Secretly Sam

by Heather Killough-Walden

  “It’s show time, axman,” Sam said as he reached out and yanked the torch out of the ground.

  “I said don’t move!” one of the police officers warned. He pulled the gun from his belt and aimed it at Sam. At Alec.

  From behind the duct tape and rope that held him so uselessly in place, Dominic screamed. He yelled and bellowed and tried with all of his might to dislodge the quiet that would surely be Alec’s death sentence. But it did no good.

  Sam turned to look at Dom, eye to eye, through a pivotal moment. “Say goodbye to your pal, Dom.” He lowered the torch toward the ground at Dominic’s booted feet.

  The sound of a gun going off split the night.

  Chapter Five

  She’d just started her car back up and headed out onto the road again when she’d received the call. It was from Dominic.

  Since the fourth grade, she’d almost painfully hungered for some kind of contact with the boy that her entire school thought of as a rock god. Dominic Maldovan: Green eyed, raven-haired, incredibly tall, draped in leather, and absolutely perfect. He seemed out of place in the school, as if he’d come from some city far away and much more important. His fingers moved with idle perfection across the frets and strings of his guitar, and when he thought he was alone, he sat beneath his locker after school and played.

  It was then that Logan would listen to him. Around the corner, out of sight, she would happen upon the lyrics floating like magic on disturbed air, and she would stop. She would lean against the wall and close her eyes as she felt his music somewhere deep inside. His voice crooned. When he played with his band, it was Alec that sang the songs; Dom was the guitarist, the mute musical genius.

  But in the hollow silence of the school’s skeletal inner walkways, Dominic Maldovan sang softly. Of pain. Of longing. Of things nobody could possibly understand.

  Now Logan stared down at the phone in her hand. His voice still echoed in her head. He’d called her personally, like a prayer both whispered and answered on the wind. Unfortunately, the things he had to tell her were anything but musical.

  Alec Sheffield was dead. The police had killed him.

  Logan let her hand drop into her lap and looked up through the windshield. A fat drop of water slapped the glass, making a circular design like a crown. She thought of Samhain, a king in his own realm. Her mind spun as a few more drops followed the first, and it began to rain.

  Night had fallen since she’d left her house earlier that day. At the moment, she was in a deserted tennis club parking lot on the outskirts of town. A few years back, a developer with buckets of money had come into the city and begun construction on what was supposed to have been a major establishment. He’d gone to jail for embezzlement before he’d been able to finish the development, but what he’d created lent the area the perfect, eerie feel for Logan.

  The giant neighborhood would have boasted two dozen tennis courts, three outdoor Olympic sized pools, the largest fitness center in three states, a three mile indoor running and walking trail, and an eight mile outdoor trail that wound through both natural and unnatural forested land.

  What was left behind was a piece of carved ground that had become a ghost town before it actually had a chance to be a town. Weeds grew through cracks in the peeling paint of the tennis courts and the parking lot was riddled with pot holes. The smooth white cement back alleys were dotted with the brown metal housings for wiring that had rusted together and gone bad years ago. Cul-de-sacs rounded before houses that weren’t there, and the trails reminded Logan of something Alice would have followed in Wonderland. They were always empty. No one ever came out here. She supposed it felt a little too sad for most people. Like a promise that had been terribly broken.

  But she loved it here. To her, it was perfect, right down to the railroad tracks that abutted the back end of the development. In the middle of the night, the whistle could be heard for miles.

  Normally, Logan didn’t have time to come here. Most days, there was work or school or bad weather, or Taylor and his rampages.

  But at the moment, writing was no longer an option, Taylor was with her father, and she didn’t have to be at work this weekend. She could have joined Meagan and Katelyn somewhere, but being with them right now made her feel guilty and conspicuous. It may have been Meagan’s messed up magic that allowed Samhain to come through to their world, but it was Logan who’d made him what he was now, and it was Logan he was after. It was because of her that so many people had been hurt. It was her fault they were all once more in danger.

