“Holy mama!” Tim cried out.
Angela threw her upper body over the railing and grabbed a hold of Jessica. Frank had the woman under the armpits, but she was gradually slipping from his grasp. Angela grabbed a handful of the woman’s shirt and yanked, but almost ended up tumbling over the balcony herself. Mike managed to wrap both his arms around her hips and anchor her down before she went plummeting to her death.
With Mike securing her, Angela managed to get both hands on Jessica’s clothing and pull with all her strength. She and Frank worked together. Slowly they managed to hoist Jessica back towards the balcony, inch by inch. Once they had her near the top, Mike and Tim helped out and grabbed fistfuls of Jessica’s blouse. All together they managed topple the lady of the house back over the railing to safety. Her limp body hit the floor with a thwump!
Frank dropped to his knees beside Jessica and clawed at the ligature around her neck. He was frantic, almost sobbing. This was not the stone-faced control freak Angela was used to seeing. “Frank?” She placed a hand delicately on his shoulder. “What happened?”
Frank managed to loosen the rope around Jessica’s neck and slumped back on his heels when she coughed, spluttered, and resumed breathing. “I-I got here just as she was about to jump. I managed to catch her but her weight dragged me over the side. I couldn’t get her back up again. I think…I think she’ll be okay. She wasn’t hanging by her neck for more than a few seconds.”
Angela stared down at Jessica and saw that, at least physically, she was okay: breathing steadily as the rain fell down on her. Emotionally, however, the woman looked severely damaged. Her eyes had opened but merely stared into space, focusing upwards at the faraway stars. Angela knew her mind was just as far away.
“We need to call an ambulance,” said Tim.
Frank shook his head firmly. “No!”
Angela thought the man was in shock. “She just tried to kill herself, Frank!”
Frank shook his head again. “If word gets out about this, she’ll be removed from the Board of Directors. All of Joseph’s work will be undone and his business partner will take over.”
“What are you talking about?” Tim butted in. “Who gives a shit about business? She needs help.”
Frank was still adamant and shaking his head. “We’ll keep her safe. She’ll be okay. No one can know about this. Mike, go and get Graham. You can take turns keeping an eye on her until she’s better.”
Mike nodded in agreement but from the look on his face he was disturbed.
“This is insane,” Tim said, pulling at a clump of his ginger hair as if he were mad. “Why did she even do this? She seemed perfectly fine earlier.”
“No,” said Angela. “She wasn’t. People who commit suicide often seem fine right before they try to end it all. Killing yourself takes courage and a certain amount of inner peace. The reason Jessica seemed stronger and more in control earlier was because she wanted to die with the dignity of being herself. When people lose control of their lives, sometimes the only thing they have any power over is whether they live or die.”
“I wish we’d known what she was planning,” said Tim. “I just wish we could have, you know…”
“It’s not your fault,” Angela told him.
“Like hell it isn’t,” Frank said. “You people and your games are probably what sent her over the edge.”
Mike put a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Come on, Frank. That’s not true and you know it. Things haven’t been right around here since even before Joseph died. Angela and Tim are just trying to help.”
Frank’s shoulders dropped slightly as he seemed to accept what Mike was telling him. “Fine,” he said. “Someone just help me get her to the bed. She needs to rest.”
Mike and Frank hoisted Jessica up off the floor, while Tim went and pulled back the covers on the bed. Angela remained where she was, too dazed to move. She felt the caress of rain against her bare arms and stared out from the balcony into the night. Things are a mess, she thought to herself. She also thought about getting out of there and going back to her uneventful, uncomplicated life. But I can’t turn my back on Jessica now. She needs help more than ever. I can’t leave. I became a priest once, not because of my belief in God, but because I wanted to devote my life to helping others. I don’t have to be part of the Church to uphold that vow. Maybe my life can still have meaning without being a priest.
