Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (5 page)

Angela
shot the man a questioning look.  “Commotion?”

“Yes,”
said Frank.  “He likes to quote the Bible, despite never having read it to my
knowledge.  He can get quite…animated.”

“Okay,”
said Angela.  “Could you do me a favour?”

“Of
course.”

“Write
down the passages he mentions. It would be interesting to see which parts of
the Bible he’s focused on.”

“Will
do,” said Frank. Then he left.  Angela got ready for bed.

CHAPTER FIVE

Angela
was woken at 7AM according to her cheap CASIO watch. Once again, Frank had been
at her door, this time with a tray of toast and orange juice, and once again he’d
worn the same begrudging expression on his face.  The poor guy really was
having to pick up the slack for all the people who had left.

“Hey,
Frank.  Did you get any sleep yourself last night?”

“I
got ten minutes here and there.  Don’t worry about me, though.  Did you sleep
well?”

“I
sure did.”  In fact Angela had slept like a log. The bed was so comfy that she
hated having to leave it to face the day. She’d been mindful of listening out
for Sammie’s religious tirades during the night, but once she’d slid between
the sheets she had pretty much slept right through (fully clothed as well, for
lack of having any night clothes).

“Ms
Raymeady will meet you in the lounge where you shared a drink last night,” said
Frank. “Along with a colleague you’ll be working with.”

“A
colleague?”

Frank
nodded and seemed to be trying to keep back a grin.  “Yes, a young man named
Tim Golding.  I’ll leave you to find out about him directly.  He’s…enthusiastic,
I suppose.”  Frank turned and walked back down the hallway. If Angela wasn’t
mistaken she was sure she could hear the man laughing.

Obviously
I’m not in on the joke.

She
spent the next five minutes freshening up in the en suite’s sink, before
polishing off the toast and juice and preparing to leave.  Once ready, she exited
the room and stepped out into the hallway.  She then realised she was lost. 
The burgundy carpet stretched on in both directions, turning a corner at each end. 
Angela couldn’t remember which direction she’d come from the previous evening,
so had to randomly choose to go left.  As it turned out, the corridor wrapped
around and led to the main balcony and staircase from both sides. If she had
gone right she would have ended up in the same place, just coming from the
other direction.

Angela
headed downwards, continuing past the first floor and arriving on the well-lit ground
floor.  Her footsteps echoed as they fell upon the marble tiles of the vast foyer.
It was like being an ant inside a vast catacomb, doors and hallways leading off
in a hundred directions.  Angela remembered that the piano lounge was located
at the rear of the staircase and made her way over there.  Through the door’s
glass panes she could see Jessica and Frank sitting at a table together, along
with a scruffy-haired ginger-nut in his early twenties.

Angela
pushed open the door and immediately all eyes were on her.  Jessica was
smiling, but the weariness in her eyes made the expression unconvincing.

“Can
I get you anything to drink, Miss Murs?” Frank asked.

Angela
waved a hand and said, “I’m fine, thanks.  I’m ready to get started.”

Jessica
gestured to the scruffy-haired man at her side.  “Have you met Tim yet?”

Angela
shook Tim’s hand and sat down.  “Not yet.  I’m Angela.  Pleased to meet you,
Tim”

“Pleased
to meet you too, Angela.  Looking forward to working together.”

“And
how exactly will we be working together?”

“Tim
here is a debunker,” Frank explained.  “He will be using scientific methods to
monitor Sammie’s condition, while you use more…”

“Spiritual
methods,” Jessica finished.

“So
you’re here to regulate my religious mumbo jumbo, Tim.  Is that it?”

The
scruffy man held his hands up in defence.  He was wearing a green t-shirt with
a large picture of the Incredible Hulk on it.  “Hey, I’m just here for a
paycheque.  I’ll just be doing my thing while you do yours.”

Angela
wasn’t convinced.  “And what is your
thing
?”

