Dead Men Walking

I was surprised but relieved when Sammy didn’t give me an ear-bashing for sneaking out that morning. She was far too pre-occupied with Francis’ dismissal, and shocked when she heard my explanation. We spent almost an hour in the kitchen talking it over, she speaking with far more venom about Francis than I had ever known her too.

“But surely,” she said, thoughtfully, about a quarter of an hour later after the shock had sunk in, “If she’s a better vessal when she’s weak, surely it will wear off when she gets stronger?”

“Tom didn’t seem to think so.”

But her question was the same as mine. I remembered thinking the same thing when Sammy frowned slightly, and then stood. “Perhaps we’d better get to work, then.”

I took her mug and tipped the cold contents of mine down the sink and followed her into the dinning room. Sitting down, I picked up the nearest book, and opened it. Typically, there was no index and the contents page hopelessly vague. Knowing I was in for a long day’s work, I leaned back and began to read.

When Tom returned he did not come in to see us, nor did he say anything. I heard him turn the key in the door of his study, and caught the look of irritation on Sammy’s face. However, she said nothing, we continued to read in silence.

It was about an hour later when he finally did stick his head around the doorframe. “Where’s Amy?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“I left her in town.”

He frowned slightly and then came to check up on our progress, and then, without expressing any encouragement or disappointment, he said to Sammy; “Will you make lunch?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded, slipping out into the hall. “Will eggs do?” I opened my mouth to ask “eggs how?” but shut it again when Tom uttered a loud affirmative. He pulled a folder across to him and pulled out a plastic wallet and began to scribble some notes in the margin.

“Oh, I’ll need your help lifting the new bed in. I’ve just ordered one. We’ll need to paint that room as well, which means she needs to be brought downstairs. I suppose you did feed her?”

“Yeah, but just some toast…”

“That will do, but she’ll need some more in a few minutes. Sammy will sort that. You’re going to have to go and pick up some paint, if you please, after you’ve eaten. I want to have her settled in as soon as possible.”

He had obviously slipped into the mood to organise, as he was comanding delegations with a greater speed and bluntness than usual. But I had questions.

“Tom…” I said, clearing my throat. “Are we…are we trying to cure her, somehow?”

“That will remain to be seen.”

I paused. There was something in his manner that told me he was not in mind to disclose his plans or discuss his ideas on the situation. But he’d had the whole morning on his terms, and I decided that if he wanted my held, then he’d have to give something in return. Emboldening myself with a sense of entitlement, I pressed on. “You said she was beyond help.”

“So I assumed. But having spoken with another on the matter I have come to see differently in this girl’s case, and therefore I am endeavouring to find what can be done to help her. Now, have you more questions or can we get back to the afore said task?”

Duly scolded, I turned back to the book in my hands. Shortly, Sammy came bustling through with three steaming plates of scrambled egg-on-toast. I leaned over to relieve her of the third, precariously balanced on her forearm. “Thanks…” I said, Tom, who accepted his with a nod, said nothing. Sammy sat down abruptly at the end of the table wearing a frown.

We flicked through thick ring-binders and dust-covered books in silence. I made notes on several of the studies of the links between psychic vampirism and anaemia, took down relevant passages from all the works on regulated possession and searched for receptive psychic case studies, but in truth I had no idea as to what specifically I was supposed to be looking for or why. Sammy seemed to be doing much the same, and throwing occasional dark glances across the room to Tom, who was immersed in a large volume chronicling vampiric rites, cross referencing them with his notes. He did not look up, nor did he say anything, for another hour at least, before looking up sharply at me as I leaned across the table.

“Yes, ah, Ryan, I think you perhaps ought to go and check on her now.”

I flipped the notebook shut. “Sure.”

“Pass those to me,” he said, indicating my notes. I did. “Anything useful?” he asked, putting onto the pile of unread notes next to him. Sammy snapped the book she was reading shut abruptly.

“Uh…” I began uncertainly. “I’m not sure. I don’t really know…what you’re looking for.” Sammy was looking at Tom expectantly, and Tom just removed his glasses and pinched his nose. He didn’t say anything and then waved a hand to send me away. The last thing I heard as I made my way up the stairs was Tom saying in a sharp voice; “Make me a tea.”

Josephine was lying on her back on the mattress when I got there. She was staring at the ceiling with her hands clasped, princess-in-the-tower style, neatly on her stomach.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Your friends are fighting.”

I sighed. I hadn‘t heard raised voices, but I thought a minor scuffle was about to break out. “Yes, I know. I’m sorry, is it hurting you?”

“It doesn’t hurt.”

