Samantha- The Haunting

by A A Bavar

  “Like I said. I was just doing my job, nothing personal,” said Jane with a straight face devoid of any emotion.

  “Okay, I hear you. That’s too bad, I guess, because for me, sticking those needles in my arm and strapping me down so viciously that I could barely breathe, felt very personal.” Samantha paused, a sly smile spreading across her face. “Let’s play a little game, why don’t we?”

  Jane slid the chair to the side and took a couple of steps forward. “I don’t think so, Ms. DesJardins. You shouldn’t be here. I don’t know how you got out or how you found me, but I need you to leave. Please put the knife down and go.”

  Samantha looked at the knife in her hand, flipped it from side to side, shrugged, and put it back in the knife block. “There… happy? Now we can play. Have you heard of William Tell? Or better yet, Robin Hood? They both fought for the oppressed. Guess what, in our little world, I’m pretty sure I’m the oppressed, so I’ll be fighting for me. As for you—”

  Jane took another step forward. “Ms. DesJardins, we aren’t going to play any games, or talk, or do anything else for that matter. You need to leave. Now! Or else—”

  “Or else what, you bitch! Do you think you’re in any position to tell me anything? But you’re right, no more talk… it’s time to play!” said Samantha, and pointed at the chair. Immediately, the chair slid into position behind Jane.

  “How did you do that?” said Jane, trying to keep her voice steady.

  “With a little bit of magic.” Samantha pointed at Jane and moved her finger down. “Let’s sit, why don’t we?”

  “What are you doing,” shrieked Jane as her knees buckled and she plopped down on the chair. She struggled to get up, but couldn’t move. “You can’t do this! Let me go!”

  “Well, obviously I can,” snickered Samantha. “Now, remember how that William Tell guy shot the apple off his sons head to save their lives? I wanna try something like that… but not quite so dramatic. And, well, not with a traditional arrow either.”

  “No! Help! Please, somebody help!” screamed Jane, tears in her eyes, her lips trembling. “Please, don’t do this. Don’t hurt me.”

  Samantha ignored her and walked to a wired, three tier, metal, vegetable basket neatly tucked in a nook beside the fridge and picked up a large onion. “Remember that whole talk we had about how I was going to cut your tongue out and feed it to you with onions? Well, I think this one will do, don’t you?” Samantha held the onion up for Jane to see.

  “Oh God! Oh my God,” whimpered Jane. “Please, I beg you… don’t do this. I never meant to hurt you. I… I’m so sorry for everything…”

  Samantha laughed and looked at Jane in mock shock. “You really thought I was going to do that? What kind of psychotic, evil person do you think I am? Who would even do such a thing?” she said, and walked to Jane. She stood in front of her, forcing Jane to look up at her.

  Jane sobbed with relief, her body trembling. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” she said, drying her eyes with the back of her hand. “But you were so convincing,” she added with a nervous laugh.

  “Janie, sweetie… that whole scene with the tongue lacks so much imagination and class. It’s borderline boorish and definitely overused. No, no… I’m much more sophisticated than that, you know? What I have in mind is much more imaginative and original.” Suddenly, Samantha clutched Jane’s face in a vice-like grip and forced open her mouth. Jane screamed in surprise and reached up, grabbing Samantha’s wrist. Before she could do anything, however, Samantha, her eyes thin, dark slits, glowed red and Jane’s arms snapped rigidly beside her. “I forgot about that. Nice try. But let’s not ruin the game. Here, let me put this in nice and snug.” Samantha pushed the onion into Jane’s mouth, twisting it left and right as she wedged it in.

  Jane’s eyes were open wide and bulging out of their sockets, her breath coming in short spurts. She tried to scream, but managed only a muffled cry.

  “Now, now! Try to keep calm and don’t bite down on the onion. Trust me, it can be very overpowering… we don’t want you to choke now, do we?” Samantha turned and walked back to the cabinets beside the microwave. “What do we have here?” she said, and opened one cabinet after the other.

  Jane watched with tears running down her cheek, her face red, her mouth wide open, and her lips stretched to their limits.

