so I
think it’s time somebody else took over.  I just hope that whatever Angela is
planning does some good.  I’ve seen enough death to last me a thousand
lifetimes – my days in the army were bad enough – but I can honestly take no
more.”

“You
were a soldier?” Tim asked.  “That figures.”

“What
figures?”

“Why
you’re so bloody intimidating.  You’ve killed men, haven’t you?  That type of
thing clings to a man – colours his soul.  Not everyone can sense it, but I
can; you reek of death.”

Frank
seemed far off for a moment as if his mind was someplace else.  Then he scowled
at Tim.  “You’re right, I’ve killed men – but never once have I killed a man
that wouldn’t have killed me first.  I was a soldier.  It was my job.”

“Still,”
said Tim.  “Job or no job, it’s never easy to know people are dead because of
you.”

“What
would you know about it,” Frank snapped.

Tim
sighed.  “More than you’d think.  At least when you took lives you were a hero
and not a coward.”

Frank
softened for a moment, but then shook his head and resumed his anger.  “If
you’re looking for a therapist I can recommend one, but please spare me your
catharsis.”

Tim
put his hands up.  “Fair enough.  Guess I was just trying to pass the time.  I
blabber when I’m nervous, and right now I’m so nervous I could shit my pants.”

“Well,
I hope you can restrain yourself,” said Frank.

“So,”
Tim said, deciding to change the subject. “What really happened to you on the
road?  You were gone a long time, hombre.”

Frank
sighed and rolled his eyes.  “To be honest with you, I don’t know what happened
on the road, but I do know one thing: something wanted me dead, and it used
Joseph’s memory to try and make it happen.”

“And
let me guess,” said Tim.  “That was a BIG mistake?”

Frank
sneered, but it wasn’t aimed at Tim.  “The biggest.”

Tim
ran his hand over the top of a nearby candle and let the kiss of heat against
his palm remind him that he was awake, not dreaming.  Then he scratched at the
ginger stubble on his chin and whispered something to Frank so that Sammie could
not hear.  “What are you going to do when all this is over?”

Frank
shrugged.  Tim didn’t think the guy really cared about what happened to him,
but he’d asked the question now, so he waited. 

“I
don’t know,” Frank said eventually.  “I expect I’ll be arrested.”

“Probably,”
said Tim.  “But don’t worry, Angela and I will tell the police what happened. 
You were just saving Sammie’s life from the crazy mamajama who had just killed
his mother.  You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I
doubt they’ll take much pity on me.  Britain’s richest woman is dead and her
son is now an orphan.  They’ll want to send someone down for it, and a dead
killer won’t be enough for them.  Someone will need to suffer to appease their
sense of justice.”

Tim
had a thought.  “Hey, do you know who Sammie’s real father is?”

Frank
shook his head.  “No.  Jessica confided in me once that Joseph wasn’t Sammie’s
biological father, but that was after her husband’s death.  She felt guilty and
wanted to confess, I think.”

“Makes
you wonder, though” said Tim.  “Maybe his real father was more than just some
stranger.”

“I’m
not sure I know what you mean,” said Frank.  “But let’s not discuss a dead
man’s family.  It’s disrespectful.”

Tim
understood and decided to leave it.  The more he learned about Frank, the more
he realised the guy was just another confused victim.  There wasn’t anything he
was hiding.

At
least nothing that’s any of my business.

Tim
went and took a seat at Sammie’s drawing desk then swivelled around so that he
was directly facing the boy in his bed.  The last thing Tim was willing to do
was sit with his back to Sammie.  Angela seemed to have faith she could save
the kid from whatever ancient demon
Chamuel
represented – if that was in
fact the dealio - but Tim wasn’t expecting things to end well.  Regardless of
whether or not Sammie was possessed, one thing was for the sure:

That
kid is dangerous.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Angela
had lied when she’d said she needed to get some things.  She had all the things
she needed: her Bible, her faith, and the ceremonial dagger to be used in the
blood ritual.  The real reason she had left the two men alone with Sammie was
that she needed a few moments to prefer herself mentally.  After all the death
and bloodshed, Angela’s resolve had wavered.  She was ashamed to say it, but
she was afraid.  She didn’t know if God’s protection could penetrate the
malevolence that had afflicted the Raymeady family.  She felt like she was in
the lion’s den about to be eaten.

When
Angela had left Sammie’s room she’d headed back down the grand staircase.  She now
stood in the piano lounge, trying to ignore the stench of blood.  Jessica lay
on the floor, her body twisted, her face staring blankly up at the ceiling. 
Angela reached down and dragged the woman’s legs so that they both pointed
straight.  Then she positioned Jessica’s arms over her chest and closed the
dead woman’s eyes.

Angela
knelt beside the body and closed her own eyes, clasped her hands together in
prayer.

“May
the road rise up to meet you.

May
the wind be always at your back.

May
the sun shine warm upon your face;

the
rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again,

may
God hold you in the palm of His hand.”

The
old Gaelic blessing that Angela had learned as a child was not the typical way
to bless a soul’s passing, but it seemed like something Jessica would have
liked.  It made Angela feel better knowing that something had been said to mark
the woman's passing.

Now
I just need to say a prayer for myself.

She
thought that Bon Jovi had said it best:

We’ve
got to hold on ready or not.

You
live for the fight when it’s all that you’ve got.

Angela
sung the next line out loud like a war cry, “Wooah, living on a prayer,” and
then went to leave the room.  She was ready, she was pumped, but once she’d
taken a few steps, she stopped.

