**********
Sam Mitchell's life was worthless and he knew it. Almost nineteen years of life and absolutely nothing to show for it. The years had wasted away, leaving no sense of achievement or satisfaction. A dead end. He had no career prospects, no home to call his own and no-one to share his pitiful existence with. He had tried to purge Birchfield from his mind, finishing his travels in Seattle where he decided to stay permanently. Still checking in with his parents on occasion so they wouldn't report him as missing, he refused to talk to Alice and just wanted to be left alone. The poor, self loathing fool was determined to forget her and wallow in his own misery.
Sam had considered ending it all on more than one occasion, but he didn't even have the guts to carry it through. In fact, he prayed every night that a mugger would jump him on his early morning trek home from work. They would find him penniless and stick a knife in his chest for the trouble. Or perhaps an armed robbery would take place at the corner store where he whittled away his nightly hours. He'd make a sudden move and they'd bury a metal round deep in his thick skull. It was something he always day dreamed about, but he knew he wasn't that lucky.
Sitting in the dark, in a musty, old armchair of an apartment he could barely afford to rent, Sam stared at the static on his age old TV screen. His cable had been disconnected over a month ago because of overdue bills and so he sat there alone, imagining what life would have been like if he hadn't made all the wrong choices.
If only he'd gone to college like his parents had insisted. Maybe he could have learned how to talk to women instead of sitting in the corner at parties and muttering to himself like a weirdo. He should have put himself out there and applied for positions outside of his comfort zone. Then again, who would accept a job application from a man with no degree and no real experience? Sam wasn't sure if he had ever peaked in life, but he was positive that he had hit all the low points more than once.
The bright red glow of a neon sign from across the alley lit up the dated wallpaper of the apartment, making the whole room feel ominous and menacing. The random flowery patterns glistened like blood at a crime scene. This was only accentuated by the distant police sirens echoing outside and the dripping of the leaky faucet in the kitchen. Creaky floorboards in the apartment above only added to the claustrophobic feeling of dread and despair.
Somewhere outside, the clattering of a metal trash can and the hissing of stray cats fighting for scraps of food, followed by the angry shouts of a man just trying to get some damn sleep. This place sure wasn't in the classy part of town. It was only a stained spring mattress and busted window away from being classified as a crack den.
Screw it! Time once again to get blind drunk and forget it all for at least a little while. Sam grabbed his battered, near empty wallet from a nearby coffee table and checked it for money. A small note and a few scraps of change. Not enough to black out, but enough to buy some beer and get a good buzz on. He quickly made his way to the door, grabbing his keys before making a quick exit.
As the door slammed behind him, a crooked picture frame fell from its rusty nail hanging, the glass smashing on the floor. Within it, a photograph of Sam as a child, with the face of the girl next to him blacked out with a marker. It was a faded memory of a happier time before it all went wrong.
Two or three locks later and Sam was pocketing his keys as he made his way down the short hallway, towards an elevator that was a death trap waiting to happen. The sole source of light in the rat hole was a flickering fluorescent tube that caused the entire place to strobe at irregular intervals. The electrical pop and constant humming were enough to induce a migraine if experienced for longer than a few minutes. Just enough time to press the button and call the screeching metal box up from its resting area in the lobby.
Sam glanced back at his door, taking a moment to notice the number six hanging off its screw, making it look as though he lived in number nineteen instead of sixteen. He rolled his eyes and turned back to face the elevator. A minute more and it pinged to let him know that it had arrived, doors sliding open to reveal the enclosed space beyond and a dusty mirror that showed Sam just how much of a mess he really was.
After pressing the button for the lobby, Sam turned his attention back to the mirror. He was faced with pale skin, dark, sunken eyes that were aging and tired, a five-o'clock shadow and a scruffy, unkempt mop of dark brown hair on top. The shaky and unhealthy figure that peered back was dressed in torn jeans, a stained white t-shirt and an old military jacket with black leather boots that had seen better days.
Sam didn't know what he was thinking with the jacket. Perhaps he wanted to be mistaken for a veteran and be shown respect that he in no way deserved. He never served in the military, as that would have required effort, discipline and drive. He didn't have time for that crap. He didn't have time for anything productive or positive in his life at all. Not anymore.
**********
Upon leaving the liquor store, Sam was met with a brisk and sudden breeze that carried hundreds of dried leaves down the empty street, sending chills up his spine. He pulled his hood up over his head to keep his ears warm before fumbling at the zipper of his jacket as he tried to close it one handed. His left arm was down by his side, hand wrapped around the six-pack he had just blown the last of his wages on.
That small pittance was supposed to last him until the end of the week. Not that he remembered what day it was anyway, as they often all blurred into one. There were only workdays or non workdays. No other form of date management and no calendars required.
As Sam was deep in thought, an old, rust bucket of a car pulled around the corner, revving its engine and spinning its wheels before racing down the street past him. It swerved for a nearby puddle, spraying him with dirty drain water, with both the driver and his passengers yelling abuse as they sped by. They screeched round the bend, whooping out the windows and leaving the strong aroma of burnt rubber in the air.