A rumble of thunder broke Angela away from her musings and she went back inside. She closed the French doors behind her and shut off the room from the wind and rain, although it still beat fiercely against the glass.
Jessica was tucked up in bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I’ll stay with her for now,” Mike said. “I’ll let Graham know what’s happened in the morning.”
“Thank you,” said Frank. “I will keep an eye on Sammie while she recovers.”
“What would you like us to do?” Angela asked Frank.
Frank stared at her for a moment and she expected another one of his verbal tirades, but eventually he just let out a sigh and said, “Get some sleep. We’ll figure this out in the morning.”
Angela didn’t argue. In all honesty, her bedroom seemed like the safest place to be. She’d had quite enough of this evening and its stresses. She left Jessica’s penthouse without complaint, not even bothering to say goodnight to anyone. Too much had happened for niceties to count for very much.
When she reached the Saunders suite a few minutes later, Angela noticed that her suitcase had been placed on the bed. It reminded her that she was still wearing the bloodstained clothing she’d had on for two days now. It would be good to get into some fresh togs. Although I’m beginning to feel like I might never feel clean again.
Beside her suitcase was another bag. The old leather satchel sill carried a layer of dust, despite its recent travels. Angela hadn’t faced its the contents in a long time. But she wasn’t going to deal with the bag tonight either. She didn’t have the energy. So she placed both her suitcase and the satchel onto the floor, before heading into the en suite.
She leant inside the bathroom’s shower cubicle and turned on the water. A cold stream gushed from the showerhead and slowly began to heat up. While she waited, she stripped off her dirty clothes and let them fall to the floor in a heap. Come morning, she would ask Mike to dispose of them, as no amount of washing could save them now.
The mirror above the sink showed Angela a reflection of her naked body. She cringed, not because her own flesh disgusted her, but because her skin was stained with Sammie’s blood where it had seeped through her shirt.
The crusted blood against her flesh made her think about Charles Crippley.
Will that man ever stop haunting me?
She ran a hand beneath the shower stream to test the temperature, then stepped beneath the hot waterfall. She shuddered beneath the heat and watched dried blood flake and peel from her skin. It was like being reborn; shedding an unwanted skin. It wasn’t long before her skin was bare and healthy again, but she still felt stained. She used a nearby bar of soap to lather herself up and finally wash the horrors of the day away. Slowly, her strength returned, even as the hot water softened her.
Her mind started to drift. She thought about Jessica and what could have made the woman want to kill herself. She thought about the images on Tim’s laptop, of Jessica smothering her son. But there’s no way that could have happened. We got there too quickly. And Sammie had been asleep. It was almost like we were sent on a wild goose chase to keep us from finding out what Jessica was really up to. Thank God Frank was there.
There was still something that didn’t add up as Angela thought about it. Jessica could not have been in two places at once – it was physically impossible – so what exactly had she, Tim, and Mike seen on the video feed? There was something else troubling her, too. Sammie’s drawings had predicted the rain, the darkness, and everyone being huddled around Tim’s laptop. They also showed Jessica hanging herself. Sammie had known what was going
to happen. He knew.
Angela thought about Charles Crippley again. He had also possessed certain talents of clairvoyance. He had known Angela was a lesbian before she’d even known herself. He’d also known many of the sins of her parishioners – he’d called them out in church as he butchered each and every one of them. Fornicator, swindler, wife-beater…
Was that what was happening now? Was Crippley inside the boy? Sammie had known Angela when they’d first met; knew her because of his ‘friend’ the boy had said. Don’t be ridiculous, Angela. You’re losing your mind. Whatever’s going on here, there’s no reason to think that there’s something – or someone – inside of Sammie.
She turned off the shower and let the water drain from her skin. There was steam coming off of her flesh and for a moment she felt light-headed from the heat, but stepping out onto the cold tiles of the bathroom was soothing and quickly brought back her senses.