I nodded and closed the door behind me. Flinching at the noise, she rolled onto her side, and then sat up, sighing heavily. The contents of her bag were scattered about her feet as if she had been looking for something, and the fluffy shawl she had wrapped about her was now wound about her tiny feet.

“Are you cold?” I asked.

“No.”

I wondered what she was thinking. She had an odd expression on her face, as if she was annoyed or holding back a sharp comment. Just as I was thinking this, she looked at me with a bemused expression.

“Can you hear what I’m thinking?” I asked, genuinely interested but also a little embarrassed.

She nodded.

“Sorry,” I said.

She rolled her eyes and smiled. It was a weak smile, but a smile at least, and it encouraged me. Perhaps we could take care of her after all. That moment was brief, though, as her eyes fogged over with tears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, taking a step closer, before remembering that I was forbidden to offer physical comfort. “Don’t cry, tell me.”

“It’s not me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with sorrow. “That girl….” She was actually shaking with sobs now, her pale face was stained and her voice choked up. For a moment, I thought she looked exactly like Sammy, and I realised she was wearing the exact same expression that Sammy does when she‘s just had a fight. Ah. While I’ve been up here, apparently the shit has hit the fan downstairs.

“I’ll go down to her…okay?” I said, my eyes fixated on her face. “Will that make it better?”

Nodding vaguely, she turned away, running her hand through her straggled hair. I turned and bolted down the corridor, wondering exactly what had been said. I met Sammy half way up the stairs and she flung her arms around my neck.

“Shh, shh, shh.” I said, holding her close.

Her chest was heaving against mine. She’s short, and she was stood on her tip-toes, balanced on the edge of a step, and I was worried that the pair of us were about to topple over, but I just kept still. By the time she’d stopped crying there was a damp patch on my t-shirt and her eyes were bloodshot. Her head must have been pounding, and she just slumped down on the stair beside me. I sat down next to her.

“I’m so sick of him,” she said, “I’m just so sick of him. Why, Ryan, why the hell does he treat me like that?”

“I dunno,” I said shrugging helplessly. Truth be told, I wasn’t very good at this type of thing. I could deal with Amy crying, and Amy could deal with pretty much anyone else crying, but I wasn’t used to Sammy getting upset. I thought it wouldn’t be prudent to mention Josephine’s plight at that moment, but I did feel bad about not being able to calm her down sooner. I grasped around for an idea. “Why don’t we go and have a coffee and talk about it? Leave Tom to it…you know…”

She sniffed, wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, and then smiled and nodded. I tried not to sigh with relief, but I helped her up and we went down the stairs together. I ventured into the dinning room where Tom was still bent over some books while Sammy put on her coat and waited, resting on one hip, by the door.

Cautiously, I cleared my throat. “Uh, Tom?”

He looked up. Much to my surprise, he looked genuinely haggard, as if he had been shaken by the argument. Usually, there was nothing like conflict to push Tom into his apathetic-scholar act, he very much favoured the route of pretending nothing had happened. But there was almost an apology written in his eyes when I looked at him then, and it threw me right off.

“Are you going?” he asked.

“Yeah, that is…if you don’t need us here….” I could hear myself faltering, but I knew I’d have felt bad if I’d just walked out on him then. “We were just going to get some coffee…”

“Fine, fine. I’ll get on with this, then, and see to the girl.”

“Okay,” I said, relieved at being let off. “Shall I call back later?”

“Please,” he said, turning back to his papers and running his fingers through his greying hair. Speechless, I stood there for a moment and stared, but then I pulled myself back together and went out quickly. Sammy gave me a quizzical look, but said nothing until we’d gotten into the car and pulled away.

“Shall we meet up with Amy?” she asked as she flicked off the radio.

“Did you leave her at your flat?” I said, flinching as a black cat ran across the road in front of us.

“Uhuh,” Sammy replied as she pulled my CD case out of the glove box and began to go through them. “She was a little pissed you sneaked out this morning.”

“I bet she was.”

Sammy looked over at me for a second, sighed contemptuously and snapped the CD case shut rather aggressively. “Haven’t you got anything decent?”

“No,” I said. “Where to, then?”

We ended up in a little bar overlooking a river. The girl behind the bar gave Sammy a very guarded look when we came in, and then proceeded to declare our drinks ‘on the house’. “What was all that about then?” I asked her as we sat down in the far corner, but I didn’t get much of an answer. Sammy just raised her eyebrows mysteriously and grinned, before turning to stare out of the window.

“So-” I began, but was cut off when Sammy’s phone started ringing.

