Authors: Amy Cross
"I..." Sam starts to say, before realizing that she can't handle this any longer. She feels as if she's about to explode, and although she hates the idea of running, she knows that there's only one thing she can do right now. "I'm sorry," she says, hurrying through to her bedroom and starting to throw her few possessions into the backpack she brought with her. She doesn't have much, and she wants to travel light, so it only takes a moment to get some clothes together. "I'm really, really sorry, but I think maybe I shouldn't be here."
"You can't run," Faraday says, watching her from the door.
"This is way too much for me," Sam continues, fumbling as she tries to get the backpack's zip closed. "I can't do this. Moving statues, living in a cemetery, Death sitting outside... I think I bit off a bit too much. Actually, I think I'm losing my mind, so I'm going to get out of here." She throws the backpack over her shoulder, accidentally knocking a cup off the bedside table in the process; the cup smashes to the ground, but Sam hurries past Faraday and heads for the door. She has no idea where she's going, but she's filled with a desperate need to get out of this place as fast as possible.
"You won't make it," Faraday calls after her. "You won't get away from Rippon."
"Good luck," Sam says, glancing back at him for a moment. "I mean that. Good luck with..." She glances around the cottage, briefly feeling a twinge of regret at the thought of losing her new home so quickly. She'd actually started to think that she could make a new life for herself around here; still, she knows she can't stay, not with all this weirdness happening. It's got beyond the point where she can't lie to herself and pretend it doesn't bother her. She came here for a quiet, uncomplicated life, and instead she feels as if she's landed in the middle of an asylum. "Good luck with all this, okay?" she adds, before opening the door and stepping out of the cottage.
"What the fuck?" she says, stopping dead in her tracks.
She stares at the figure that's standing right in front of her in the early evening gloom.
"Help me," Anna says, looking pale and blooded. Pieces of flesh are missing from her face, exposing gleaming sections of skull, and a thick red autopsy incision is showing from under the top of her burial gown. Her eyes are blood-shot and slightly yellowed, and she's staring at Sam with a look of total shock. "You've got to help," she continues, stumbling toward Sam. "I think something's wrong with me."
Chapter Eight
"Something must be wrong with me," Matthews mutters as he wanders along the dark, lonely street. He should have been home hours ago, but instead he's walking through Rippon and trying to work out why he's the only person in the entire town who seems to be opposed to the arrangement. Having left the mayor's office an hour ago, he managed to stop by the local shop and pick up some beer, which he's drunk surprisingly quickly; he's now nicely sozzled and happily talking to himself. "I should just shut up and stick with the program."
As he reaches town square, he pauses for a moment to lean against the side of the cafe.
"Late night?" asks a familiar Irish voice nearby.
Turning, Matthews sees the unwelcome face of Gabriel Fenroc smiling back at him.
"I think there might be rain soon," Fenroc continues, taking a drag on his cigarette.
"What are you doing out so late?" Matthews asks, immediately slipping back into his professional tone of voice. "I might be off-duty, but I can still deal with trouble-makers."
"You can't deal with anyone," Fenroc replies. "You're drunk, old man."
"Who are you calling old?" Matthews shouts, stumbling toward Fenroc but tripping on a loose cobble; as he crashes to the ground, Matthews lets out a cry of pain and his bottle of beer rolls away. "I'll have you know," he murmurs, "that it's a capital offense to make fun of an officer of the law. I could march you right down to the station at this very moment!"
"Go on then," Fenroc replies. "I doubt you could even march
yourself
down there right now. Look at the state you're in, you pathetic old wanker. I mean, seriously, do the people of Rippon really rely on a fucking drunk to keep them safe?" He wanders over to Matthews and stares at him for a moment. "You're useless, man. Do you know that? You're fucking useless."
"Right," Matthews mutters, trying to get up. "That's it. You're under arrest."
"For what?"
"For pissing off a police officer."
"Is that an arrestable offense these days?"
"I'll find plenty to throw at you," Matthews continues, finally getting to his feet. He pauses for a moment as he feels his head start to swim. "Maybe I've had a few beers too many, but I can still put a little fucker like you straight." With that, he lunges at Fenroc and tries to punch him, but his physical coordination is shot to pieces and he simply tumbles against the wall; barely able to stay standing, it takes all his effort to turn back to Fenroc.
"Jesus," Fenroc mutters, "the state of the modern police force. You should be ashamed of yourself, man. How do you expect to do your job in the morning if you're hungover? You're the last line of defense for the poor bastards around here. I wonder what they'd say if they knew you were stumbling around like a drunk idiot?"
