Family Ties - Pt 2
“Wait!” Sam’s eyes snapped open but Vic’s arms had already reached him, his hands twisting the material of his jacket.
“You son of a bitch!” Vic hauled him up out of the chair and threw him across the room.
“No!” Sam’s arms connected with the wall and he hissed in pain. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Have I, Sam?” Vic punched him in the stomach, once, twice, weak punches but effective enough. “Have I!” He shook him.
“How can I be his dad?” Sam gasped. Vic hit him again and he groaned. “Listen to me…”
“I’ve heard enough!” Vic let him go suddenly and turned his back on Sam.
“Look,” Sam’s voice shook. “Think about it…just think about it…” He broke off as Vic twisted around, the spade in his hands swinging round in a large arc. “Vic…”
The flat side of the metallic spade hit him squarely across the chest and he cried aloud, the dull thud as the spade landed complemented by the audible cracking of his ribs. His legs buckled and he slid to the floor, his face screwed up in pain, gasping shallowly. Each breath felt like a knife digging into his chest, his lungs burning, his muscles aching. He glanced upwards….
…and found Vic standing over him, spade held over his head, swinging downwards. With a superhuman effort he wrenched himself forwards, landing face down on the floor, his ribs screaming at the movement. Seconds later the spade landed across his upper back, his bound arms jerking in pain. Sam cried out again, forcing himself to move, sobbing with pain as he managed to get his knees under him, twisting away as the spade came down again, his left shoulder taking the force of the blow. He gained his feet with difficulty, hobbling backwards until his arms came in contact with the wall once more. Vic lunged forwards, the wooden handle of the spade connecting with his midriff and he choked back a cry, the strength leaving his legs. Slowly he slid down the wall again; landing in a heap at Vic’s feet, unable to move, unable to save himself as Vic slowly raised the spade for the final blow.
“I’m… not…Sam’s... dad,” Sam croaked.
Vic stared down at him then dropped the spade abruptly and turned away. Sam remained where he was, held there by the debilitating pain across his chest, his face and head throbbing as his previous injuries flared up again.
Vic moved over to the chair formerly occupied by Sam and sank down into it, his head in his hands, muttering to himself. When he looked up his eyes were red. “What was it?” he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face. “A one night stand? Or was it longer…an affair.” He stared at Sam. “I want to know.”
Sam shook his head. “I haven’t…” he stopped grimacing as the movement antagonised his bruises, “I’ve never…” he tried again, “slept with your wife…with Ruth.”
“All that time I worked away,” Vic ignored him. “All the time I thought she was faithful...”
“She was!” Sam interjected.
“Then how come she already knew you?” Vic demanded hotly. “When you came to the house after you’d arrested me, you’d already met…”
“Once,” Sam contradicted him. Vic raised an eyebrow. “Well, twice,” Sam amended, thinking back. “But that’s it,” he added hastily as Vic began to frown again. “I swear.” He drew a pained breath. “I’m not Sammy’s father.”
“What about the name?” Vic jabbed a finger in Sam’s direction.
“Coincidence.”
“But you look so much alike.”
“Yeah,” Sam’s lips pursed. “Yeah we do.” How was he going to explain that one? He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, his head pounding.
“I want to know why.” Vic frowned as Sam said nothing. He rose from the chair and approached Sam. “Sam?” he leaned over, shaking him. “Wake up, Sam.”
Sam opened his eyes and stamped his foot outwards as hard as he could. It connected with Vic’s knee and as Vic toppled over, howling in pain he scrambled to his knees and up onto his feet. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his chest he lurched towards the door, turning around so his hands could grab the bolt. His left arm wouldn’t work, numbed by the earlier blow to his shoulder and he clawed at the bolt desperately with his right hand, trying to slide it free and escape to freedom before Vic could recover.
