Secretly Sam

by Heather Killough-Walden

  So he thought Alec Sheffield, his band mate and best friend in the world might actually be Samhain. What did he have to go on?

  Not much. He was fairly certain that Alec’s eyes were supposed to be brown, and the last time he’d seen Alec, his eyes had been blue.

  At least, that was what he thought he’d seen. Could he have imagined it, though? And was it really enough to go on? Enough to bring Lehrer and Meagan down on Alec? What if they cast some sort of spell on Alec that really hurt him? What if Dom was wrong? He would destroy his best friend because of nothing more than a hunch.

  But if he was right about Alec and he did nothing, then Sam Hain was parading around in another very strong, capable body, and one that Logan would automatically trust because he was Dominic’s friend.

  Dom muttered a vehement curse under his breath. He ran a fierce hand through his thick black hair and squeezed his eyes shut tight. I have to do it, he finally admitted to himself. In the end, it just wasn’t worth the risk. Not for Logan. And because it wasn’t worth the risk for her, it wasn’t worth the risk for him either. He didn’t want to lose her. Not for anything.

  With that, Dom pulled the cell phone off of the charger plugged into the wall on the kitchen counter. He pressed the “on” button and a white apple appeared on a black screen.

  There was a knock at the door. Dom looked up toward the front of the house and frowned. He was alone today. His father conducted a lot of business travel. Dominic often wondered whether it was at least in part due to the fact that the house and surrounding estate reminded him too much of Dom’s mother.

  Dominic took his phone into the living room and made his way to the foyer. The front door had recently been replaced due to storm damage, and this new one didn’t have the glass peep hole like the old one had, so Dom didn’t hesitate before simply unlatching the door and swinging it open.

  And he didn’t hesitate in hitting the ground when the surprise blow struck him solidly in his left temple, knocking him out cold.

  *****

  Logan steeled herself as she entered the kitchen. She felt gritty and raw from lack of sleep, and the shower hadn’t helped much. There were only so many nights one could go without proper rest before the effects layered over each other like a sandpaper onion.

  The kitchen was empty. But there was a bottle of wine on the counter, its cork sitting next to it in a small puddle of red liquid. The bottle was three-quarters empty. There was also a crumpled receipt on the floor.

  Logan bent and picked it up; it had today’s date on it. It had only been a few hours since the purchase. Her mother had gotten an early start on the day, wherever she was.

  The sound of footsteps behind her was sudden and unexpected enough that Logan jumped. She spun, crushing the receipt in her hand as her older brother, Taylor entered the kitchen. He glanced at her, his expression shameful and tired. And then he made his way to the refrigerator.

  “I see mom’s got an early start,” he mumbled as he opened the fridge and gave its contents a quick perusal.

  “Yeah,” said Logan. She looked him over from behind, wondering how the next few minutes were going to go down. Every new encounter with Taylor was a toss-up. His illnesses were at the reigns in his mind. The moods he could don were as different and colorful as Halloween costumes, from priest to pugilist. He could care like an angel and beat the crap out of you like the bully from your worst nightmares. It was all in the dice.

  “What’s your plan for today?” she asked him. It was an unintentional innuendo. But it was also an honest question. If Taylor had a plan, then it would probably mean he was having an okay day; not too many bad thoughts, not too much Tourette’s or OCD or depression. He wouldn’t bother thinking past the way he felt right now if it was otherwise. No one could think past their pain when it was really bad.

  “Helping dad get firewood.”

  Maybe a good day, then.

  Logan nodded. It was Saturday, so there was no school. “You guys want help? I can come along.” She shouldn’t have been offering; Mr. Lehrer might call at any minute and need to meet with her about something having to do with Samhain. Her friends might call, having found some kind of breakthrough. Anything could happen. And if Sam struck while she was with her father and brother, they could get hurt. Or killed.