Tim
shot her a goofy, lopsided grin and said, “Science, baby!  I’ve found that you
can disprove ninety-nine per cent of paranormal “phenomena” just by using
everyday scientific procedures.  People get freaked out over the slightest
thing, and then they stop looking for the simple answers in front of them and
allow their imaginations to get the better of them.  But there’s always a
reasonable explanation.  My job is to find it.”

“Well,
at least we’re in agreement there,” said Angela.  “I’m not here to provide any
kind of catharsis or religious endorsement.  I intend to be brutally honest
about what I find.”

Jessica
nodded and took a sip from a glass of what looked like vodka.  Angela realised
then that the woman was slightly tipsy.  Her skittish pupils were a dead
giveaway.  “That’s all I ask of you, Angela.  I just want to know what’s wrong
with my boy.”

“Then
perhaps we should go and see him.”

“Agreed,”
said Jessica, necking back her drink.  “We’ll go and see him now.”

The
group stood up from the table and Jessica led them back out into the foyer. 
From the way the woman was walking, Angela could tell she was apprehensive. 
Her agitated gait was bordering on manic.  The alcohol in her system, so early
in the morning, probably didn’t help anything.

“Are
you okay, Miss Raymeady?” Angela asked her.

Jessica
stopped in the hallway and faced the rest of them.  “I’m just a bit worried. 
To be honest, if you and Tim can’t help us, then I don’t know what to do. 
Things have been getting worse and I’m at the end of my tether.  I don’t mean
to place any additional pressure on you both, but this may be my last chance
before I go insane.”

Tim
placed a hand reassuringly on the woman’s shoulder.  It seemed like a genuine
display of concern.  “We will do whatever we can to help you, Ms Raymeady.”

Jessica
wiped away a tear that had spilled from her eye, then laughed at herself.  “God,
look at me.  I must look disgraceful.  Anyway, enough dawdling, and please call
me Jessica.”

Jessica
led the group up the stairs to the first floor and took a left past a
full-sized suit of armour.  There was a coat of arms beside it, featuring a
black hillside with a white wolf howling up at the moon.  Above it, in Latin,
was written:
The laborer is worthy of
his reward.  
Angela recognised the quote from
Timothy, verse 18
and spoke it aloud
.

“You
speak Latin?” Frank asked, almost sounding impressed.

“Some,”
said Angela.  “I know my Bible verses at least.”

“The
Raymeady family motto,” Jessica explained proudly.  “My husband lived by it. 
Hard work equals reward.”

“What
does the crest mean?” Tim asked.

“The
wolf is an independent soul,” Jessica explained.  “The moon guides it through
the darkness.  Our family is blessed with vision and independence.”

“Interesting,”
said Angela.  “I think my crest would be a Jack Daniels label.”

Tim
guffawed.  It was a spluttering, uncouth sound.

“Okay,
you two,” Frank said gruffly, obviously not appreciating the humour.  “I hope
you’re both ready.  Sammie’s room is just up ahead.”

The
door at the end of the hall was covered in stickers and hanging notices that
read such things as: YOU KILLED KENNY and DESIGNATED FART ZONE.  It was a
typical bedroom door for a ten-year old child, but inside the exquisite
Georgian mansion it seemed grossly out of place.  On either side of the doorway
were two magnificent, bronze statues of four-winged cherubs firing bows into
the air.  They represented love and protection.

“These
statues are beautiful,” Angela commented, running a finger over their flawless
surfaces.  “There’s a painting above my bed that also features cherubs.”

“Thank
you,” Jessica replied proudly.  “Cherubs are supposed to be all seeing.  The
artist told me that to place them outside your door or over your bed is to have
them watch over and protect you.”

“Beautiful,”
Angela said.

“Sammie
likes to draw during the mornings,” Frank cut in with a voice that was somewhat
ominous.  “Some of his pictures can be a little disturbing, so be prepared.  He
may also start drawing pictures of us, which will be…unflattering.  Try not to
take offence.”