She was careful not to slip as she padded across the bathroom tiles back towards the plush carpet of the bedroom. Her plan was to go to bed and reassess things in the morning – she was too tired to figure anything out right now – but as she reached the bedroom door, something stopped her dead in her tracks.
Slowly Angela turned towards the mirror above the sink, where she had noticed something in the corner of her eye. Written in the condensation on the mirror by unseen fingertips were two simple words: SAVE ME.
***
Angela dared not look at her watch for fear it would show a time closer to dawn than to midnight. Sleep deprivation was one of her biggest dislikes and it felt like she had lain awake in bed for hours. If she checked her watch and saw that it was nearly time to get up it would depress her unbelievably and destroy the slim chance of catching any rest at all. I hate this house.
Angela could be a bad sleeper at the best of times, but tonight there were several causes for her insomnia. Her head was filled with questions. The main one being: Who had been in her bathroom while she showered and wrote a message the mirror? If it was a joke, she didn’t find it funny. Tomorrow she would get to the bottom of it, but right now there was something else demanding her attention; the main reason she could not sleep.
Sammie’s voice was an endless babble of noise, muffled by the floors between them, but still loud and bellowing. Angela found it hard to believe that the boy’s voice could travel so far and be so booming. The words he spoke were indecipherable at such a distance, but Angela knew what Sammie was babbling about. Frank had already told her that Sammie liked to quote the Bible during the small hours. That was no doubt what the boy was doing right now. But which parts of the Bible?
Angela was tucked beneath fine Egyptian sheets, listening to the ramblings of a mentally disturbed ten-year old, whilst his billionaire mother lay upstairs recovering from a suicide attempt. Surreal didn’t even begin to describe it.
As she tossed and turned, something occurred to her. When Frank had first told her about Sammie’s nightly activities, she had asked him to record the verses the boy was quoting. Whether Frank had done so and forgotten, or just not done so at all, was unclear, but so far he had not even mentioned her request. It was something she needed to remember to ask him about tomorrow. The Bible verses could point to subconscious messages that Sammie was unable to communicate in other ways. They could provide vital clues on how to help the boy.
Angela finally gave in and checked her watch. It was a little past 3AM – not as bad as she’d thought. She actually started to feel a little hopeful about getting at least a modicum of sleep.
That was, until the power went off again and the rain began beating at her window. Being surrounded by the pitch-black darkness of the unfamiliar room sent shivers along her skin. The rain got so hard against the windowpane that it almost drowned out the sound of Sammie’s chanting voice.
Almost.
Angela shook her head and cursed in the darkness. “I really hate this house.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tim awoke well rested in his van at 10AM. Frank had offered him a room inside the house, but the van was his home. He didn’t see any reason to obligate himself to anybody else. Sleeping in his vehicle also gave him the option of a midnight getaway if things got too intense. Running away was one of the ways Tim survived.
Although he fully intended to see the job through, with the way things were going, Tim was prepared to leave at the first sign of danger. Just because I enjoy watching the X-Files doesn’t mean I want to be in it.
Rain still fell from the ashen sky and the grounds were waterlogged and glistening. Fat crows stalked the gardens, looking for plump worms.
Tim rummaged around in the clothes hamper he kept in the back of his van and pulled on a pair of jeans, along with a bright orange ATARI t-shirt that went well with his hair. Tim knew that he looked like a massive nerd, but that was just his protection – his camouflage. It was difficult to look in the mirror and face the man he truly was. Growing his bright ginger hair out into a shaggy mess, not shaving, and wearing teenager’s clothes was a penance of sorts. Tim deserved nobody’s respect so he ensured that he received none. Without anybody respecting him, there was no reason for him ever to confront his past, or for anybody to expect anything from him in the future.
Tim hopped out of the van, his trainers crunching in the wet gravel of the driveway. The large Mercedes was parked nearby, but neither Mike nor Graham was inside. Tim remembered they were on suicide watch. Poor Jessica. She must have been through hell to reach such desperation. Tim remembered a quote he read once: But in the end one needs more courage to live than to kill himself. Tim understood the truth of the statement.
