Sam: A Novel Of Suspense (15 page)

Angela
took another step forward, crucifix held before her like a shield.  “Leave
here, minion.  Return to your master to burn in hell.  The power of Christ
compels you.  Be gone!”

Sammie
tumbled from the desk and fell to the floor, rocking side-to-side on his hands
and knees.  He retched; whole body wracked with seizure as his diaphragm
spasmed.  The sound was like a wounded cat, but it was gradually changing – its
tone and pitch altering.

The
sound changed to laughing.

Sammie
guffawed on the floor so hard that his chest bellowed with every breath.  The
young boy was in hysterics and he rolled onto his back and stared at the
ceiling as if it were playing some wonderful movie.

Angela
sighed.  She knew that her words had been unsuccessful.  Sammie was not cured. 
He had been having fun at her expense.

“Bravo,”
he said to her, still lying on his back.  “Quite the little scene we had there,
eh?”  Slowly, Sammie got to his feet, his limbs unfolding like an ivory
accordion.  He grinned and stared at her with his piercing, obsidian eyes.  “I
enjoyed that, Miss Murs.  Do tell me what you have planned for us next?”

“Why
are you here?” she asked him, her resolve already beaten and clear in her
voice.

“Why
are any of us here, priest?  We all have our parts to play, and we play them
whether we choose to or not.  You and I both.”

Angela
was losing all control over the situation.  She was failing to gain any influence
over the boy or anyone who may have been inside of him.  “And what part do I
have to play?” she asked him.

Sammie’s
eyebrows lowered and a look of grim amusement seemed to settle over him.  “You,
Miss Murs, are here to play the Martyr.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“What
does he mean, you’re a
martyr
?” Tim frowned at Angela as they both
milled around the piano in the lounge.  He was tapping keys randomly and the
sound was setting her teeth on edge.  She bit at her lower lip until it was
bleeding. 

“I
don’t know,” she said, somewhat snappily.  “I assume it means he expects me to
die for my beliefs, which is strange seeing as I’m not even sure
what
I
believe half the time.  Anyway, it doesn’t even matter.  A demon will say
whatever it thinks will get a reaction.  I’d say it won that round.”

“So
you think we really are dealing with Evil?”

Angela
slumped forward so that her forehead rested against the cold, polished wood of
the piano.  “Oh, Jesus.  I don’t know.  If Sammie is possessed, then I would
have expected something more than the reaction I got.  My words were
powerless.”

“How
could that be, though?” Tim asked, seeming genuinely curious.  “Why would it
not work?  Is there a success rate with this type of thing?”

“There
shouldn’t be.  Evil is Evil and God is God; there are no variables.  Perhaps
God is no longer with me.  An exorcist must be devout, connected to Heaven – but
that’s not me.  I’ve been following the wrong path for years now.  I shied away
from God and now I’m part of a charade, speaking in His name.”  She pulled the
dog collar from her neck and let it fall to the floor.  “I’m a disgrace.”

“Sounds
to me like Sammie got just what he wanted.  Five minutes with him and he’s got
you running scared, doubting yourself.”

Angel
scowled at him.  “I never said I was scared, or running.  And stop messing with
that bloody piano! It’s giving me headache.”

Tim
stepped away from the piano as if it were a smoking gun.  “Sorry,” he said,
coyly.

Angela
shook her head and rubbed at her temples.  “No, no, I’m the one that’s sorry. 
You’re right.  I lost my confidence as a Christian a long time ago, and seeing
Sammie lying on the floor and laughing at me just destroyed any self-esteem
that I had left.”

“But
that’s a good thing.”

Angela
didn’t understand.  “How is that a good thing?”

Tim
walked over to the bar and hopped up onto its surface, almost banging his head
against the overhanging shelf.  “Well, in the army they break the cadets, don’t
they? Totally rip their self-esteem to shreds.  But then they rebuild them,
into warriors – ass-kicking, gun-toting, heroes of the free world.”