“Hello?” she said. Whoever was on the other line held Sammy’s attention for less than a minute before she was rolling her eyes and slumping down in the chair. She kept repeating yeahs and okays, and before long she sat up, sniffed and said, “Sorry, got to run, bye!” and hung up abruptly.

“Who was it?” I asked, dreading the thought that it might have been Tom.

“Some guy from my art class,” she said, taking a long drink. I did likewise.

“So what did you and Tom argue about?”

“I told him to stop taking me for granted,” she said. “Which was apparently a very stupid thing to do, as if he can’t take me for granted, he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Ah, that’s not true,” I said, in a tone I thought rather convincing, although I didn’t altogether believe my own words. “He cares about you, you know that. He needs you around, I know he can be a bit….brusque about it, but…” my words tailed of lamely.

“He’s fucking rude, not brusque! He treats me like I’m nothing. Like he could have a better mystic making his notes and cooking his fucking meals.” She was spitting with rage by this point. “I’ve been his virtual fucking servant for fifty years, and for what? To get bossed about and looked down on.”

When she stopped raging there was an uncomfortable silence. A few moments passed as she looked out of the window and I stared at the floor. “Or maybe I could just do what you did,” she said, suddenly. “Run away.” Then her phone started ringing.

I opened my mouth to respond, but she was getting her phone out, so I didn’t bother. Besides, she was annoyed, and I wasn’t fool enough to try and talk her out of her sense of injury, no matter how unfair she was going to be about it.

“Hi, Amy…You alright?…uhuh…uhuh…” she laughed at something, in that strange giggle that girls do when they’re sharing some private joke. “Actually, could I meet up with you in town?….yeah…uhuh…by the bus station? Yeah…near the tree…okay….okay….see you in a bit, then. Bye.”

When she didn’t explain her plans straight away, I decided I wasn’t going to bother asking; I pushed my legs out and rocked back on my chair. As much as I felt bad for Sammy’s plight, she’d hit on a nerve implying that I’d run off and abandoned her when he moved away from York. A grain of truth? Maybe. But the problem hadn’t started then, and would be just as bad if I still lived here. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t come back as often as he could.

Anyway, as far as I could tell, Sammy was putting up with Tom. She had equal opportunity to move away, or move on, Tom was too proud to try and stop her. So if she stayed around, it was because she chose too, and not my fault. I hated seeing her upset though, no matter how obtuse I tried to talk myself into being, and I felt bad as soon as I looked back and saw her hands trembling slightly as she shoved her phone back into her bag. I cleared my throat.

“I’m going to go meet up with her in town,” she said, before I could ask. She looked over at me, smiling only a second too late to seem natural.

“Okay.”

“We’ll walk back, I expect, so you can take the car back to Tom’s.”

“Okay,” I said again, glad to finally be able to get back. It seemed as though, for the first time in a long while, Tom really needed me. And, even more alluring, Josephine needed me. Or at least, the help I was there to offer, and I have always been the kind of person who wants to feel needed.

She didn’t really hang around much after that, she said bye, hugged me and said thanks, although I wasn’t sure if it was just for the coffee. I finished mine as soon as she’d gone and then went back to my car. For a few moments I considered whether I ought to phone Tom, or maybe even Amy, but thought better of it and just pulled out of the car park in first gear, making a lot of noise.

There was little for me to think of on the way there, so I just played some music and sang at the top of my voice, something I hadn’t done for a while. Old women, walking their lap-dogs along the curb of the little cul-de-sac Tom lived in, gave me evil glances as I sped through to the last house.

When I let myself in, I found Tom sat in his armchair in the hall with a furniture catalogue open on his lap and the phone in his hand. Looking exasperated, he was scribbling numbers down in pencil into a little notebook. When he looked up at me, half in the door, he put his hand over the receiver and stretched out his hand, in which was his wallet.

“Ryan, I need you to go and buy some paint, white paint, now please.”

I blinked stupidly and then reached out for his wallet. “Okay,” I said. “Back in half and hour.”

On the road yet again, I decided to try and get the girls to come back over. Tom was planning something, and I didn’t really fancy painting walls and heaving furniture about with Tom storming about in a hellish mood all day all by myself. I didn’t fancy it much anyway, not being the D.I.Y type, but I didn’t fancy doing it on my own. So as soon as I’d reached the ugly store building on the outskirts of the nearby town, with it’s oversized trolleys and garish plastic signs, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and dialled Amy’s number.

When she picked up, she giggled for a few seconds before stammering out a ‘hello’.

“Hi…It’s me.”