“Oh you shouldn’t have done that.” Vic gained his feet, reaching for the spade and he advanced on Sam. Sam gave one last wrench at the bolt and felt it slide free - but it was too late. The spade connected with the side of his head and he saw stars, dropping to his knees before toppling to the floor. Vic began to kick him, a dull thudding sound as his shoes connected with Sam’s body. “You really shouldn’t have done that!”
Sam choked back a final cry before blessed oblivion swallowed him up once more.
*************************************
“Sam?” The voice seemed to come from miles away, but it tugged at Sam’s brain, forcing him to listen. “Sam, wake up.”
Sam’s eyes flickered open and he found himself staring into a young woman’s eyes - his mum’s eyes, he realised with a shock. His eyes widened and his head turned to take in the rest of the surroundings. He was still in the gravedigger’s hut, propped up into a sitting position in the corner of the room. Ruth knelt before him, a cloth and a bowl of water in her hand, her expression anxious. Behind her, Vic sat at the table, a bottle of whiskey and a half filled glass keeping him company.
“Sam.” Ruth smiled at him tremulously. She wiped away a trickle of blood from his mouth and dropped the cloth into the bowl.
“Mu….” Sam’s voice caught in his throat and he swallowed dryly.
“Here,” she handed him a glass of water. Sam glanced down, surprised and found his hands had been cuffed in front of him. He took the glass awkwardly; alarmed at how badly his hands shook when he tried to raise the glass. Ruth took pity on him, aiding him as he brought the glass to his lips, allowing a small stream of water to trickle between his lips.
The water was cool on his tongue and he let it slide gratefully down his throat. He opened his mouth wider to take a little more, then doubled over coughing as it went down the wrong way. The movement antagonised his ribs and he gave a strangled sound, his hands pressed to his side, his breathing uneven, unable to stop making noises of pain as each breath seared his lungs.
“Oh Sam, what’s he done to you?” Ruth said, clearly distressed.
“Enough of that,” Vic strode forwards, one arm grabbing Ruth and dragging her away. He pushed her to the floor besides Sam and stood before them both, hands on his hips. “Now,” he began, staring at them both in turn. “I want the truth... no lies, mind.”
Sam turned his head slightly towards Ruth. “Where’s Sammy?” he asked in a low voice.
“At a friends,” Ruth replied, her eyes wide. “What’s going on, Sam?” she turned to face her husband. “Vic?” she pleaded with him. “Won’t you tell me what’s happened? Why have you brought me here? Why are you back? Did you do this to Sam?” Her voice trailed off.
“Who is Sammy’s dad, Ruth?” Vic waved away her questions. “I need you to tell me.”
Ruth stared at Vic, clearly taken aback by the question. “What?” her brow furrowed.
“Who is Sammy’s dad?” Vic repeated, his voice rising slightly.
“You are,” her face was puzzled. “Why are you asking this?”
“Because of him,” Vic pointed at Sam. “Him and you…together.”
“Don’t be silly,” Ruth shook her head. “We’re not together.”
“But you have been…”
“When?” Ruth questioned him.
“”Whilst I’ve been away….all these years, Ruth, the secrets, the lies…”
“How dare you!” Ruth stood up, shaking off Vic’s hand as he tried to grab her wrist. “No…Vic,” she rounded on him angrily. “Don’t you speak to me about secrets and lies,” her eyes flashed. “You left us - me and little Sammy - no word of an explanation, no letter, no reason - you just… walked away.” She stepped back from him and Vic followed her. “What gives you the right to come back and make accusations like this?”
Sam watched as the two of them started to argue, Vic pleading with his wife, Ruth angry and defiant, her arms crossed, pushing Vic away as he tried to take her hands. Sam tried to move and found that it hurt too much, so he lay back against the wall, trying to conserve his energy, listening to the conversation as events were taken out his hands. He closed his eyes, his mind in retrospect, remembering the few happy times when all three of them had been together, young Sam smiling, his mother and father laughing at something he’d said or done.
Not so now.