When he reached the front door of the house, he realised he was locked out. Thankfully, when he pressed the buzzer, it didn’t take long for Frank to arrive and let him in out the rain.
The Chief of House looked exhausted. His sunken eyes were as grey as his hair and new wrinkles had appeared all over his face. If Tim knew any better, he would say that Frank hadn’t slept in days.
“Everything okay, man?”
Frank tilted his head as if he was too tired to hold it up. “As well as can be expected. Sammie is in his room and Ms Raymeady is sleeping. I trust there will be no disruptions today?”
Tim shrugged. “No intentional disruptions, but they seem to be a regular occurrence around here.”
Frank didn’t say anything. Perhaps he agreed.
“Is Angela awake yet?” Tim asked.
“I believe not. I am yet to see her this morning. Perhaps you should call on her.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.”
“No need.” Angela was coming down the staircase. She looked exhausted too, but at least she had a clean set of clothes on: a thin blue sweater with black trousers. She was carrying a satchel.
“How’d you sleep?” Tim asked her.
“I didn’t.”
“That sucks. You going to be okay?”
Angela nodded. “Don’t worry about me. Frank, did you record the things that Sammie has been saying during the night? You said that you would.”
Frank shook his head dismissively, but it was clear by the brief flicker in his expression that he’d forgotten. “I’m afraid I haven’t gotten around to it.”
Angela shook her head angrily. “Frank, you brought us here to help. How can we do that if you’re not helping us?”
Frank seemed insulted by her chastisement and stiffened up defiantly. “I don’t see what knowledge it would provide you, anyway. Seems like a fool’s errand to me.”
“That’s your opinion. Now I have to wait another night to find out what Sammie’s been saying during the night.”
“No you don’t,” Tim said. “When the power came back on, so did the video feeds I set up. I’ll have audio recordings of anything Sammie said last night.”
Angela smiled, but then it quickly turned to a frown. “But the power went off again during the night.”
Tim shrugged. Having slept outside, he hadn’t been
aware of any power cut. As he looked around he saw that the electricity was still yet to come back on. “Well, I’ll have recordings up until that point at least. May still be helpful.”
“You’re right,” said Angela, patting him on the back like a buddy. “Good work.”
“My laptop is still in the piano lounge. Shall we go and have a look now?”
Angela was in favour of the suggestion, so they got going. Before they left the foyer, though, Frank had one last thing to say to them. “Let me know if you intend on seeing Sammie. No one sees him without informing me first.”
“Sure thing,” said Tim, actually preferring Frank to be there if they went to see the boy again. Maybe he can keep the kid from attacking like a wild animal.
In the lounge, Tim’s laptop was still on the table where he’d left it. The lid was closed so he pushed it open and took a seat. The screen was black for a few seconds while the computer came out of sleep mode, but then several images popped up onscreen.
The video and audio feeds were no longer live. An error log reported they had been interrupted by a hardware failure, which must have been when the power went out. He checked the video cache and was pleased to see that there were still several hours of recordings. With any luck, there would be plenty of footage that Angela could work with.
He clicked on the backup file.
A video popped up on screen. Tim moved the laptop so that Angela could see it.
“What time is this from?” she asked him.
“It’s from…half-past-twelve.”
“Can you fast forward it? To about 2AM?”
“Yeah, sure. Did something happen then?”
Angela nodded. “I was awake. Sammie was rambling at the time.”
Tim clicked on the video’s timeline, finding the approximate clip. “Okay…let’s see what we’ve got.”
The video stuttered briefly and then begun to play smoothly. Sammie was pacing his room like a caged lion, sticking close to the walls on all sides, never encroaching on the centre of the room. It was the behaviour of a trapped animal. The boy was shouting and gesticulating wildly. “Behold, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to everyone according to what he has done.”
The BIG Horror Pack 1 Page 9
