Tim answered her. “It went off several hours ago. We’ve been waiting for it to come back on.”
“W-who’s looking after Sammie?”
“We don’t know where he is,” Angela admitted.
Jessica straightened up. “What? It’s the middle of the night. Why isn’t he in bed? What have you people been doing? Mike, take me to Sammie’s room. I need to find him.”
“Of course,” said Mike.
“No!” said Angela. “We need to stay together.”
Jessica seemed to strengthen. “I give the orders around here, Ms Murs. You do not tell me what to do, especially where it concerns my son. I suggest that you both retire to your rooms. We’ll continue this in the morning and then we can discuss why my son was allowed to go missing.”
Angela went to argue, but Tim put a hand on her shoulder. He whispered in her ear. “Just leave it. I don’t think she even knows what’s happened to her tonight. You won’t make her understand until she’s regained her senses.”
“But we’re all in danger,” Angela whispered back. “We can’t leave the house, Graham is dead, and Jessica herself just said that Sammie needs to die, plus she sounded like a bloody snake when she said it.”
“I think we should just do as she says,” Tim said. “You and me can stay in one of the bedrooms and wait it out till morning.”
Angela nodded. “Okay. In the meantime, perhaps we can try and put some of this together – maybe come up with some answers.”
“Yeah,” said Tim. “I suppose stranger things have happened.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Tim had been invited by Angela to hole up in her bedroom for the rest of the night and he had agreed. It seemed like as safe a place as any.
4AM had just arrived and he was beginning to feel nauseous for lack of sleep. He didn’t expect to get any shut-eye soon either. He slumped himself down in an antique wing chair and tried to get comfy, but there was no way was he going to close his eyes.
The room’s double bed was unmade and Angela’s suitcase lay open on the floor in front of it. Angela noticed him staring at it and seemed embarrassed. “Housekeeping isn’t my strong point,” she said.
Tim chuckled tiredly. “Mine either. I live in a van.”
Angela lay down on the bed and propped herself up on the pillows. A candle on the bedside table lit her face. “We never had a chance to discuss what happened in your van. I mean, with the Ouija board and everything.”
“I know.” Tim suddenly remembered he wanted to discuss it too. “I’ve done séances before, so I wasn’t surprised it worked, but I don’t have a clue about the answers we got. Usually the spirits just natter about their family or hidden heirlooms. They’re pretty predictable, but this Chamuel...”
“It was all a little bit doom and gloom, wasn’t it?” Angela said. “Blood…Death…Hell will take you.”
“It didn’t feel like a threat, though, you know?” said Tim, rubbing at his eyes and sitting forward, trying to fight away tiredness. “Seemed more like a warning.”
Angela nodded and rubbed at her own eyes, copying him like a monkey at the zoo. “And the Ouija board said, ‘We’re here,’ just as Sammie turned up. It was almost like it was acting like a beacon for him to find us.”
“For who to find us? Chamuel or Sammie? Who’s in control of that kid?”
“I spoke to Sammie just before Graham’s body was found. He seemed scared, just like a kid should be. He said that Chamuel wanted to change him, to make him do things he didn’t want to.”
Tim rubbed at his chin. He could feel bristles of ginger stubble coming through. “Did Sammie say what things?”
Angela sighed. “No. He asked for my help, though. He asked me to get rid of Chamuel.”
“Then that’s what we do then.”
“How? I get the impression that Jessica is going to kick us out of the house first thing in the morning.”
Tim assumed the same thing. Jessica seemed irate at the situation she had awoken to, but surely she’d remember what had actually happened; would remember being blind, would remember walking into the office and giving them a warning in a voice that was a serpentine hiss? “Maybe tomorrow she’ll feel differently,” Tim suggested hopefully. “She was just confused earlier. Things might become clearer to her by dawn.”
“Are you still going to leave?” Angela asked.
Tim nodded. “Sorry, but I’d be gone already if the place wasn’t sealed up.”
“Do you know how it’s even possible that we’re trapped in here? How did they suddenly make the windows unbreakable?”
Tim thought the answer was obvious. “It’s security glass, isn’t it? A house like this, with a family like the Raymeadys, is certain to have tempered glass to stop people breaking in. It might even have been a recent addition if the email I read was anything to go by.”
“What did it say?”
Tim shrugged. “It was all a bit weird, but it seemed that Joseph Raymeady was worried about his life and had some guy investigating for him. Turns out that Black Remedy is about as ethical as the Mafia – except without all the codes of honour. The investigator thinks that Joseph’s death might not have been an accident.”
“Really? He thinks it was murder?”
Tim nodded. “Somebody close to him, he suggested – but not Frank, I don’t think. It was Frank who the email was addressed to. It seems like he’s been trying to get to the bottom of all of this, too, for his own peace of mind.”
Angela’s eyes widened. “Then that just leaves Mike.”
“Yeah, I guess so, but there used to be a lot more staff here when Joseph died, so it could have been somebody else. Can’t say I liked the way he shoved me away from the computer to get a look at that email, though. He seemed pretty anxious to see what it said.”