“What’s
your point?”

Tim
shook his head at her as if she was an idiot.  “My point is that now that
you’ve hit rock-bottom, you’ve got nothing to lose.  There’s nothing Sammie can
use against you if you’re already down and out.  Now
you
have the
advantage.  It’s time to rebuild yourself as a warrior.  Come on, Christian
soldier.”

Angela
couldn’t help herself but laugh.  “You’re full of shit, you know that?”

“Yeah,”
said Tim.  “Totally.  But every now and then I’m right on the money.”

“And
now would be one of those times?”

Tim
shrugged.  “Who knows?  I’m just a ghost-hunter that lives in his van.”

“Maybe
that’s why it worries me so much that I trust you.”

“Well,
perhaps it’s time to trust yourself.”

They
could hear a voice clearing over by the door.  It was Graham.

“Sorry
to interrupt your Hallmark moment, but I was looking for Frank.”

Tim
smiled, polite, despite Graham’s rude tone.  “He was in Sammie’s room last we
saw him.  Aren’t you supposed to be watching Jessica?”

“Not
that it’s any of your business what my movements are, but, yes, I am supposed
to be watching her.  Frank told me to come and get him if she woke up.”

“She’s
awake?” Angela asked.

“She’s
been awake about ten minutes,” Graham explained.

“Is
she okay?”

Graham
looked a little squeamish.  “Not exactly,” he said.  “There’s…something wrong
with her.”

“What?”
Tim asked.

Graham
cleared his throat and said, “She’s blind.”

***

The
afternoon had begun to give way to evening and the light inside the house started
to wind down gradually.  It would not be long before the hallways were drenched
in shadow.  From the penthouse floor, the closest to the Manor’s slanted roof,
the rain outside sounded like a million, tiny drums that seemed to gather
tempo.  The weather was getting worse not better.

Jessica
was still lying in the bed when they arrived at her bedroom.  Frank was
immediately at her side and seemed frantic.  Angela wondered if their
relationship was more than just professional.

“Jessica,”
he said.  “Jessica, what’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

Jessica
looked around the room – except that she didn’t really.  Her eyes were glazed over
with milky cataracts.  She reached out a hand and managed to locate Frank’s
face.  “Frank,” she said, her voice sopping with approaching tears.  “I-I can’t
see anything, Frank. I can’t see!”

Frank
pulled Jessica towards him and embraced her tightly.  “It’s okay, it’s okay,”
he said.  “Just stay calm.  We’re going to get this sorted.”  Frank turned his
head and made eye contact with Graham who was leaning up against the doorway. 
“Go and call a doctor.”

Ashen-faced,
Graham did as he was told and left to make a call.

Angela
padded across the plush carpet and sat herself down on the end of the bed. 
Trying to sound as calm and as soothing as possible, she spoke: “Hi, Jessica. 
It’s Angela.  Do you know what happened?”

Jessica
turned her head in the direction of Angela’s voice, but could only gaze into
nothingness.  “I-I don’t know.  I don’t remember.”

“Do
you remember trying to jump off the balcony?”

“What?” 
She sounded even more distressed at hearing that.  “No, no, no. I don’t know
what you’re talking about.  Frank, what is she talking about?”

Frank
squeezed her into another hug.  “Nothing, Jessica.  Don’t you worry about a thing.”

Angela
turned to Tim and whispered.  “She doesn’t remember trying to kill herself? 
Makes me wonder if she even knew what she was doing when it happened.”

“What
do you mean?” Tim whispered back.  “That she was sleepwalking or something?”

“Or
in a trance.  People can manipulated by hypnotic suggestion.”

Tim
sniggered then stopped himself as he no doubt remembered that Jessica’s
condition was no laughing matter.  “What?  You think we’re dealing with the
Amazing Sammie-Mundo now?”

Angela
shrugged.  “I don’t know what I think yet.  I’m just not so sure that Jessica
tried to kill herself like we thought.”