"Gabriel Fenroc," Matthews says, making an extra effort to sound sober and, as a result, sounding more drunk than ever, "I'm arresting you on suspicion of being a fucking asshole."
"And what are you gonna do with me when you get me to the station?" Fenroc asks. "Drain my blood? Add it to that big vat that's bubbling away?"
"Fuck you," Matthews sneers. "Fuck you and fuck everything you've done to this town." He reaches out, trying to grab Fenroc's arm. "Come on! Time to get you down to the station!"
"You need to get yourself to the drunk tank first," Fenroc says, pulling away. "My God, man, if you could see yourself right now. You're a disgrace to that uniform, and I say that as someone who didn't have a whole lot of respect for that uniform to begin with."
"What
do
you have respect for?" Matthews asks, slurring his words. "A man like you... What could you possibly respect?"
"Myself, mainly. I respect my life, and I respect my intention to keep breathing. I don't respect the world, though. I think it's gone to shit, and we could do with a new one." He pauses. "You might wonder why I've ended up here, in pretty much the most dangerous town on the fucking planet, but I have my reasons. Frankly, my plans are none of your business, and I hope you'll respect
that
, Mr. Matthews." Smiling, he turns to walk away.
"Get back here!" Matthews shouts. "You're under arrest, Fenroc!"
"Whatever," Fenroc says, stopping and turning back to him. "You're in no fit state to be arresting anyone. Besides, I'm pretty sure you won't remember any of this in the morning."
"Is that right?"
Fenroc nods.
"Oh, I'll remember it," Matthews continues. "Don't you worry about that!"
"We'll see," Fenroc says, taking a step back. "Have a nice walk home. Make sure you don't run into any trouble, and try not to get too hot under the collar."
"Get back here!" Matthews shouts. "I'll not have some bastard making fun of me, I'll -" He pauses for a moment, as he suddenly feels a burning sensation around his knees. "You'll not get away from me!" he mutters, but the burning is getting worse, and he's starting to notice a strong, acrid smell.
"You alright there?" Fenroc asks with a smile. "Looks like you're burning up."
Matthews looks down at his legs and sees that they're on fire. Before he can react, the flames have spread up through his torso and have begun to engulf his chest and head. He lets out a cry of pain, but the heat is quickly becoming unbearable and as he turns to stumble away, he feels his skin start to melt from his bones. He takes a couple of steps toward Fenroc, but the flames have become too intense and his bones, shorn of the muscle and flesh that held them together, start falling to the ground. Opening his mouth and letting out a brief roar of pain, Matthews feels the flames inside his skull, and finally his head drops to the ground and shatters.
"Huh," Fenroc says, lighting a cigarette as he watches the brief, hyper-localized inferno. "Would you look at that?" he asks in his lilting Irish accent, addressing no-one in particular. "Now are you okay there, Mr. Matthews, or will you be needing some help?"
A few meters away, where Matthews stood only a moment ago, there's nothing but a smoldering pile of ash, interspersed by a few fragments of bone, while in the middle there's a perfectly untouched, completely undamaged pair of shoes, from the top of which two bright, white ankle bones are protruding.
"Nah," Fenroc says, grinning, "I really don't think you'll remember this in the morning. Spontaneous human combustion, eh? Such a strange and unusual way for a man to go. Very rare. Very rare indeed. Shame it doesn't leave any blood behind, but I guess we can't have everything." After taking one final, extra-long drag on his cigarette, he turns and wanders away along the road, leaving the steaming shoes standing in the town square, with the bones still sticking out the top, waiting for some poor soul to find them when the sun comes up.
The Birthday Party
Prologue
One year ago
"Devil's gonna get you, Sam!"
Turning, Sam finds Nadia standing behind her.
"Wow, what's up with you?" Nadia asks, smiling as she takes a seat. "Hangover?"
Nodding, Sam takes a little nibble at her baguette, although in truth she doesn't feel much like eating right now. Her stomach is still feeling the after-effects of last night's party, and all she really wants to do is go to sleep.
"You were kind of wild last night," Nadia continues, grinning from ear to ear. "Do you remember that guy?"
"Which guy?"
"The guy in the club. The one you..." She pauses, waiting for Sam to remember. "Are you seriously telling me you don't remember?"
Sighing, Sam waits for Nadia to fill her in. This is part of their routine: for some reason, Sam always gets black holes in her memory after a big night out, while Nadia's memory remains crystal clear. It's a rather annoying situation that always leaves Sam feeling as if she's at a distinct disadvantage, while Nadia evidently takes great pleasure in detailing Sam's indiscretions.