“I don’t trust him,” Angela said bluntly. “But I guess you already know that. At first I thought he was a pretty decent guy, but now I get the impression that he knows more than he is letting on. I think he might be dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Tim agreed. “Perhaps.”
“Which is why I’m begging you to stay.”
Tim shifted in the chair. The last thing on Earth he wanted to do was stay at the house a minute longer, but he also knew he didn’t want to abandon Angela – especially if she was at risk. He had to remind himself that he’d only just met the woman; he didn’t owe her anything. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But first thing tomorrow, I’m out of here.”
It looked as if Angela was going to argue with him, but then she just nodded. “Okay, well, that’s your choice.”
“You should get some sleep,” he told her. “I’ll watch over you for a few hours.”
Angela smiled wearily. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all. If you’re going to stay and get to the bottom of things, then you’ll need the rest.”
“Thanks. I feel like I might drop into a coma if I don’t sleep soon. Wake me if anything happens, though, yeah?”
“Sure thing.”
Angela closed her eyes and within two minutes she was snoring. Tim watched her sleep and wondered what her deal was. The woman was slightly overweight and baggy around the eyes. She was a drinker and an overeater; signs of an unhappy soul. Was her misery because of leaving the church, or did she leave the church because she was miserable? Tim could tell that Angela was a caring person, a good human being, but her weaknesses were unhidden and clear for all to see. After a certain length of time, depression could become part of a person’s personality and the hope of ever shedding it became unattainable. Tim hoped Angela found a way to face herself again one day. He knew that possibility was gone for himself – he would never be anything but what he already was.
Against his better judgement, Tim rested his eyelids for a second. Eventually he had no choice but to let sleep take him.
***
Angela opened her eyes to darkness. The candle in the room had extinguished. Usually, whenever she woke from a deep sl
umber, there was a brief moment of confusion while she wondered where she was, but in this case she opened her eyes and knew instantly. Her alert mind was unwilling to let her forget where she was, even for a moment. She was trapped inside the house.
She sat up and could almost feel the darkness move around her like a living thing. She listened out for noises, worried there might be someone else in the room with, but remembered that Tim had promised to watch over her.
She called out. “Tim, are you there?”
Silence.
Angela slid her legs off the bed and onto the floor. She cringed at the thud they made on the carpet. “Tim,” she called out again.
Still no answer.
She crept across the room, arms out in front of her as feelers. She bumped against the wing chair Tim had been sitting in. It was empty. Damn it, Tim! Where are you? You promised to stay with me.
Angela wondered if he’d gone to get a drink or something to eat. He was doubtlessly exhausted, too, so maybe he’d needed something to keep himself from falling asleep. Even so, Angela didn’t want to be alone in the house and didn’t like the thought of Tim wandering around on his own, either. They needed to stick together.
She left the bedroom and sidestepped into the corridor like a secret agent on a stealth mission. If anybody was around, she wanted to be sure she spotted them before they spotted her. As it turned out, the corridor was empty.
She decided to head downstairs and look for Tim in the kitchen. As she headed for the stairs, moonlight shone in through the windows. She took the opportunity to check her watch. It was 6AM, yet the moon was still high in the sky. The sun should have been muscling its way onto the horizon by now.
Angela reached the staircase balcony and realised she wouldn’t have to look any further to find Tim. He was right in front of her.
“Tim? What are you doing?”
Tim looked down at her from where he balanced atop the railing. His eyes were murky, white, and unfocused.
Angela looked over the railing, at the three-story drop to the cold marble below. “Tim, could you get down from there, please?”
He stared at her vacantly. The antique bannister beneath his feet rocked back and forth. His knees wobbled like loose springs. One false move and he’d fall to his death.
What the hell is he doing up there?
There seemed to be no sign of Tim getting down from the bannister of his own volition. It was almost as if he was sleepwalking or under some kind of spell. Maybe he’d taken something to help him sleep, something he shouldn’t have. He did strike me as a stoner when we first met.
Angela crept forwards, one foot carefully placed in front of the other. She didn’t want to startle him. “Tim? It’s Angela. I thought you were going to watch over me while I slept? I woke up and you were gone. I was worried.”
A strangled moan escaped Tim’s lips, almost as if he were a prisoner trying to escape his own body.
Angela took another step.
Tim’s moaning continued, grew louder.
She reached out toward him.
Tim flinched. His foot slipped. He fell.
Angela managed to grab a hold of the back of Tim’s shirt just in time. She yanked frantically and managed to direct his tumble backwards to the safety of the balcony instead of forwards to his death. He landed in a crumpled mess on the carpet with Angela lying beside him. “What the hell were you doing?” she shouted at him.
The milkyness had cleared from Tim’s eyes. He seemed confused. “I-I…how did I get out here?”
“You don’t remember?”
Tim propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head. “I remember sitting in the bedroom. You were snoring…”
Angela blushed.
“…and I must have fallen asleep. I-I don’t know what I was doing.”
“Are you a sleepwalker?” Angela asked him.
Tim shook his head. “If I am, this is the first time. I wonder how long I’ve been out here?”
“It’s past six.”
Tim frowned at her. “What? It’s still dark. Shouldn’t the sun be rising by now?”
