Sam

by Iain Rob Wright

  “I need to get back downstairs,” he said. “Keep an eye on things.”

  “When was the last time you slept, Frank? You’re not usually this rattled.”

  Maybe if you were sober a little more often I wouldn’t need to be so alert all the time.

  “I’m fine,” Frank told her. “I just want this situation dealt with, so we can all go back to normal.”

  “Me too, Frank. I appreciate your loyalty this last year. I couldn’t have coped without you.”

  You aren’t coping...

  “It’s been my pleasure, Ms Raymeady. I take it you will be joining us this evening?”

  Jessica must have caught the disapproving look in his eyes because her reply was short and clipped. “I will be down shortly.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” Frank opened the door of the master bedroom and departed. The penthouse floor of the house was the most lavish of all and Frank hated it. It represented the dirty money of Black Remedy and the wealth of its late owner. Joseph may have been a better man than his father, but the opulence he inherited was still stained with blood and corruption. Now that Joseph was dead, the Black Remedy Corporation would no doubt become an even bigger cesspit of immoral greed. Jessica would inherit half of the company, but Frank knew that she was weak. Her late husband’s business partner, Vincent Black, would run rings around her until he was in complete control of the company. By the time little Sammie grew up, his mother would probably be left with nothing. From billionaire housewife to destitute widow in less than a decade; that was how Black Remedy worked. You were either a man-eating lion or you got eaten alive. Jessica was a wounded pony, doomed to visit the abattoir and her suffering would only get worse.

  Unfortunately, he loved her.

  At least for the time being, Frank could do his best to protect Jessica and Sammie. Whatever happened in the future he would have to deal with then, but for now there were more pressing matters to attend to.

  He headed into Joseph’s former office at the east end of the penthouse and unlocked it with his master keys. Frank knew what he was looking for and didn’t hesitate in going over to the wall-safe behind the broad, walnut desk taking up half the room. After keying in the combination and swinging open the hatch, Frank fumbled between the various papers and wads of cash until he placed his hand around a wooden grip handle. He pulled the police-issue Glock 17 handgun out of the safe and checked that it was loaded. It was. He slipped the weapon into his trousers and pulled his suit jacket over the top to keep it hidden.

  I don’t know what those two clowns are planning, but I’ll make sure they’ll think twice before trying to take advantage of Jessica. Any more of Sammie’s blood hits the floor and I’ll make them sorry.

  Frank closed up the safe and took a seat in Joseph’s high-backed leather chair. He pressed a button on his ex-boss’s computer and waited while the hard drive whizzed to life, loading the operating system. Frank felt small sitting at the grand desk, surrounded by shelves full of books he could never hope to understand. He wasn’t a big enough man to fill his boss’ shoes and he wondered what Joseph Raymeady would have made of the feelings Frank had for his wife. Joseph was a fair man, but loyalty was important to him. Frank knew that his behaviour would have brought out the darker side of his employer. Who would blame him, though? Jessica might be a widow, but Frank still felt like he was betraying her late husband. He felt like Judas.

  You’re not doing anything wrong, Frank told himself. You’re protecting the man’s family. He would have wanted that. The fact that she’s one of the richest women in the world and as emotionally involved as you are is just a bonus.

  The computer screen lit up and Joseph’s desktop appeared on screen. Why the computer wasn’t password protected, Frank would never understand, but it had made it much easier for him to look into his late boss’s activities.

  In the months prior to his death, Joseph had been increasingly unnerved about something. Frank needed to find out what it was in case it presented a danger to Jessica and her son. He’d checked through the company’s financial records first and had found nothing concerning – profits were down, but that was mostly due to Joseph’s efforts to clean up the company and do things ethically, but overall Black Remedy still had its fingers in hundreds of very successful pies: from banking and finance, to a chain of successful bakeries, there was nary a single industry that the company didn’t have at least some of its hooks into. The company had even recently begun purchasing cruise liners to add a tourism arm to its already vast shipping fleets. But of course, as had always been the case, the jewel in the crown of Black Remedy was pharmaceuticals. Whether it be for a common cold or full-blown AIDS, every time someone in the western world popped a pill, there was a sixty per cent chance that it came from one of Black Remedy’s processing plants. The company possessed such power that it could regulate people’s health on a whim.

  Frank had come to the conclusion that whatever had been worrying Joseph had not been a financial issue. Which meant the threat must have been more personal. Closer to home. Frank clicked on a folder marked ‘Personal Files’ and was met with a list of several hundred files. Organisation was not one of Joseph’s many strengths.

  Frank looked through the randomly named files: Car Insurance, holiday booking confirmation – March 2012, Receipt – Television for lounge, Tax summary – 2011, Letter to Thom Brady (Real Estate) January 2012, Job applicants – Gardeners. Invoice – George Farley, Corporate Researcher. Most of the files Frank saw were things he knew about or concerned people he knew. That last file, however – George Farley, Corporate Researcher – was named after someone he had never heard of. He clicked on the file and opened it.

  A document opened on screen. It looked to be a typical corporate invoice. The letterhead read FARLEY DOSSIER SERVICE: Corporate Fact Finding.