The freezing cold liquid drenched Sam's coat, soaking through to his skin before dripping down to cover his jeans with mud as well. Perfect... Just perfect. As if the night couldn't get any worse and then it turns out everyone's an asshole.
Home was only a block or two away, but too far for Sam to be bothered walking now. He lazily slumped down on the front steps of some other nameless brick building, placing his beer on the cold stone next to him. Reaching into the pocket of his wet jacket, he felt the bottle of pain meds he'd scored from the liquor stores counter while the attendant had their back turned. 'Do Not Take With Alcohol' written in bold letters. Perhaps it would be a blackout night after all.
A handful of pills went down the hatch with a shotgunned beer chaser. The effects weren't immediate, but it only took a few minutes for the cocktail of drugs and alcohol to take effect.
A second beer helped to ease the pain and relax the muscles. It was funny how comfortable a set of random stairs could be with the right cocktail mix. The chill of the cold night air didn't feel so harsh any more and everything else was just a little bit easier.
When had his life come to this? Sam couldn't remember the exact point of his life when everything had changed. Or maybe it had always been like this and any happy memories of his childhood were just figments of his own twisted imagination, designed to taunt him on a nightly basis. They were a window into a place where he didn't belong, as he was left outside to wallow in his own self doubt and hatred.
Time slowed once more as Sam pounded a third beer and decided to pop one or two more pills. It wasn't an awkward slowness, but an almost zen like state where the world around him blurred. It began to twist around him in a calming, circular motion. It couldn't have been more than an hour before he felt as though he was falling further down the rabbit hole. Light as a feather, but dropping like a stone. The smooth motions replaced by a roaring tornado of entropy.
Six empty cans now littered the immediate area and only a couple of pills remained. Sam had honestly lost count of how many he had taken, but it didn
't seem to matter any more. They had gone down a lot easier than he'd anticipated.
Breathing slowed as Sam began to slip in and out of consciousness, making him feel weak and unstable. A single thought in the back of his mind wondered if he had finally done it. Not premeditated suicide, but a mere accidental death. It made some sort of poetic justice that he could fail at something as easy as getting drunk, yet still manage something he had been too cowardly to do on purpose.
Bile burned the back of Sam's throat as his thoughts were clouded by a fog of confusion and his body convulsed. He could feel the blood thickening in his veins as the rhythmic sounds of his heartbeat began to slow. Through the incessant pounding in his head, he could only just make out the shapes of a young couple approaching from the far end of the street. They were laughing together and gossiping until they stopped dead in their tracks, faced with the pathetic sight of a dying man at the end of his rope.
Sam couldn't make out their words. Perhaps pity for someone who must look like an addict or maybe abject terror of the sight before them. Maybe they weren't even speaking in English. It didn't really matter to him, and he seemingly didn't matter to them as they kept their distance, crossing to the other side of the road where they kept on walking.
Sam's life was surely nearing the end now. Coughs, wheezes and strained gasps for air could only be his failed attempts at breathing and he knew it. No-one would come to his aid. He was a nobody. A loser who had lost his way and killed himself through his own stupidity, and now as his life began to leave his body, he had one final regret.
Despite everything that had happened. All the bad things in his life. All the pain, anger and depression. Sam didn't want to die, he wanted to keep on living his miserable existence, but it was too late. Nothing could save him now. No-one would come to his rescue in this soulless and uncaring city. Or so he thought.
As if from nowhere, Sam could just about make out the sound of more footsteps. Someone else was approaching. There was a faint whisper of a woman's voice, her breath on his neck, and then everything simply collapsed around him like a house of cards. Existence itself crumbled to dust and the universe faded to black. Death itself had come for him.
**********
“Sam!”
Alice called out his name as she bolted upright in bed. She had seen everything and knew that he was in trouble, but how? Did they still have some sort of connection that couldn't be erased? She felt his pain, his body dying and knew it was too late to save him, which caused tears to well up in her eyes. She had already lost him as her friend and companion, but now he was lost to the world as well.
It was too late to save Sam, which meant that Alice had lost the only friend that she ever had. Yet even though he was gone, part of him still lingered. Even now she could feel his spirit somehow watching over her from the other side. He was trying to help her cope with the loss and wouldn't leave her side. She knew that he would be there to see her grow into a better person.
Or at least she presumed that it was Sam that was watching over her now. It must have been him, as the presence felt so warm and familiar. She had to believe that he was with her parents now, keeping each other safe. She needed to believe that they would all be waiting for her in heaven and that one day they could all be reunited in death.
Chapter Five: Finding the strength to move on.
Eight months after Sam had left home, the Mitchell family were contacted by the Seattle police department who stated that he had died from a drug overdose within their city limits. Alice was devastated and confused by the news, suspecting foul play and claiming that she had been granted a vision of his final moments. Olivia, overcome by grief, struck the girl across the face, accusing her of being a childish daydreamer. Quickly regretting her actions, she apologised profusely and blamed the loss of her only child as the catalyst.