Angela shrugged. She didn’t understand it either, but right now she wanted to get out of the open where she felt so exposed. “Come on. I think we should go back to my room. This time you get the bed and I’ll keep watch.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mike was clueless as to why the windows were suddenly unbreakable, but it fit well into his plans. Everyone needed to remain inside the house. Mike didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew that an awakening was at hand – and that would require certain sacrifices. It didn’t matter if Angela and Tim were suspicious of him or not; it was too late for either of them to do anything about it.
To make things even better, Jessica didn’t remember a thing about what had happened in her bedroom – about him choking her unconscious. Her voice was croaky and it was clear she had a bruised windpipe, but she was oblivious to the fact that Mike had been the one to inflict it upon her.
Jessica was currently sat on Sammie’s bed, weeping quietly to herself as she cradled the boy’s grimy pillow. Mike was amazed that the woman still felt maternal over the wretched little monster - he was no longer the loving little boy he used to be. Sammie had become a monster, something inside manifesting like mould on bread. The boy’s soul had putrefied.
“Are you okay, Miss Raymeady?” he asked Jessica.
She looked over at him with teary eyes but managed to smile. “No, not really, Michael. I feel like I’ve just woken up from a coma. Nothing is making any sense right now, especially with Sammie missing.”
“I’m sure he’s just playing games, hiding somewhere inside the house. I should really get back to looking for him.”
Jessica raised her hand. “No! Stay with me. I don’t feel safe without Frank in the house. I don’t want to be alone.”
Mike nodded. “I understand, but we really shouldn’t leave Sammie running loose with those two con artists in the house.”
Jessica frowned at him. “Why do you think they’re con artists?”
Mike huffed. “Come on, what have they done since they’ve been here, other than injuring Sammie and causing trouble? They’re probably the reason Sammie is hiding. He’s probably scared of being cut open with a needle again.”
Jessica shook her head. “I believe they’re trying to help. Whether or not that’s enough for me to let them to stay, I’ve not yet decided. What time is it, anyway? I need to make a decision about them before the new day begins.”
Mike checked his watch. “I’m afraid the day’s already started. It’s a little after eight.”
Jessica looked at him like he was mad. “What? You must be mistaken. It’s still pitch-black outside. It can’t be morning yet.”
Mike had not realised it was still dark outside. There was so much going on in his mind that the familiar surroundings of the house had become merely unnoticed background. Now that he was aware of the unusually extended night time, it disconcerted him. The missing sun, along with the sealed and unbreakable windows, made Mike uncomfortable. He was supposed to be marginally involved in the events to come, there to guide them, but he was beginning to fear that his part would be much bigger than intended.
Mike stroked at the raised scar-tissue hidden beneath his shirt. He hoped the ancient flesh carvings would be enough to ensure his safety.
Jessica dropped her son’s pillow and pulled herself away from his bed. “Come on, Mike. You’re right. We should be looking for Sammie.”
Mike opened the door for Jessica and followed her out into the corridor. He watched her sway unsteadily, as if drunk. Ironic, seeing as it’s probably the first time she’s been sober in six months.
Jessica stopped halfway down the corridor and glanced up at the wall. The Edwardian grandfather clock there displayed the exact same time as the digital display on his watch. Jessica was shaking her head as if she suspected the ancient timepiece of playing some cruel prank on her.
“Impossible,” she muttered, but got moving again. Mike continued after her, and when she reached the staircase, they headed down to the ground floor, where they marched across the foyer to the front door.
Jessica rattled the handle for a few seconds and then spun around on her heels, looking at Mike with her eyebrows raised. “Why won’t this door open? Have you done something to it?”
Mike shook his head. “I don’t understand it myself. No one has been able to open it since Frank left.”
“That makes no sense. What about the other doors? The ones in the piano lounge? The exit in the kitchen?”
“All the same. No one can get out. We were all waiting for daylight to investigate properly.”
“Well, the sun seems to have forgotten itself today. We need to sort this out now.”
Mike shrugged. He knew trying to get the door open would prove useless, but Jessica was his boss and refusing her would raise questions. He stood before her, awaiting orders.
Jessica glanced around the foyer then back at him. “Well? Go and find something to help. No point standing there like a monkey without his bananas.”
“Of course,” said Mike, fighting off the urge to mock-salute the bitch. She was almost back to the bossy, unbearable woman she’d been before her husband passed on. Perhaps she wasn’t the hopeless mess she’d appeared to be lately. That would make killing her easier if it came to it. “I’ll go check the kitchen,” he said. “Maybe we can try and pry the door open with a knife or something.”
“Fine,” said Jessica. She continued rattling and punching at the door’s handle, growing increasingly frustrated.
Mike entered the main kitchen and instantly felt a chill. The lack of soft furnishings, in addition to the metallic surfaces and appliances, made the room harsh and cold, but Mike knew that the chill running through his bones had nothing to do with the kitchen. It had a lot more to do with the fact that Sammie was sitting on the centre island, grinning, while his little legs swung back and forth beneath him.
“Hello, Michael.”
Mike took a step backwards and flinched as his back hit the wall. “Sammie? We’ve all been looking for you.”
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