  But she yearned for some semblance of normalcy, and though her father’s and brother’s moods were as un-telling and unpredictable as her own future had become, at least she knew they weren’t actually Sam in disguise. They hadn’t been at the school when the magic spell had destroyed Sam’s body and his spirit had inhabited someone else. So they were clear.

  That was worth something.

  Taylor shut the refrigerator door and turned to face her. He looked like he was trying very hard not to be very mean. “Why don’t you just let me and dad go this time, Logan. We could use the man to man.”

  It wasn’t a question so much as a suggestion, and not really a suggestion so much as a statement of the way it was going to be and a warning that Logan shouldn’t try to interfere. She understood. And the truth was, Taylor was right. He and their father could use the time to talk. Things had been rough lately for the both of them.

  They’d been rough for her too, but she didn’t expect either of them to notice, much less care. And if that sounded bitter or resentful, then so be it.

  “Okay,” she said, nodding and looking away. “I’m heading out then. I have my phone if anyone needs me.”

  “Are you working at the bakery today?” Taylor asked as she headed toward the front door.

  “No, it’s shut down for a few days so they can replace the ovens.” Logan opened the front door. “Have fun with dad.” She walked out without waiting for a reply and gently shut the door behind her.

  The air was crisp and cool and a touch wet. It smelled like fireplace smoke and leaf piles and Fall. It was the most wonderful smell in the world aside from the scent of a coming storm. Autumn was Logan’s favorite season, and if he didn’t succeed in making her his queen in the land of the dead, then Sam Hain was about to at least ruin Fall for her for good.

  She wanted to kill him again as she made her way down the walk toward her car. She wanted to turn around, run upstairs, grab her notebook, and scribble out his death with choice, harsh words.

  But that wasn’t like her. This anger she had been feeling over the last few days – it wasn’t really her thing. It was just a lack of sleep bringing out the worst in her. Or maybe it was that she hadn’t been able to write anything for fear that if she did, Sam would take what she wrote and use it against her again. Maybe it was this sudden lack of escape for her that was rubbing her spirit like a cat’s tongue, harsh and raw.

  Escape? she thought suddenly. There is no escape, Logan, she told herself, realizing the deep truth of it even as she spoke the words in her mind. Whether now or forty years from now, Sam Hain will find you. Samhain will find you. Death will find you. There’s no escape.

  Chapter Four

  Dominic felt the pain in his body long before he was able to move his body. His senses returned to him in a discombobulated fashion. Touch came first, and much to his dismay, it was filled with agony, tight and tearing and immediate. He would have cried out against it, but his voice was slow to respond. The next sense to return to him was sound.

  He heard the rustling of wind through something tall and thin, like reeds. He heard footsteps and the crackling of dried leaves beneath boots. He heard an crows crying, and then his sense of smell kicked in with wet earth and damp hay.

  He tried to open his eyes, and very slowly they complied. As the first rays of weak light struck his pupils, a shooting pain arced from his temple to the base of his skull. He gritted his teeth past the spike-in-the-head sensation and forced his lids apart. Everything was blurry, and it felt as if there were bits of plastic in his eyes, but a figure stood before him, tall and solid.

  “I suppose I should have gone a bit easier on you,” came a familiar voice. �
�After all, you’ll be me soon. Or vice versa.”

  Dominic pushed air past his lips in a half-hearted attempt at speaking. “Alec?” It came out as a whisper, but it was heard all the same.

  “Sort of,” came the reply.

  A few seconds more and Dom’s vision was completely cleared. Alec Sheffield stood before him in a small clearing in what appeared to be a cornfield. It was night. The moon was high and waning at one-quarter. Two six-foot tall torches had been constructed and posted at opposite ends of the clearing, their flickering flames casting the space into eerie orange light.

  Dom’s arms and legs had been strapped to some kind of metal frame, and what smelled and felt like straw tickled at the exposed skin of his face and neck. He craned his neck to peek over his shoulder, confirming his suspicions. He’d been tied to a scarecrow.

  When he looked back down at Alec, it was to find his best friend watching him with knowing, blue eyes.