  “Ah, here it is. I was pretty sure the odds were in my favor.” Samantha turned holding a box with several small bottles of clear liquid in one hand, and a box of syringes in the other. “Diabetes. If the disease doesn’t kill you, the medication will!” Samantha put the boxes on the kitchen table and removed a bottle and syringe. She uncovered the needle, held the bottle upside down, pushed the needle through the seal, and pulled the plunger, filling the barrel with insulin.

  Jane watched Samantha’s every move, terrorized, making guttural attempts to scream. Her eyes were puffy from crying, and drool ran down the corners of her mouth and dripped on her chest.

  Samantha glanced at Jane and winked. “This is going to be fun. William Tell with a slight twist. You see, instead of an apple, we’re using an onion, and instead of putting it on your head… well, it’s kind of obvious, no? And, oh yes, syringes for arrows! How original,” said Samantha gleefully, as she continued to fill syringe after syringe with insulin. “This can be the new, hip game to play at kids’ birthday parties… or college dorms.”

  Jane strained her body as hard as she could against the invisible force holding her down, but it was useless. Her head was the only part of her that she could move.

  Samantha moved away from the table and aligned herself with Jane. “This looks about right, don’t you think? Say, fifteen feet or so?” She put the syringes on the counter behind her, keeping one in her right hand. “Now, for my first try at hitting the target. Unfortunately, this is my first time, so… sorry…”

  Jane shook her head violently from side to side, screaming desperately, her muffled cries lost to the world.

  “Janie… sweetie… you need to keep still,” said Samantha, and waited for a few seconds. “Okay, let’s do it your way, then.” Samantha, holding the syringe in between her fingers, pulled back on an imaginary bow, aimed, and released. There was a twang and the syringe shot forward, embedding itself above Jane’s left breast, emptying its contents upon impact. “Not bad for my first try. Don’t you think?”

  Jane stopped thrashing, a muffled yelp escaping her mouth. She looked down at the syringe, surprise in her eyes and face. Slowly, she looked up at Samantha, comprehension sinking in. She started to tremble again, her eyes pleading, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Samantha shrugged and shot again, this time hitting Jane’s left bicep. Jane squealed. “Damn, Janie, you sound like a sick mouse. Toughen up, girl, we have a lot more of these to go through. If I’m not mistaken, you shot me 418 times, and I want to return the favor… all tonight, of course. Can you imagine what you’ll look like by the time I’m done? A human porcupine! Too bad I can’t post that on Instagram.” Samantha let out a loud guttural laugh, then without warning and in quick succession, shot syringe after syringe until she was out.

  Jane cringed and screamed with each impact as the needles penetrated her body, delivering their lethal load. The last one hit her in the stomach with a thud. Jane looked down, her nightgown full of red, bloody dots. There were at least twenty syringes in her chest and stomach, each taking her a step closer to death. Slowly, she looked up at Samantha, her eyes venomous, full of hatred.

  “Finally! That’s what I was looking for,” hissed Samantha. “This is the fucking nurse I remember walking into my room every night and relishing the idea of sticking me with a needle and knocking me out into la la land! You know, the truth always sneaks through, no matter the mask you use.”

  Jane continued staring at Samantha, her eyes smiling contemptuously.

  Samantha arched her eyebrows and smirked. “I understand your smugness. You think I’m out of syringes, don’t
you?” she said, and clasped her hands in front of her face. With her eyes glowing red, she unlocked her fingers, and as they slid apart they transformed into long syringes. “Cool trick, huh? But I have to say, after this I’ll probably need to eat like a lion and sleep for a whole week!”

  Jane stared at Samantha, disbelief, horror, and confusion crashing together in her eyes once again.

  “Oh, don’t be like that. I’ll make it quick. Just can’t promise it’ll be painless.” Samantha pointed all ten fingers at Jane and launched an avalanche of syringes at her. They swished through the air like a continuous swarm of wasps, the noise earsplitting, the impact so strong that the chair Jane was sitting on slid backwards and almost tipped over. Samantha collapsed to her hands and knees, her body spent. She took a few deep breaths, allowing her body to recover from the sudden strain. She could hear Jane breathing laboriously and stood. Jane was sweating and shaking uncontrollably, her body, mind, and heart slowly shutting down.