  “What the hell is Corporate Fact Finding?” Frank asked himself. He looked over the document and saw a chargeable item listed as: Asset Investigation - £13, 500. The next item read: Personnel Background and Surveillance - £24,000.

  What the hell was Joseph paying almost forty grand for?

  Frank looked over the document and located an email address in the small print of the footer. He opened up the email manager and pasted in the address. Then he began typing:

  Dear George Farley:

  I am an employee of the late Joseph Raymeady, CEO of the Black Remedy Corporation. I currently reside at his former home and am charged with the protection of his widow and orphan. I believe that, prior to my employer’s death, he was under a great deal of stress. Something was concerning him, and I believe that something could pose a threat to his surviving family. I am hoping you could disregard the typical etiquette of confidentiality and divulge to me the nature of the work you recently undertook for Joseph.

  Yours faithfully,

  Frank Senz

  Household Coordinator, Raymeady Estate.

  Frank leant back in the chair and hoped that it wouldn’t take long to get a reply.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Who was that?” Graham asked.

  “Frank,” Mike replied, putting away his mobile phone. “He was just checking in.”

  Graham took a sip from his coffee flask and then dropped it into the dashboard’s drinks holder. “How’s everything inside the house?”

  “Tense, by the sound of things. I don’t think Frank trusts Jessica’s guests. Apparently there was an incident with Sammie and now he wants them gone.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  Mike sighed. “They’re okay. Angela seemed pretty normal.”

  Graham laughed. “You know she’s a dyke, right?”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Nothing. Just saying. No point wasting your time on a rug muncher.”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “I’ll bear that in mind.” In all honesty, he wasn’t interested in Angela in that way, but meeting new people was a rarity in his current line of work and the woman seemed like fun. If she
and the other guy were asked to leave then the house and grounds would go back to being empty and Mike’s job would get that little bit more boring.

  Graham turned on the radio and started flicking through the stations. After finding nothing he liked, he gave up and rested back in his seat. “Did Frank give us anything to do? I’m going crazy stuck in this bloody car.”

  Mike exhaled and shook his head. “Me too, but he just wants us to stay put. I think he wants us here as back-up.”

  Graham scoffed. “Back-up? Against a weedy loser and a dyke ex-priest?”

  “Like I said, Frank doesn’t trust them. He’s worried about Sammie.”

  “Why? It ain’t his kid. If I were that guy, I would get a job working for some other rich idiot, rather than babysitting a drunk woman and her weirdo kid.”

  “Don’t talk about Sammie like that,” Mike admonished. “Sammie will be our boss one day. He’s going to inherit all of his father’s power and influence. Greatness is that kid’s birth right.”

  Graham waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Until then, though, he’s still just a weird little brat.”

  “Perhaps, but there’re reasons for that, which is why Jessica has hired people to help.”

  “You think they’ll figure out what’s wrong with the kid?”

  Mike shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows? I doubt it. I don’t think anyone will be able to figure out what’s wrong with Sammie until it’s too late.”

  Before Graham managed a reply, Angela rushed frantically out into the grounds.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Mike, leaping from the car. He hurried over and saw that there was blood on the woman’s shirt. “Are you okay?” he asked her. “What on Earth has happened?”

  Angela looked down at herself and saw what he was referring to. “I’m fine. It’s Sammie’s blood.”

  “Sammie’s?”

  “He’s fine too,” Angela quickly assured him. “He just had a little…accident, I guess you’d call it. I just came out for some fresh air. I’m feeling a bit sick.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Angela shook her head but laughed glumly. “You know what, I think it’s about time you went and got me a change of clothes.”

  “Yeah, no problem. Graham and I would be glad to have something to do, anyway. We’ll get going right away.”

  Angela reached into her pocket and pulled out some keys. She handed them over. “My house keys. There’s something else I need too.”

  Mike nodded. “Okay.”

  “In my bedroom closet there’s an old black duffel bag. I need it.”

  “Sure thing,” said Mike. “What’s in it?”

  Angela shook her head wearily and seemed a little faint. Her answer was blunt and without humour: “My exorcism kit.”

  “Oh,” said Mike, stepping to one side as the woman vomited on the driveway.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tim prepared to run the blood test a third time, unsatisfied with the previous two sets of results. After extracting a sample of Sammie’s blood from his shirt, Tim had run it through his portable analyser. The results it gave him were bizarre to say the least.

  According to the printout, Sammie’s blood had no recognisable type. In fact, the analyser spat out nothing but errors. It was as though Tim had loaded the centrifuge with motor oil instead of blood. It made no sense. He was considering running his own blood just to make sure the machine wasn’t faulty.

  “Where’s Angela?” Frank asked, appearing in the corridor behind Tim.

  “She went out to get some fresh air. Not feeling too good after all the blood.”

  “About that,” Frank said sternly. “What the hell happened?”

  “Hell if I know. One minute the kid’s skin is like concrete and the next he’s opening up like a cantaloupe.”

  “You had no right to take his blood. You’re not qualified.”