Mike
lay face up on the ground where they had left him.  Angela looked down at him
and wondered what had led him down the path he’d chosen.  Mike had killed
Jessica, yes, but he had seemed afraid, panicked.  Whatever his sins, he was a
human being that obviously had his own reasons for what he’d done.  Angela
knelt down beside him.

“I
am the resurrection and the life.  He who believes in me will live, even though
he dies; says the Lord.”

Mike’s
eyes snapped open.  “Angela!”

Angela
fell backwards onto her hands.  A jolt of agony shot up her wrist.  Mike lifted
his crooked face and glared at her.  He was alive.

No. 
No, he’s dead.

Mike’s
swollen eyes were rolled back in his head, showing only the bloodshot whites. 
His ruined mouth worked silently as if it were being operated by gears and
cogs.  Looking closely at the man, Angela knew without a doubt that he was
indeed dead as she knew he had to be.  Yet he was sat up and looking at her now.

In
a raspy voice Mike spoke to her.  “Time is running out.  Hisss power is
growing.  You must ssslay the beassst.”

Angela
stared at Mike’s body, shocked to see his human flesh being manipulated like a
puppet.  “The beast?  How do I slay the beast?”

Mike’s
eye sockets began to bleed and his lips twitched and contorted.  “You musssst
separate the beasssst…from the pure one.”

Angela
nodded.  “I know.  I’m going to perform an exorcism right now.”  She couldn’t
believe she was having a conversation with a dead man.  “But who are you?”

Mike’s
teeth began to fall from his mouth, one at a time, plinking on the tiles like
notes on a xylophone.  His entire face was gradually crumbling to pieces.  “You
mussst…ssslay the beast.  Exorcisssm…not enough…”

Mike’s
lower jaw hung down low and then dislocated from his head.  It fell to the
floor with a c
lunk!  
Then Mike’s body collapsed, face down, on the
floor.

Angela
sighed. 
Guess that’s the end of that conversation.

What
exactly had the message meant, and who had given it to her?  Was it Sammie,
Chamuel, or somebody else?

The
conversation had given Angela more questions than answers, but one part of it
gave her cause for concern:
Exorcism…not enough.
  Whatever that meant,
it indicated that there were more trials ahead of her than she’d expected.  She
would still go ahead as planned, though, for she had no other plan.  The only
thing she had been told to do was:
separate the beast from the innocent
,
and that sounded like an exorcism as far as she was concerned.  So that was
what she was going to do.

Angela
clutched the ceremonial dagger beneath her cassock and dragged herself up off
the floor.

CHAPTER FORTY

Tim
jumped out of his skin when Angela arrived back at Sammie’s room.  It wasn’t because
she had opened the door so forcefully; it was more because his nerves had
become so taut that a fly on a windowpane would have been enough to make him
flinch.  It was the effect of being around Sammie; the impossibility of feeling
anything close to calm, safe, or in control.

“Everything
been okay in here?” Angela asked as she walked into the room.

“Yeah,
nobody died, if that’s what you mean?” Tim didn’t mean it humorously.

Angela
gave him a reassuring smile and it actually succeeded in putting his mind a
little at ease.  Something about Angela’s current manner gave Tim hope that
things might just work out okay.  Perhaps it was because she always seemed so
sure that things would be okay.  As much as Tim expected the worst, Angela
expected the best.

“Did
you get everything you needed?” Tim asked her.

“I’ve
got everything I need.  We should begin.”

Tim
swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded.  “Ready when you are.  Just let me
know what you need.”

“I
just need you to be vigilant,” she said.  “Do not touch Sammie, do not speak to
Sammie, and whatever happens you must not interfere.”  She looked at Frank specifically
when she’d given the last order.

Frank
sighed, but gave a nod of compliance.

“Okay,
then.  Let’s begin.  I’ll start by talking to Sammie.  I need to try and learn
as much about the entity inside of him as I can.  Knowledge will be power if a
battle of wills ensues.”

Tim
wanted to get himself into the habit of remaining silent so he made no reply. 
He simply smiled; a gesture of solidarity for Angela that he was there if she
needed him.  Frank was standing beside Tim and gave no such gesture himself,
but it seemed that he was at least onboard for the time being.

Angela
pulled the chair away from the drawing desk and dragged it up beside Sammie’s
bed.  She plonked herself down on it and leant forward.  “Sammie,” she said
quietly.  “What is your favourite thing?”

Sammie
looked at her, grinned, and immediately said, “
South Park
.”

“Why? 
Why do you like
South Park
?”

“Because
it shows me what the world is like.”

Angela
frowned.  “I don’t think so. 
South Park
is a cartoon.  It’s not real
life.”

“I
disagree.  It is more like real life than you realise.  Prejudice, sex, drugs,
violence; it is all happening behind every closed door, yet I am stuck here
unable to experience anything of life.”

“Does
that make you angry, Sammie?  That you don’t get to leave the house?”

“No,
not angry.  My time will come.  Until then, it appears that I am not the only
one who cannot leave this house.”

“Is
it you that’s keeping us trapped inside, Sammie?”

“No.”

Tim
shook his head in the background. 
Lying, little shit.

Angela
nodded thoughtfully.  “Okay, then.  You know, if we could get out of here, we
could go get help.  Your mother has been hurt.”

“My
mother had been killed,” Sammie corrected her bluntly.

“How
do you feel about that?”

“Sad,
of course.  She was my mummy.  I loved her.”

Tim
couldn’t believe how much the boy’s voice lacked conviction.  It was as if he
were reading the words from a script. 
How To Behave Like A Ten Year Old Boy
101.