  “Janie, Janie. My little… big porcupine. Not much longer, now. You’ll go into shock soon. I guess there’s a reason behind Tell’s legendary prowess, huh? Hitting that damn onion was impossible even with magic.” Samantha, the last syringe in hand, approached Jane and bent down, her cold, angry eyes level with Jane’s. “This last one I’ll deliver personally,” she hissed, jammed the needle into Jane’s forehead, and pressed the plunger. “Bon voyage, bitch!”

  Paul woke with a start. His eyes were blood red, raw, and burning. He looked up, and although he couldn’t quite make out the pattern of the molding around the ceiling, he knew exactly what it looked like.

  “Good morning sleepy head,” said a voice to his right.

  Paul jerked to a sitting position and groaned, his head a mass of throbbing nerves. “Sam… Wendy! What the hell are you doing here?”

  Samantha was lying on her side, her head propped up, her right hand pinning the sheets across her bare chest. The Hope Diamond was dangling loosely from her neck, resting on the pillow under her elbow. She grinned, her eyes shining. “Interesting question, since this is my room. And that’s what I asked you last night. Can you imagine my surprise when I came home after visiting my friend and found you passed out in my bed mumbling something about—”

  “Samantha…” Paul whispered. “I remember thinking I needed to… what the hell happened? I… did we… my head feels like it’s been run over by a truck, and I don’t think I’m wearing,” Paul lifted the covers and looked under the sheets, “anything…”

  “Neither am I,” giggled Samantha. “Yep, that was one more thing I noticed last night.” Samantha looked down at the sheets, averting his eyes. “I missed that, you know. Missed you.”

  Paul threw back the covers and got up. “Wendy, I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, and picked up his clothes from the ground, covering himself. “I have no idea why I did that last night. I don’t even really remember doing anything… and what the hell do you mean you missed me? We’ve never been together before, just Samantha and now—” Paul stopped mid-sentence. He rubbed his temple and ran his fingers through his hair. “What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I stop thinking about… damn, I need to stop with this weird obsession! A good, hot shower, a couple of pain killers, and a full, busy day at work. That’s it. This was a mistake, that’s all.” He looked hard at Samantha, his eyes slowly turning quizzical, and walked to the bathroom.

  Samantha got out of bed, walked to the bay window, and pulled back the sheer lining. The sun was barely over the horizon, its placid, yellow rays streaming in through the window and bouncing off her smooth, naked skin. She put her hand over the Hope Diamond and absentmindedly rubbed its surface with the tip of her index finger. The diamond reacted to her touch, turning a deep red at the point of contact, the color diffusing throughout its surface. Samantha stood quietly with her chin up, an expression of calm tranquility spreading across her face, and closed her eyes, enjoying the subtle warmth. She heard the shower running in the bathroom and smiled. “I have a plan, my love. We’ll be together again very soon, and you’ll be free to be yourself, to love me again.”

  Paul entered the kitchen and stopped just inside the door. He was wearing a custom made, charcoal Italian suit with a light pink shirt and no tie. He looked around and saw Samantha sitting at the kitchen table, a full breakfast set neatly for two, but his eyes continued their nervous search.

  “You look terribly sharp today,” said Samantha in a sweet voice, and grabbed something from the chair cushion next to her. “Are you looking for this?” She held up Paul’s cell phone. “Come have something to eat before you go. I can sure enjoy your company.”

  Paul nodded and walked to the table, taking the cell phone from Samantha’s hand. “Yes, thank you,” he said distractedly, looking past Samantha at the flowery tile pattern on the wall, his mind occupied by some distant thought. “I have to change my schedule, there’s no other way. Maybe Anna can show Pat-ri-cia…” Paul mumbled to himself, and sat down. Automatically, he swiped his password pattern on the cell phone screen with his thumb. A window with Patricia’s message popped up on the screen. Paul hesitated for a second, then swiped it away.

  “I made your favorite. Toast, sausage, scrambled eggs, and a light brew of Brazilian coffee. There’s also freshly squeezed orange juice,” said Samantha, as she her hand on Paul’s wrist.

  “Oh, thanks,” replied Paul automatically. Suddenly, his eyes snapped to Samantha, their intensity back. “Wendy, how did you know what I like? We’ve never had breakfast together, and except for that crazy night when… you know… we’ve never talked about or done anything remotely personal.”