He opened his eyes again to hear Ruth’s voice, resounding around the hut. “Remember when I fell pregnant?” She demanded, her voice brittle to Sam’s ears. “We were living with my parents, because you hadn’t got a job and we couldn’t afford to live on our own. So you tell me,” she jabbed an angry finger at Vic, “how I was supposed to find the time and the privacy to have an affair…even if I’d wanted one.”
Vic stared at her. “I hadn’t got the sales job yet….” he repeated, his expression lifting. “Oh, Ruth,” he held out his hands to her. “I’m so sorry, I just thought…”
Ruth stepped away from him. “That you could accuse me of having an affair…”
“I’m sorry,” Vic pleaded. “I wasn’t thinking straight and he,” he pointed at Sam, “has the same name…and he’s a copper…and he’s got the look of young Sammy about him too…look!” he crouched down in front of Sam, one hand tilting his chin up, his thumb wiping the blood from his cheek.
Ruth knelt down next to him, taking in his features, her eyes compassionate. She reached forwards and laid her hand on the other side of his face, caressing his cheek. “He does look familiar,” she admitted.
Sam closed his eyes, embracing the feel of both parents’ hands on his face, soothing him, comforting him, reminding him of what he had missed all those years - what he would miss as soon as he opened his eyes again. He felt tears surface, feeling all of four years old again, and heard Ruth make comforting noises as she wiped his tears away.
“Maybe you’re related,” Vic commented. “There’s any number of cousins on your mums side that we don’t keep in touch with.”
“Maybe,” Ruth murmured, smiling at Sam as he opened his eyes again. “Who are you, Sam Tyler?” she asked softly.
Sam opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t bring himself to speak. Couldn’t say a word because he knew if he did he would blurt out the whole truth and they’d think him a lunatic. He shook his head, wincing at the movement.
“He’s hurt, Vic,” Ruth stood up, drawing Vic to one side. “Really hurt. Let me call for an ambulance.”
“He can wait a few more minutes,” Vic said. “No, look…Ruth,” as she started to protest. “I came here to check you were alright but I...I have to go. I can’t stay here, not with you and little Sammy,” he hesitated. “I have a different life now, and it’s too dangerous for you and…our son.”
Ruth examined him then nodded. “I know,” she said quietly. “You’re my husband and I love you,” her head dipped and when she brought it back up her eyes were bright with tears. “But if you came back I’d always be wondering when you were going to leave again…”she sniffed. “This way’s better for...for Sammy.” She wiped away her tears. “It’s for the best.”
Sam watched as they embraced, sharing a last kiss together, then Vic accompanied Ruth to the door. “Give me ten minutes before you call the ambulance.” Vic brought his wife’s hands to his mouth and pressed his lips against them. “You’ll not see me again….I promise.” He watched his wife leave then closed the door to the hut, bolting it closed again.
He turned to face Sam, the two men staring at each other silently. “Well now,” he said at last, reaching for the whiskey glass. “I suppose that’s all sorted at least.”
Sam raised his arms with difficulty. “Any chance of unlocking these?”
“I don’t think so,” Vic stared at him thoughtfully. He reached for his jacket and withdrew a revolver from the pocket, placing it in full view on the table.
Sam stared at the gun. “The police are on their way,” he spoke eventually.
“But not for ten minutes.” Vic downed half the whiskey in a single swallow. “You see,” he glared at Sam. “There’s a connection between you and Ruth somehow.” He swapped the glass for the gun, opening the chamber. Sam could see the metallic glint of the rounds inside. “Oh I won’t say you’re in a relationship now…but in a few months who’s to say….”
Sam laughed incredulously. “I promise you, I will never have a relationship with Ruth…not in that way.”
Vic stood up. “I know you won’t.” He gestured with the gun. “Stand up.”
Sam stared at him. “You don’t want to do this.” Vic gestured again and he rose slowly, painfully to his feet, his teeth gritted against the pain. Vic aimed the gun at him. “We’ve been here before, Vic,” he gasped. “You couldn’t shoot me then…and you can’t now.”