"I can't believe you don't remember that guy," Nadia continues, laughing. "Fucking hell, Sam, were you really
that
wasted?"
"Are you gonna tell me," Sam replies wearily, "or are you just gonna sit there like an idiot?"
Raising an eyebrow, Nadia stares at her for a moment.
"That came out wrong," Sam admits with a weak smile.
"You pretty much dragged that guy out of the club," Nadia continues. "I was kinda worried about you, so I came to look for you but you definitely didn't need my help."
"What was I doing?"
"I think you can
guess
what you were doing."
Sighing, Sam looks down at her half-eaten baguette. She'd kind of worked out that something must have happened, since she woke up this morning with no underwear, some soreness, and certain other signs of a sexual encounter.
"You okay?" Nadia asks.
Sam nods wearily.
"You not gonna ask if he was hot?"
Sam shakes her head, realizing that this must be the hundredth time something like this has happened. She doesn't know why, but guys always seem to go for her when she's drunk. Sober, she keeps her guard up and she usually manages to make it clear that she's not interested, but when she's wasted she lets her defenses down.
"At least you got some action," Nadia replies.
"At least you're not a slut," Sam points out.
They sit in silence for a moment. Nadia clearly wants to keep talking, to go through their usual routine of laughing and joking about Sam's sexual misadventures, but this time something seems different. She can see that Sam's not in her usual mood, and she doesn't want to push her best friend to tears.
"I've been thinking about getting out of town for a while," Sam mutters eventually.
"On holiday?" Nadia asks. "You want company? If we both start saving, maybe we could go to Ibiza? Oh my God, can you imagine
us
in Ibiza?"
"That's not what I mean," Sam says, unable to shake the feeling that something's seriously wrong with her life. "Not a holiday. More like... I was kind of thinking that maybe I need to get the hell away from this whole place. Start again, you know?"
"Start again? Sam, life's barely begun, for fuck's sake!"
"Exactly," Sam replies, "and I already feel like I've fucked everything up. I mean, everyone around here knows me. They know what I'm like, what I do... I just feel like I've trashed my reputation and I need to go somewhere else, somewhere no-one knows me." She pauses for a moment. "Don't you ever feel like you just want to get the hell away from everything and everyone you know?"
Nadia shakes her head.
"You're lucky," Sam continues. "I was thinking about getting a job far away from this shit-hole, and then just moving. It's not like there's much keeping me here. I could start again, somewhere new, somewhere without all these fucking complications. Somewhere... I mean, somewhere I haven't fucked half the guys in town. Somewhere I'm not..." Taking a deep breath, she feels a tear creeping out of the corner of her eye.
"Somewhere you're not known as Sam the Slut?" Nadia asks. "Or is it Sam the Slag? I can't remember."
Sam smiles weakly.
"You know I'm kidding, right?"
Sam nods.
"You're not going anywhere," Nadia says after a moment. "You're like me, Sam. We're local girls, and we'll always be local girls. There's nothing out there that's any different to things round here. Anyway, it doesn't matter where you go, you'll still be
you
, right? What are you gonna do, stop partying and live like a fucking monk?"
"Maybe," Sam replies.
Nadia laughs.
"I'm serious!" Sam continues.
"Whatever," Nadia says, getting up from the table. "I've gotta get back to work. I'll see you later, yeah? You can tell me all about your plans to move far away and start a new life." Patting Sam on the back, she starts to walk away before stopping and turning back. "You up for the pub later?" she asks. "Just a quiet one, but a few drinks wouldn't hurt, right?"
Sam opens her mouth to turn the offer down, but somehow the word "Sure" comes out instead. "Sounds great," she adds. "Usual time, usual place?"
"Now
that's
more like it," Nadia replies, turning and walking away. "Don't fight who you are," she calls back. "You've got nothing to be ashamed of!"
Once she's alone, however, Sam finds herself feeling
very
ashamed. She feels as if she's stuck in a perpetual loop, and now that she's agreed to meet Nadia for a drink, she knows the loop is starting up again. One drink is gonna lead to two, and then they'll end up at a nightclub, and then tomorrow morning Sam'll wake up with a vague memory of the night before, and Nadia'll come along and tell her what happened. Wrapping up the rest of her baguette and tossing it in the bin, Sam takes a deep breath and decides she's going to prove everyone wrong. She's not going to sit around this crumby little town for the rest of her life. She's going to go out there into the world and reinvent herself. She's going to find a happier place. A simpler place, away from temptations. An uncomplicated and relaxing place where she can just kick back and relax. One day, life's going to be good again.