  “Sam, then,” Dom said. Only Sam Hain would have been sick enough to string him up on a scare crow in a cornfield.

  “Your suspicions were correct,” Sam said, shrugging. “It’s me, in the flesh… more or less.”

  Dom couldn’t help but ask what he asked next. “Is he dead?”

  “Sheffield?” Sam asked, raising a brow. He laughed, shaking his head no. “Nah, he’s in here kicking and screaming, believe me.” He paced around Dominic, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. “You’ve earned more loyalty than you deserve with this one.”

  “She’ll never love you,” Dominic told him. The pain he’d felt earlier in his arms and legs was clearly from the ropes that now dug into them. His right arm was wet at the wrist; he wondered if it was soaked in his own blood beneath his leather jacket. “She would never love someone sick enough to do the things you’re doing.”

  “Never?” Sam asked, again raising that brow. His manipulation of Alec’s expressions was disquieting as he made faces that Alec would never make. “Have you any concept of how long that actually is?”

  Dom didn’t reply. The ropes held him fast. The cornfield he was in was probably the one well beyond the edge of town. No city lights were visible. They were cut off, he was alone, and he was just beginning to realize how dire the situation really was.

  “You’re a goddamned child, Maldovan. You have no clue.”

  Sam moved away from him to pull one of the torches out of the ground with one strong arm. As he did, Dom realized he smelled gasoline. He looked down and noticed where the dried grass and dirt beneath him was darker, as if it were wet. His head spun. His gut clenched and his stomach sank into his legs. This is it, he thought. I messed up. And now I’m going to die.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Sam said as he returned with the torch and held it out to the side. “You smell the gasoline and you see this flame and you think you’re about to go out in a blaze of glory.” He smiled a horrible smile. “Am I right?”

  “Go to hell, asshole.”

  “You’ve almost got it,” Sam said, ignoring the outburst. “But not quite. You see, any minute now, the cops should arrive on the scene. They’ll see me standing here with the torch, see you trussed up in a mess of gasoline and straw, and they’ll do what they think they have to do.” He shrugged. “Kill me in favor of saving you.”

  Dom’s skull felt as if it were splitting apart at the seams.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “I have to tell you, you made things quite difficult for me the other night at the high school dance,” Sam told him, idly conversing as if he wasn’t a few inches away from turning Dominic into a wicker man. “But you did enlighten me on something rather important. You see, the only way I can leave a body I’m currently inhabiting is to have that body die. Believe me, I tested the theory,” he laughed, shaking his head. “But your friend remained wrapped around me like a cocoon. And I can’t tell you how many times I tried to kill myself. But no doing. Anything I did just healed up or had no effect. As long as I’m stuck here, the heart keeps beating.”

  He looked down, making a rather disgusted face, and sighed heavily. “Alec Sheffield is a disappointment. He’s ineffectual.” He looked back up and pinned Dom with an ice colored stare. “I need my powers back, and for that, Logan needs to start writing again. I just need her pen to scratch paper. There’s power in a bard’s words, Maldovan, no matter what those words are. But she neither knows nor trusts Alec Sheffield enough for him to get her to write.”

  Dominic sensed the horrific puzzle pieces sliding into place, but a part of him nudged them away from one another. He didn’t want to see the picture they were forming. It was a nightmare.

  “I’m afraid Alec has to go,” Sam said. “But someone else has to kill him. And that’s where the cops come in. And you, of course.” He smiled. “After all, when he dies, I’ll need another body to inhabit. What better body than the one belonging to the young musician Logan clearly cares so much for? Who could possibly influence her more than you, Dominic?”

  Dom stared at Sam, dumbstruck by what he’d just been told and unsure of what he should be most upset by. The puzzle was whole now, and it was as terrible as he’d thought it would be. Sam was going to kill his best friend – or have him killed, rather. And though he wasn’t actually planning on burning Dom to a crisp as he’d originally thought, the Death God was intent on possessing his body to get to Logan.