Alice attended Sam's funeral, breaking down halfway through reading his eulogy. It only just dawned on her that she'd never hear his voice or his laugh again. At least not in that lifetime. She could still feel his spirit by her side, but they were no longer able to converse. She couldn't ask him about his day or laugh about old memories of times gone by. It just wasn't fair that his life had been taken at such a young age. It wasn't that long ago that he was seemingly full of promise and ready to take on the world. Surely it couldn't have just been the events on the night of the senior prom that had changed him so. There had to be something or someone else behind it…
A few weeks later, Simon and Olivia collectively decided, after some discussion, to move to the Florida to stay with Olivia's sister. They wanted to be closer to the rest of their family in their time of grief. Alice, too scared to go to the east coast with them, packed her belongings and transferred them over to a small rental apartment near her place of work. She wasn't ready for another big change so soon in her life, and the Mitchells didn't try to convince her otherwise.
When the day of their move arrived, Alice turned up to say farewell to her surrogate family. Embracing her, Olivia handed Alice a small box containing a silver crucifix that Sam had bought for her eighteenth birthday. He had never gotten around to giving the necklace to her, leaving it in one of his bedroom drawers as he left town. Alice was extremely thankful, cherishing the gift and wearing it every single moment of every day from then on.
In return, Alice told both Simon and Olivia of something she had seen in a dream. She saw them living happily in a house near a golden beach and that Olivia was pregnant with a girl. The Mitchell's were still relatively young and fertile after all, at least compared to Bill and Martha Delaney. The couple weren't sure what to think, but hugged Alice thankfully and said their goodbyes.
Alice had considered getting a tattoo done that would symbolise Sam's life and commemorate her friendship with him. However, she was never able to settle on a design that would do it justice, and so she decided to go without. It was a better option than getting one that she would have regretted later in life. Her own memories and photographs of her friend would have to do. Alice didn't need to justify her feelings to others anyway, as their relationship and life experiences were completely private. Samuel Mitchell would live on in her heart and mind.
**********
2017. Three years had passed since Sam's death, and life had been boring and fairly uneventful for Alice. Her imagination seemed to stagnate now she had no one to share her adventures with. She only lived to work and worked to live.
That is until Drew Taylor, the mayor's son attempted to sexually assault her in the diner's bathroom on a particularly quiet night at work. She lost control and overpowered him, nearly beating the man to death in a blind frenzy. Regaining her control all too late, she instantly felt regret and called the emergency services.
Drew was rushed to hospital as Alice stayed behind to be questioned by the police, without any real answers to give them. They had their suspicions in regards to what had occurred within the diner, believing at first that Alice had initiated the attack. However, they decided to release her shortly after she broke down in tears, realising that she may have been the victim and that she had only defended herself, if a bit overzealously.
Unfortunately for Alice, the charismatic and vengeful mayor wasn't about to forgive her for what he labelled as aggravated assault on his poor, defenseless boy. He worked on spreading rumours of witchcraft, leading the general populace to believe that Alice was a devil worshipping witch in disguise. He told them that his son was only the first of many victims that she would attempt to sacrifice in service to her dark lord and demanded justice.
Alice found that she was soon ostracized by the town folk, becoming a target of death threats, property damage and random violence. As someone who shunned demons and worshipped alongside the same people in church, she felt hurt by their actions. It seemed that she would never be accepted amongst the people of Birchfield and that despite her fear of leaving yet another place that she called home, it was way more dangerous to stay.
Trading
in her moped for an old rustbucket of a car, Alice gathered what few belongings she could carry and left town in a hurry. She was worried that the longer she stayed there, the more and more likely it was that people would chase her out of town, or if the mayor got his way, form a mob and try to lynch her.
After her recent loss of control in the confrontation with Drew, Alice was more than a little scared of her own harmful freakouts, as well as what others might potentially do to her because of them. She could be locked away, experimented on... Or worse! For that reason, she would strive to learn how to control herself.
Alice had no idea why she reacted so violently under extreme emotional pressure, but she intended to find out on a journey of self discovery. The question was, where should she start? Perhaps with locating her real parents, wherever they were and whoever they may have been. That hope was resting on the slightest chance that they were alive somewhere and that they cared enough to help her, or if it was even possible to locate them at all. It was daunting task that Alice wasn't quite sure that she was up for, but that didn't mean she wouldn't give it a damn good try.
**********
Driving south from Birchfield, Alice was enjoying the warmth of the morning sun as it peeked over the fields. The front windows of the car were rolled all the way down, allowing the wind to blow fresh air through her hair. The bucket of bolts she had purchased for transport dated back to the eighties, so there was no air conditioning and each door had to be manually locked. It was an old, little car with no thrills and just the basic functionalities that a vehicle required to be road legal.
The Beast Inside Page 8