  So, she’d come here instead. She’d walked the length of one of the trails as the sun had set. Then she’d come back and turned to stroll down half of one of the others before a nagging feeling had her turning around and heading back toward her car.

  Not ten seconds after starting her engine, her phone had rung.

  Now Logan’s chest felt like lead and the sky was crying. Alec Sheffield, Dominic’s best friend, was dead. “He’s dead,” Dom had said. His voice trailed off, choked with emotion. And then he was back, stronger and shakier. “Alec is dead. The cops shot him.”

  Logan had been too stunned to speak. Blood rushed through her ears as he continued. “I’m at the hospital, Logan. They released me and… I need a ride. Please come.”

  He’d hung up then, leaving her to wonder and flounder in the dawning shock that flooded her system.

  As if on autopilot, Logan lifted the phone and dialed another number. A few minutes later, she hung up, put her car in drive, and headed back in toward the center of town.

  As she pulled once more into the hospital parking lot, a dreadful feeling of familiarity coated her senses like a cold, wet tarp. She’d been here too many times recently.

  She’d been here too many times, period.

  Logan rounded the first row of vehicles when her headlights caught several figures leaving another vehicle to make their way toward the ER entrance. She recognized them at once: Mr. Lehrer, Katelyn Shanks and Meagan Stone.

  Meagan and Katelyn were Logan’s two closest friends. Katelyn’s blonde hair, ability to speak French at a moment’s notice, and bubbly personality were a bit of a yin to Meagan’s yang. Meagan’s hair was black as night, her eyes were a rare and “gothic” purple hue, and she was a witch. It was her magic that had originally caused Samhain to be freed from his realm so that he could infiltrate theirs as Sam Hain.

  Mr. Lehrer was their history teacher. He also happened to be the leader of Meagan’s “grove” or coven. He and Meagan had been working day and night to come up with some way, magical or otherwise, to not only find Samhain, but send him back into the Land of the Dead and trap him there for good.

  In the meantime, Logan, Dominic and Katelyn had been instructed to wear the Celtic Life medallions that Lehrer had given them, and Logan had been told to stay away from pen and paper. It seemed that Sam’s power fed off of her writing as a battery would a charger. It wasn’t only that whatever she created with words he was able to turn into reality, it was that her writing literally fueled him, giving him the power and substance to form his own creations.

  Sam referred to her as a “bard,” and apparently in his world or realm, bards were much more revered than they were here and now. Their power was much greater.

  Since she’d been a child, Logan had scribbled about paranormal beings – blood suckers, werewolves, ghosts, the fey, demons, devils and gods. As he’d come through the veritable door that the month of October always formed for the Land of the Dead, Samhain had happened upon one of her journals. He’d been insubstantial, intangible, and without form until that moment.

  He immediately absorbed what she’d written, and became the menace that had killed many of Logan’s schoolmates, a few of her teachers, and even the manager at the bakery… whom she hated. But that was beside the point.

  Vampires seemed to appeal to Sam’s nature. He was the Lord of the Dead, so this made sense. Samhain became “Sam Hain,” a tall, well-built, terribly handsome, charismat
ically smirking amalgamation of all of the deadliest vampires Logan had ever penned.

  He’d wreaked havoc on Logan’s world, feeding off of several people and brain washing dozens of others before she, Dominic Maldovan, Mr. Lehrer, Meagan and Katelyn had managed to temporarily destroy him.

  It was the temporarily part that weighed heavily on her now as she parked her car and got out to meet the others. The spell they’d cast on Samhain hadn’t destroyed him. Sam couldn’t be destroyed. He couldn’t be killed. He was the King of the Dead, was composed of death, built on it, and therefore immune to it in all of its forms. Instead, they had merely managed to destroy the physical manifestation of Samhain – the Sam Hain vampire – and in the process, they’d sent the spirit inside cartwheeling into another unsuspecting soul.

