Free Sam: A Novel Of Suspense by Iain Rob Wright Page B

bleeding badly, his bodily fluids jetting into the
air in a fountain of gore, puddling on the floor in a grisly lake.
    “Jesus
Christ,” Frank shouted as he rushed across the room.  “What the hell have you
done?  Jesus!”
    Sammie
snarled at Frank as he approached and spat a mouthful of viscous black fluid
right into his face.  Frank clutched at his cheek and was clearly disgusted by
the foul liquid that came away on his hands.
    “Blasphemer!”
Sammie bellowed
    Angela
stood still, in shock and unable to move.
    Then
the bleeding stopped, as suddenly as it had started.  The arc of blood
disappeared as if someone had turned off a tap inside the boy’s heart.  Sammie
turned slowly to face the bay window and seemed almost to slither towards it. 
He sat down at the chair of his drawing desk and started sketching with his
crayons.  His bare feet had left blood prints on the plush cream carpet.
    “What
the fuck just happened?” Frank shouted at the top of his lungs.
    “I
have no idea,” said Tim.  “A syringe can’t open up an artery like that. And
bleeding that heavy doesn’t just stop either.”
    Angela
bent forward, the tang of fresh blood taking her mind to a place of nightmares
and misery.  “I think I’m going to be sick.”
    Tim
came and put an arm around her.  “Come on.  Let’s get out of here until we can
think this through.”
    “Yes,”
said Sammie, sketching away calmly.  “Why don’t you all just GET THE FUCK OUT
OF HERE AND LEAVE ME ALONE?”
    The
boy’s voice was the deep baritone of a circus strongman, not that of a skinny,
ten-year old boy.  The words were so loud and full of bass that Angela’s ears
rattled against her skull.  The surprise of it stopped her dead in her tracks
for a moment, but Tim gently pulled on her arm and got her moving again.
    “I
don’t know if we should leave him,” she said.  “Maybe we should go get a
doctor.”
    Tim
continued dragging her towards the door.  “He’s fine.  Look at him. It’s like
nothing ever happened.  Anyway, I got what I needed.”
    “And
what was that?”
    “I
got Sammie’s blood,” said Tim.  “It’s all over me.”

 
    CHAPTER ELEVEN
    “You
need to get those con artists out of this house,” Frank told Jessica. She was
currently lying in her bed, trying to sleep off a hangover.  “They almost
killed Sammie just now.  There was blood everywhere.”
    Jessica
sat bolt upright.  The urgency returned to her eyes at the news of her son
having been in danger.  “What?  Sammie?  Is he okay?  Frank, tell me.”
    Frank
ran a hand over his throbbing forehead.  “He’s fine, somehow.  I don’t quite
know what happened to be honest, but I know it started when that ginger-headed
clown stuck a needle in your son’s arm.”
    “Where
is everybody now?”
    “Sammie
is drawing at his desk.  Angela and Tim are somewhere in the house planning
their next performance.”
    Jessica
patted the bed beside her and, reluctantly, Frank sat down on the spot she’d
indicated.  Jessica began to rub his shoulders.  “Frank, you promised me that
you would give this a go.  These two people are the only hope I have left.  I
know that you don’t agree with their methods, but let’s just see what they come
up with.  I fear Sammie is doomed otherwise.”
    “I
think he’s in more danger since they turned up, but…”  He sighed.  It
was pointless arguing, nor was it his place.  “If that’s what you want, Jessica.”
    “Thank
you, Frank.”  She began kissing the nape of his neck and stroked his chest.  He
stood up quickly, not because he was adverse to her touch, but because he knew
he couldn’t deal with the distraction right now.
    “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