  Tim stood in front of the larger man and looked him in the eye. “Hey, you gave me the go ahead. You could have stopped me if you’d wanted. Besides, I did everything by the book. I didn’t cause that bleeding.”

  “Then what did?”

  “I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “But according to my tests it wasn’t even real blood, which leads me to ask myself if I’m just the butt of some big joke.”

  Frank laughed. “You think it was a trick? Look, Mr Golding. I would love nothing more than for you to leave, so trust me when I say that the last thing I would want to do is play games with you.”

  “Fine. I’m just telling you what I know, and something doesn’t add up.”

  “Then it’s your job to do the math. I suggest you go and gather up your cohort and get back to work.”

  Tim saluted. “Yes, Mein Fuhrer.”

  Frank’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing as he departed down the hallway.

  Tim shook his head, muttering under his breath as the man walked away. “Jackass. I never asked for you to bring me here in the first place. I’m just trying to help you with your mess. A ‘thank you’ wouldn’t go amiss.”

  Angela came up the staircase and Tim smiled at her as she approached. He was glad to see a friendly face after the frosty hostility of Frank. “Everything okay?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, I’m feeling better now that I puked a little. Mike’s gone to get my things, but it looks like I’ve got to accept being caked in blood and vomit until then.”

  “If it even is blood,” he said. “I’m not so sure.”

  Angela looked at him confused. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean all of the tests that I’ve run on Sammie’s blood have come up inconclusive. I can’t get a blood type, mineral traces, or anything you would usually find. It’s weird.”

  “This whole thing is weird.”

  “So what should we do next?”

  Angela pointed at the bank of Tim’s machines. “Don’t tell me you’re all out of science experiments?”

  “I’m not, but I think it may be best if I switched to observation mode for the rest of the day. I think I’d like to know a bit more before I jump back into the fire.”

  “Good idea,” Angela agreed. “I think I’ll leave getting started until tomorrow, too. Has anyone told you what Sammie will be doing for the rest of the evening?”

  “No, they haven’t, but whatever he gets up to, we’ll have a front row seat.” Tim patted the lid of the laptop sitting amongst his equipment. “How bout we set this up in the lounge and help ourselves to some more overpriced booze?”

  Angela looked at her watch. It was only just after five, a little early to settle down. “Yeah, why not. My nerves could do with it.”

  Tim nodded. “Let’s go then.”

  ***

  They’d been drinking for over an hour and, as it turned out, Tim was as much of a drifter as Angela was. She listened to his stories about how he’d been free and single for several years now, floating from one town to the next while living out of his van. Most of his work was gained through a website he accessed through various Internet cafes. His notoriety came from a high profile case in 2003 when Tim had debunked a poltergeist claim for someone loosely connected to the Royals. Turned out that one of the staff was having fun with them by rigging parts of the house with practical jokes and false hauntings. The story had been picked up by several national newspapers.

  Placed on the table between the two of them was Tim’s oversized laptop. It looked expensive, like most of Tim’s equipment did. It made Angela wonder how he could afford all of it. On the laptop’s screen were several video-windows streaming footage from Sammie’s room. One feed was from an infrared heat camera, while another was from a standard high definition feed. A selection of dials and readouts cluttered the bottom of the screen, displaying temperature, air pressure, sound frequencies, and a bunch of other scientific garble.

  Angela pointed to the screen at Sammie. “How long has he been sitting there now?”

  “Since we opened up the feed, which was more tha
n an hour ago. I wonder what he’s thinking about.”

  Angela considered the answer. Sammie was sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, staring into space. “I don’t know what he’s thinking,” she said. “But I don’t imagine it’s anything good.”

  “Well, tomorrow we’ll start trying to make some sense of everything. Until then, bottoms up.”

  Tim raised his glass and Angela finished off her whisky. She quickly poured another from the bottle on the table. She poured Tim another too. Then she shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked her.

  Angela rubbed at her shoulders. “Yeah, it’s getting a bit chilly.”

  “Guess it is. I imagine it’s pretty hard to heat a place this size.”

  The patter of rain started up and Angela looked across the room to the French doors that lined the far wall behind the lounge’s grand piano. Pebble-sized splashes appeared on the windows as the downpour beat against the glass.

  “Well, I wouldn’t bank on it getting any warmer,” said Tim. “Looks like we’re in for a dreary evening.”

  Suddenly the lights in the room went out, leaving them in moonlit darkness.

  “Oh, great,” said Angela. “If I wasn’t cold before, I’m definitely going to freeze with the power off.”

  “I’m sure it will come back on in a minute. Maybe there’s a storm coming.”

  “As if this night couldn’t get any more cliché. It’s a dark, stormy night at an old English manor and the power just went out. Are you kidding me?”

  Tim giggled. “All we need now is an axe-wielding maniac.”

  The doors to the lounge shot open.

  It was Mike and Graham, and they were smiling. “Mind if we join you?” Mike asked. “It’s a little too nippy to sit around in the car all night. I brought your things, Angela. I placed them in your room.”

  “Fantastic,” Angela said. “And, yes, you are welcome to join us. I think we were just about to freak ourselves out, anyway, what with the power being off. The more the merrier, I say.”