  From the moment Mr. Lehrer had realized this, Logan had been paranoid. They all had. They’d been on full alert, always suspecting that the person behind them on the sidewalk or behind the wheel of the car in the next lane might not actually be who they appeared to be.

  Lehrer had warned them that some aspect of Sam Hain would have been passed on to the new body. Some bit of him would remain to set him apart from the others. But what? Would he have the same hair? Would he speak the same way? Did he still drink blood?

  It remained a mystery, and the longer that Sam went without doing something, the more nervous the group got.

  “Logan,” Mr. Lehrer greeted as the four of them met up to make their way toward the hospital entrance. Mr. Lehrer placed his hand supportively on her back and fell into pace beside her. “Can you fill us in?”

  Logan looked toward the looming building up ahead, and told them what little she knew.

  Chapter Six

  There were a few police officers gathered in the reception area just beyond the hospital’s front doors. Some of them were busy scribbling on the note pads in their hands, and one of them was on the phone. The cops glanced up at Logan and her companions and seemed to know exactly why they were there. One of them nodded toward an opening that led into a second waiting room. Another left his station to meet them half-way.

  Dominic was sitting alone in the room and on the edge of a bench when they entered. His elbows were on his knees, his hands were tightly clasped in front of him, his head was bent, and his leather jacket was zipped up to his chin. There were red marks on his cheeks. His long black hair hung across his face, adding to the dark shadows around his closed eyes. He looked like a rock star, but a rock star in shock, cold and uncertain, existing second by second in a mixture of pain and numb disbelief.

  Logan glanced at her companions. Their faces mirrored the expression she knew she also wore.

  “We’ve been trying to contact his father,” the officer informed them as he approached the doorway to the second room where they were standing. “He’s still unreachable; there’s a huge time difference to take into account, and the kid said his father usually leaves the phone off when conducting business. We’ve left a few messages with some of his co-workers and hope to hear something back by tomorrow afternoon.”

  Mr. Lehrer nodded his thanks, the officer went back to work, and the three of them turned their attention back to Dominic. Logan squared her shoulders and left the others behind as she slowly made her way to his side.

  “Dom?”

  At once, Dominic looked up. Green eyes locked onto her, nailing her to the spot. Logan’s chin lifted and her lips parted. As long as she lived, she would never get over the shock of being scrutinized by the emerald gaze of Dominic Maldovan.

  “Logan!” Dominic said, breathing her name as if it were a sigh of relief. He stood, coming to his full impressive height, and for a moment, it looked as though he was going to pull her into his arms. But something stopped him. He seemed to pause, to struggle with something unseen, and in the end, Logan moved forward herself, gently placing a hand on his arm. She caught the scent of gasoline as she did.

  “Dom, I’m… God, I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine what you must be feeling right now,” she stumbled.

  Mr. Lehrer, Katelyn and Meagan had come up behind her.

  “We’re here for you, Dominic,” said Mr. Lehrer. Behind his glasses, his eyes were lined with deep concern. He moved to Dominic’s side and placed a second supportive hand on his student’s back.

  All Lehrer knew, all any of them knew to this point, was that Alec Sheffield was dead. He’d been killed by the police, and Dominic had apparently witnessed the entire thing.

  “Dominic, what happened?” asked Meagan, giving voice to the question that had been ricocheting violently off the walls of all of their brains.

  Dom continued to gaze down at Logan. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of her since she’d spoken his name. It took him a moment to respond. When he finally did, his voice sounded raw and hoarse, as if he’d been screaming at the tops of his lungs.

  “Later,” he said. “Please, later.” He swallowed hard, wrestled his gaze from Logan’s to look over at Mr. Lehrer. “I just… I just want to go home right now.”

  Mr. Lehrer’s expression became as sympathetic as Dominic’s father’s might have been had his father been there rather than out of the country.

  “Of course,” Lehrer said. “I’ll give you a ride, but you shouldn’t be alone. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

  At that, Dominic’s green eyes once more found Logan’s, and the look that he gave her struck her with such intensity, Logan found herself speaking up before she could contemplate what she was doing.