  Samantha took a sip of coffee and smiled. “Samantha must’ve told me,” she said, her eyes subtly glowing red. “Now why don’t you put that thing down and enjoy breakfast. I’d think after last night you’d be famished,” she said with a wink.

  Paul stared back and put his phone down. “Samantha…” he whispered, and jumped to his feet. “I need to go. I’m sorry,” he blurted, and rushed out of the kitchen towards the garage.

  Samantha let out an amused giggle. “I guess I overdid it last night,” she said, took another sip of tea, and picked up Paul’s phone. The screen was still unlocked. Samantha tapped on the messages icon. A list of message threads showed on the screen, the most recent from Patricia. “You really should learn to lock your phone, sweetie,” she murmured to herself, and tapped Patricia’s message thread. Suddenly, Samantha’s eyes went cold. Two lifeless, black holes. Then, as if fed by a smoldering fire, they began to glow red until their intensity filled the room. “You bitch, I was being nice to you! I even gave you the benefit of the doubt… twice! But you’re nothing but a whore, a two-bit, conniving husband snatcher. Well, guess who’s coming to dinner!”

  Sounds great! I hope you like surprises! replied Samantha, and tapped Send.

  Patricia slowly rolled over to her back, stretched out her arms and legs as far as they would go, and let out a long, lazy groan as she opened her eyes. The room was bright. Warm, yellow shafts of sunlight streaked in from the half open curtains facing her, almost reaching the foot of her bed.

  “Ah…” she mumbled, and turned to look at the digital clock on the nightstand beside her bed. It read 8:34 a.m. She reached over, grabbed her cell phone, and sat up. Okay, let’s see, she thought, swiped the screen, and looked down. No new messages. Damn, Paul… playing hard to get, huh? she thought with a smirk, tapped the new message icon, and started typing. So… I guess I’ll have to sweeten the pot to get you to answer! How about dinner at my place (surprise menu) and something decadent for dessert? Say around 7:30?

  Patricia tapped send, threw back the covers, and was about to put the cell phone back on the nightstand and get up, when she stopped and started typing again. Good morning, Anna. I’m taking a couple of days off… don’t worry, all’s good. Actually, feeling quite refreshed. Please finish moving whatever is left to the new office and reschedule any pending meetings. You know
how we like things! Talk to you later. Thanks.

  After a quick shower, Patricia walked out of her bedroom wearing a blue summer dress with pink roses. She was confident, her pace determined as she approached the framed pictures on the wall. As she got closer, however, she slowed down, her eyes in a squint and fixed on the approaching duck landscape. She hadn’t turned on the lights in the hall, and it was too dark for her to see the details of the picture from that angle. Slowly, as if stepping on creaky floorboards, she passed the guest bathroom, closed her eyes, and turned to face the photos. After a deep breath, she warily opened her eyes.

  “Oh thank God!” she exclaimed, and stared at the cute little ducklings paddling furiously after their mother. “You’re definitely a lot cuter like this!” she exclaimed, and looked at the other pictures to make sure they were also normal. “It’s all good, Tricia. All good! Now, on to the kitchen to make sure those freaking pills aren’t back.”

  The living room and the kitchen were bright, sunlight coming in from the large bay windows. Patricia didn’t hesitate and immediately turned to face the kitchen counter. “Yes!” she shouted. The counter was empty, devoid of any pill bottles.

  “Marge! Margaret, can you come here for a second, please?” Paul called from his office. He was standing by his desk, a disturbed look on his face. “Damn, I’m losing it… where the hell is that thing?”

  “I’m sorry?” Margaret, wearing an elegant, blue, two piece suit and matching high heels walked into Paul’s office. “Is there something wrong with the phone intercom?” she said with a smirk.

  “No, no! Sorry for shouting,” replied Paul, trying to control his frustration, then added, “I know, I know… I broke my own cardinal rule for professional behavior. Always maintain a cool and under control demeanor, especially when under pressure and in the office. But in my defense, I don’t quite feel like myself today… and it seems like I’ve misplaced my phone,” he said, and patted his suit pocket yet again.