  The medallion, Dom thought suddenly. He glanced down and caught the Celtic silver shimmering in the firelight. He can’t do this. He can’t possess my body if I have this on.

  Low laughter drew his attention back to Sam. He was watching Dom through Alec’s now-blue eyes, and they twinkled knowingly. “That?” he said, grinning. He chuckled and closed the distance between them, suddenly reaching out to wrap his fingers around the cool silver. He held it up in a closed fist. “The original would have posed a problem, I’ll admit. But I cut it off you with no more than a dagger and a pair of gloves. And this one?” He let it drop, and it thumped ineffectually against the muscle in Dominic’s chest. “It’s a lovely replica, but otherwise worthless.”

  Sam stepped back, still smiling. “I’m death, Maldovan.” His blue eyes felt depthless, like abyssal oceans, churning and promising and cold. “If there were anything in the world that could keep me at bay for long, everyone would have figured out immortality by now. But they haven’t, have they? I adapt, and I always find a way to win. You should know that better than anyone.”

  Dominic looked into those oceans and saw his dead mother’s beautiful face reflected in them. And his simmering fury boiled over into a hatred unequaled.

  “The scarecrow and fire bit is probably not the easiest way to go about this,” Sam went on, ignoring the murder that Dom could feel in his own green gaze. “But Logan gave me the idea and I just had to honor it. It was in one of her stories; a werewolf tale, I believe.” He smiled a hungry smile. “She’s got one hell of an imagination on her.”

  Dominic finally found his voice. “You do this, Sam,” he said; his voice so laced with malice, it didn’t sound like his own. “And know that you will never be able to let your guard down. Not with me. Because I swear to God I will never stop fighting you.” His teeth were bared with a determined sort of wrath. If Sam Hain attempted to take over his body, the Lord of the Dead would have a war of epic proportions on his hands. Dom would not at all give in quietly.

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt,” Sam said. “But never underestimate the strength of a determined god, Maldovan.” He looked Dom in the eyes. “I’m ready for you.” His smile became a dark smirk. “I’ve even made certain my eyes won’t give me away this time.”

  Dominic blinked. Shit, he thought. Contacts. That’s what I feel in my eyes. The son of a bitch put green contacts in them.

  “Now, you’re probably wondering how all of this is going to go down,” Sam said next. The fire on the end of the torch crackled and spit, burning merrily as if it knew it was seconds away from the meal of a lifetime. “I used
your phone to put in a call to the police. I gave them our location and told them I was about to set a student on fire.” His cold eyes glinted in the fire light. “They’ll be here any second, armed and ready.”

  Just as he finished saying this, Dom began to make out the sound of sirens. A second later, he saw a light flash through the stalks of corn long across the field. Headlights. They were still very far, but he could tell there were two sets.

  “Ah,” said Sam as he glanced over his shoulder at the approaching vehicles. “Speak of the devils.”

  Dominic prepared himself. As soon as they came close enough and any of the officers got out of their cars, Dom would do his best to yell out, to warn them before they could do anything life-altering.

  But Sam captured his attention again as he slammed the end of the torch’s stick into the ground in front of him, leaving it standing firm between them. He then pulled a roll of duct tape out of the inside pocket of his leather biker jacket and noisily ripped a strip free.

  Dom inhaled sharply, hoping to get even one warning out. He failed. Alec Sheffield wasn’t a weak man and Sam put the strength in his stolen body to quick use. Though Dom struggled as much as he could, with his arms and legs strapped down tight, the only part of his body he could move was his head. It wasn’t long before Sam had the tape over his mouth. He used several pieces, layering them over each other and completely cutting off one of Dom’s airways.

  When he was finished, he dropped the duct tape to the ground and stepped back to admire his handy work.

  “You! Freeze!”

  Dom turned his head, causing the skin to stretch beneath the tape on his face. Across the small field and from between two tall rows of yellow corn stalks, several police officers carrying flashlights stepped into view.