  “Mr. Lehrer, I’ll take him home,” she said.

  The group grew quiet. Her teacher looked down at her, his brow furrowing. Logan bit her lip. “I really don’t mind.” She tried to give Mr. Lehrer a look that said, Please – I really want to be with him right now and he might be more comfortable with someone his own age at the moment anyway, but in the end, she was pretty sure she only managed a look of embarrassed teenage angst.

  None the less, Mr. Lehrer seemed to understand. After a few moments, he nodded. “Alright,” he said. “But keep your phones on and close by, both of you.”

  No doubt, he was chomping at the bit to know exactly what had happened; a kid was dead and the repercussions would spread throughout town like violent ripples in an otherwise still pond, and it was sure to have something to do with Samhain. Everything seemed to these days. But he appeared to accept that an explanation would come later and that Dominic was in no shape to give it.

  Either that, or Mr. Lehrer was planning on doing exactly what Logan would have done in his situation – ask the police what had happened.

  Logan and Dom both nodded and agreed to Mr. Lehrer’s wishes, though Dom didn’t express his out loud. Then Dom took her hand in his.

  It was an unexpected feeling. It was an unexpected and wonderful feeling. His skin was warm and dry, and his fingers wrapped firmly around hers as if he were afraid she would pull away.

  Logan felt her skin flush hot. “Come on,” she somehow managed. “My car’s just out front.”

  Chapter Seven

  She’d been quiet beside him, most likely at odds with herself as to whether she should once again ask what had happened that night. He’d been watching her. If he’d had the strength he so desperately needed to get them both back home, he could have taken her then and there. He would have reached over, yanked the steering wheel out of her hands, run them both off of the road, and hastened her away to his realm before she knew what hit her.

  But he was not himself and his power was at the tiniest fraction of what it could be, so he remained where he was and bided his time. It was a study in patience, and as far as he was concerned, all of this hype about patience being a virtue was patently false. From what he could tell about humanity and society in general, nothing good came to those who waited. People who waited usually missed out, and someone else took what might have otherwise have been theirs.

  That wasn’t going to happen to him. Logan was his.

  However, at the moment he had
no choice but to bide his time.

  A lock of Logan’s golden hair had slowly cascaded across the right side of her face to shield her from his view. Sam’s fingertips itched. His muscles bunched up. He wanted to tuck it behind her ear. He was disguised; she thought he was Maldovan, and he should have been able to do it without repercussions.

  But the boy was fighting him tooth and nail. He was pushing at Sam from the inside, seething like a rabid wolf, determined to somehow break free from the hold Sam had over him. It was taking far too much concentration for Sam to keep the young musician locked firmly where he was and maintain the grip he had on this body.

  It caused him to hesitate.

  Logan tucked the strand of hair behind her ear.

  Sam’s gaze narrowed, and teeth that should have been fangs ached a little behind his closed lips. When this was over, he was going to have Dominic Maldovan killed at least fifteen different ways.

  *****

  So quiet, Logan thought. In her mind ran a flashing film reel of all the emergency room visits she’d made over the years because of Taylor, and she thought of the quiet that always stole over her family afterward. She wondered whether Dom was feeling that right now. It was like being under water. It was silent under there. It was peaceful in an “I’m drowning” kind of way.

  Logan glanced at Dominic, taking in his profile. He was a tall boy, broad shouldered, and even under the weight of what he’d seen tonight, he seemed to resist gravity. He was bigger than it was.

  Logan blinked, frowning. But he stared out the window ahead and his eyes were focused on something unseen. He ran a hand through his hair, shimmering black locks winding around his fingers as he combed it from his face.

  Logan cleared her throat and returned her attention to the road. They stopped at a red light.

  “What do you do…” Dom said, breaking the silence. He looked down at his fingers and started again. “What do you do when you can’t handle… things?” His deep, beautiful voice was still hoarse, and she really did wonder whether he had in fact been screaming.