Frank
stepped forward and opened the door as Jessica seemed unable to do so herself. 
She remained at the back of the group as everyone stepped inside.  Sammie’s bedroom
was long and wide, cluttered from wall to wall with assorted toys and discarded
clothing.  The walls were plastered with pinned-up drawings and dirty
handprints.  An unmade child’s bed centred the room.  The sheets seemed grimy
and wet.

“You’ll
have to excuse the mess,” said a new voice from the back of the room.  “I’m
afraid housekeeping has declined somewhat since the staff all left.  My dear
mother tries her best, of course, but it simply never seems to get any cleaner
in here.  It’s most bizarre.”

Angela
peered over at the back of the room.  She saw the pale, bony flesh of a topless
young boy.  Sammie was sitting at a desk and facing away from them.  The
knuckles of his spine bulged through his skin as if it were tissue paper. The
smell of sweat was thick in the air like a musty fog. 

“Sammie,
I assume?” said Angela.  “It’s good to meet you.  How are you doing today?”

The
boy did not turn around, but said, “I’ve been better, Angela, I won’t lie to
you, but one cannot complain.  There are people with burdens far beyond my own.”

Angela
looked back at the others, made eye contact with Frank, and whispered, “How
does he know my name?”

Frank
shrugged.  “I never told him.”

“Nor
did I,” said Jessica.

Angela
asked the boy directly.  “How do you know my name, Sammie?”

The
boy turned his head to look at her.  His neck muscles bunched up as he twisted
around.  His black eyes bulged at her like a rodent’s and he tapped a finger
against his forehead.  With a knowing smile he said, “There’s someone in here
that knows you.”

Angela
felt a wave break in her stomach.  “Who?”

Sammie
grinned wider. His teeth were yellow pegs set into brownish gums.  “That’s for
me to know.  Why don’t you all take a seat?  I’d relish the company.”

“You’re
sure this kid is just ten?” Tim whispered behind her.  “He sounds like Mr
Darcy.”

“It’s
one of the changes in him,” Frank explained.  “Some of the doctors placed his
mental age as that of a fully grown adult.  They could not explain it.”

Angela
took several steps forward and, for a fleeting moment, she felt a buzzing in
her head.  It ended with a brief spell of dizziness and then passed away. Afterwards
Angela wondered if she’d only imagined the feeling.

Sammie
had turned his head to face forward again and was drawing something at his
desk.  The closer Angela got, the more she was horrified by the boy’s
condition.  In fact, she was seriously beginning to consider reporting Miss
Raymeady for neglect.  Sammie’s body was little more than a flesh-strung
skeleton-- an unfed, unwashed child.

“How
long has this other person been with you, Sammie?”  Angela asked.  “Is it just
you and them, or are there more?”

“There’s
just him and me.  He came to visit me a short while ago and has been here ever
since.  I honestly don’t know what I would do without him now.  Funny how one
can become so attached to new friends, don’t you think?”

“So
you and he are friends?” Angela confirmed.  “What does he do for you?”

Sammie
smiled.  “Oh, you know – this and that.  He’s shown me delights I never knew of. 
Opened up doors I never knew existed.”

Angela
raised her eyebrows.  “Doors?  What do you mean?”

Sammie
stood up so suddenly that it made Angela jump back a step.  “Don’t worry
yourself about it, Angela, my dear.  I’m sure you have many more important
things to brood over than the ramblings of a ten year old boy.  Here take
this.  I made it for you.”

Angela
walked up to the boy and took the sheet of paper he was offering. She turned it
over and looked at the crayoned image Sammie had drawn for her.   Her eyes stretched
wide and the picture fell out of her hand as if it were a burning coal.  The
image that Sammie had drawn was straight out of her nightmares.

“I’m
leaving,” said Angela.

CHAPTER SIX

Tim
was confused by what had happened.  He didn’t know what it was Sammie had drawn
on the paper. Angela had taken the sketch with her, but whatever it was, it had
freaked the woman out in a big way.  She’d fled the room like it had been on
fire. Tim couldn’t say he blamed her; Sammie had freaked him out without even having
to draw him a picture.