“You’re
starting to sound a little less Scully and a little more Mulder – I like it.”

There
was a thick gurgling sound.

Angela
looked at Jessica and knew exactly what was about to happen.  The lady of the
house hitched forward in her bed and vomited onto the sheets.  The mixture was
revolting: blood mixed with bile and semi-digested food.  The smell was even fouler. 

Angela
fought away her body’s own reactive urge to vomit by smiling.  It was an old
trick she’d once learned during her visits to various hospitals on behalf of
the church.  For some reason it always worked.

Frank
leapt aside from the bed, narrowly avoiding the vile stream of puke.  Jessica
continued to expel fluids until it seemed like all that would be left were her
internal organs, then she shot backwards in the bed as if seized by some
invisible hand.  She wept uncontrollably.

Between
sobs she managed to choke out a garbled statement.  “I…I…I’m being punished
for….for betraying Joseph.  God is punishing me for betraying my husband. 
Please, please…please forgive me.”

Then
she passed out, so suddenly it was as if someone had flicked a switch in her
brain.

Tim’s
face was stricken by shock.  “She-she’s sleeping again?  After that?”

Frank
ran a hand over Jessica’s clammy forehead.  “Please, could you both give her
some privacy?”

“Of
course,” said Angela.  “Just let us know if we can help.”

Angela
and Tim walked down the hallway of the penthouse in silence.  There was nothing
yet to say as the situation currently made little sense.  Jessica’s sudden
maladies, such as her complete blindness and unholy sickness, seemed medically
impossible.  The woman had been inflicted with something malicious – maybe even
poisoned. Angela had a feeling that little Sammie was responsible.

She
and Tim headed down the staircase and met Graham coming the other way.  The man
seemed flummoxed.

“You
okay, Graham?” Angela asked.

“The
phones aren’t working.  Don’t know if it’s the weather, or what.”

Tim
seemed surprised.  “Really?  The rain isn’t all that bad.  I can’t see how it
would affect the phone lines.”

“What
do you want me to say?” said Graham.  “The phone lines aren’t working.  I don’t
know why.”

“Okay,”
said Tim.  “I’ll take a look at them.  I might be able to figure something
out.”

“Be
my guest,” said Graham, barging past them on the stairs and heading to the
upper floor.

“I’m
starving.”  Angela realised that she hadn’t eaten all day and it was now early-evening. 
It felt wrong thinking about her belly when Jessica was seriously in need of a
doctor, but she knew herself well enough to know that she’d be little help to
anyone if she was hungry.

“Yeah,
me too,” Tim agreed, “but I better go take a look at the phone lines first. 
Why don’t you find the kitchen and rustle up some grub. I’ll find you in a
bit.”

Angela
thought it was a good idea.  She watched Tim head out the front door and
disappear into the rain outside.  Then she headed for the west side of the
house, where she expected to find the building’s kitchen.

She
found it at the end of a long corridor, its presence obvious by the double aluminium
doors that marked its entrance.  Inside, the kitchen was as grand as she
expected it to be.  A double range cooker occupied one wall beneath a large
extractor fan.  A full-length fridge sat beside a chest-style freezer.  The
equipment, along with the preparation area, was fit to feed a small army, but
it was obvious that the facilities hadn’t been used anywhere near to their
capacity in some time.

Angela
headed for the fridge and looked inside.  The stench of rotten meat slapped her
in the face, making her gag. When she examined the contents on the various
shelves she saw that a mould-covered chicken carcass was the cause of the
odour.  Cringing, Angela grabbed the plate of spoiled poultry and flung it into
a nearby bin, plate and all.  The large fridge was still infested with the
smell, but not so badly anymore.  There was still yet another unpleasant whiff
coming from the shelves, though, and Angela quickly located the two offending
bottles of milk.  The white substance inside had curdled into a malignant paste
that she eagerly tossed in the bin to accompany the noxious chicken.

Don’t
they throw anything out around here?