“Oh, hiya…” I heard her swallow, and I could just picture forcing herself to keep a straight face on the other end of the phone. I could here Sammy laughing in the background. They had obviously met up, had a brief bitch about Tom and ended up in hysterics at some boorish insult. Either that or they were laughing at something they’d seen in town. It’s impossible to tell what girls laugh at.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I missed you this morning.”

“Uhuh, yeah, sorry about that. Tom needs me to…actually that’s why I’ve wrung. Tom needs one of his rooms re-decorated for the girl to stay in, I think.” Or at least, that was my best guess at what he needed paint for. I remembered that he’d mentioned it before.

“What?”

“He wants to re-decorate a bedroom for her.”

“Why?” Amy sounded very suspicious. I had the vague notion that Tom wanted to bleach out all memory and resonance from the room, but I wasn’t sure. If that was the case, however, a magical cleansing ritual would do far more good than a fresh coat of paint, and I wasn’t sure how much detail Amy wanted.

“Well, it’ll help her get better. Sammy can explain why better than I can, I expect.” I felt like a dreadful coward trying to wriggle out of it this way, but I didn’t want to upset her. “Do you and Sammy feel like giving me a hand at all?”

There was a pause, and then; “Okay, sure.” I would usually have said ‘are you sure?’ or some such courtesy to show I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of ruining their day. But, firstly because I didn’t fancy giving her half a chance to change her mind, and secondly because the less time I allowed them to gossip, the less that would be said about me, I didn’t. Instead I just thanked her and arranged a time for them to come over.

For some unfathomable reason, the store was full of middle-aged mothers dragging around squealing and squabbling children. I crept around the back of the wallpaper aisle to avoid one particularly noisy threesome. Children don’t tend to like me very much, and the sentiment is entirely mutual. They’re rather more intuitive than most adults, and they can sense something strange about someone who is essentially a walking corpse very quickly, which puts them right off me. Unfortunately, rather than any intelligent response, all that this insight tends to make them do is cry very loudly, which puts me right off them.

I wanted to get out of their as fast as possible, so I picked up a large tub of the nearest thing to white paint I could find; an obscure brand with a white lid and the legend Ice Clouds scribbled across it in fanciful lettering. It was not until I’d reached the checkout that I realised I’d forgotten to buy rollers or paint trays, so I hopped out of my place in the queue and made my way sheepishly back through the maze of shelves.

The aisle where paint rollers were stocked was at the very back. Much to my dismay, there was a small boy roaming unchecked and unaccompanied about, poking at the spongiest rollers with podgy little fingers. On edge, I attempted to creep along behind him, but he looked up at me and I froze.

The boy’s glassy blue eyes bore into mine like knives. He stared at me, and his face was not a picture of innocent confusion, but of righteous accusation. My heart thundered as he held my gaze, until his forehead creased, his mouth opened and he began to wail like a normal kid. I sighed with relief.

His mother, another Teutonic blonde with a tiny waist and freakishly high heels, came around the corner and swooped down on the child. Casting an angry glance in my direction, she stormed off down the aisle, heels clicking and leaving a loud echo.

I glanced behind me to check she’d gone, grabbed the nearest pair of rollers and trays I could find and dashed towards the till. Thankfully, there was no queue anymore, but I still fidgeted as the assistant scanned the stuff and I shoved it all clumsily into the plastic bags. When I got back to my car, I turned my stereo up even louder.

Vaguely, I could remember wondering just how long I would be spending at Tom’s at some point that morning. In actual fact, Amy, Sammy and myself only managed to bunk off and go back to the bungalow at 11.00 that evening. Exhausted, we piled into my car and picked up chips from the nearest kebab shop on the way back.

“God, I’m going to be such a walrus this time next month” Amy said as she opened the bag of greasy chips, and Sammy murmured in agreement.

“I know, me too, I haven’t been to the gym for yonks…”

I fazed out the girl talk and started running over what we’d accomplished and what was yet to do. The flat-pack furniture had shown up and had Tom storming around looking for screws, right on the verge of a tantrum all day. The paint hadn’t quite dried yet, but once it did we had to put together the bed-frame and the chest of drawers, both in white. The room looked like a hospital. Personally, I thought it was creepy.

Amy fell asleep in the back of the car, so I ended up carrying her into the house. I dressed her in her pyjamas like a rag-doll and left her under the duvet. Amy talks in her sleep sometimes, and she mumbled something under her breath as I was leaving the room. It sounded a bit like “Francis”, but it could just as easily have been “parsnips”, so I decided to think no more of it.

“Sammy?” She wasn’t in the living room so I sauntered through to the kitchen. She was sitting on the floor and the kettle was steaming away. I slid down next to her. “You okay?”

She looked at me and smiled. “Yeah.”