Vic shrugged. “I’m sorry, Sam.” He brought his second hand up to steady his aim. “I’m really sorry.”
Sam dived sideways as Vic squeezed the trigger, the gun’s report deafening in the small confines of the hut, feeling a searing heat penetrate the numbness of his left shoulder. Vic turned to face him again and Sam leapt at him, praying that his sudden surge of adrenalin would counteract the physical condition of his body. The two men wrestled for the revolver and the gun went spinning out of their hands to land by the door. Sam was quickest to reach it, spinning round to face Vic, who snatched up the spade and advanced on him.
“Don’t!” Sam aimed the revolver at him. “Put it down.”
Vic roared out a challenge and swung the spade down at him. There was only one option left to Sam, and he reluctantly embraced it, knowing there was nothing else he could do.
He squeezed the trigger.
************************************
“Sam,” Annie crouched in front of him, her hands touching his. Sam raised his head but said nothing - had said nothing since the ambulance and the police had arrived at the graveyard and found Vic unconscious, gunshot wound to his torso, with Sam cradling him in his arms, blood staining his fingers where he’d tried to stop the bleeding with his bare hands.
They’d reached the hospital and Sam had refused all medical aid, pacing the corridors whilst his dad had been treated, waiting for the doctors to let him in, to see him once he’d recovered from the anaesthetic. The Guv had arrived shortly after and, after losing a brief argument with his DI had brought the nurses to Sam. They’d given him some preliminary treatment, stemming the blood from his face and the bullet graze on his shoulder with temporary dressings, and had wrapped him in a blanket with strict instructions to the Guv to bring him down for treatment as soon as Sam co-operated.
But Sam was not co-operating. Not until he’d seen his dad again, no matter how abusive the Guv got. Annie had turned up next - on the Guv’s instructions no doubt - and even she had not been able to get him to budge.
She stared at him now, shocked to see the dark circles under his eyes, the black and yellow bruising that covered half his face and the dried blood clinging to his eyebrow and lips. “Sam?” she began again, but was disturbed by a commotion as two doctors and a nurse rushed past them and into the door of the sideward next to them.
“What’s happening?” Sam stood up suddenly, doubling up as his ribs protested too much. “Ah - ” he fell back on the seat.
“I’ll go,” The Guv strode off, leaving Annie to tend to Sam.
“No,” Sam tried to get up again. “I need to go - I need to see…”
”You’re not going anywhere,” in his present state Annie found it easy to hold him back. “Listen to me,” she made him look at her, her eyes serious. “You’re hurt, Sam, you’re in pain and you’re not thinking straight…”
“But he’s my dad…”
“No,” Annie took his hands. “He’s not.” She gazed deep into his eyes. “We’ve talked about this, remember.”
“He’s my dad!” Sam repeated stubbornly. “I don’t care if you think I’m mad…nothing else matters, Annie…” he stared at her earnestly. “Nothing!” he broke off as the Guv reappeared. “Guv?”
The Guv pulled Annie to one side, speaking in a low voice. He pulled a cigarette packet out of his coat and began the process of lighting up.
Annie turned to Sam. “Oh Sam, I’m so sorry,” she said in distress. Sam pushed her away and stood up, the blanket around his shoulders falling to the floor. “It wasn’t your fault,” she tried to reassure him. “He would have killed you if you hadn’t stopped him…”
“My god, I’ve killed him!” Sam’s voice was hoarse, his eyes bright with tears. He raked his hands through his hair and stared at the heavens. “How can this be?” He yelled at the ceiling. “Tell me that,” he roared beyond caring as to how he looked for his audience. “How can he be dead?”
Gene finished lighting his cigarette. “Hang on - who said he was dead?” he queried.
Annie stared at him. “You said…” she began.
“I said he was gone.” He drew deeply on his cigarette. “Bugger’s done a runner,” he enlightened Sam, who stared at him, his eyes wide. “Turns out that you’re a lousy shot, Tyler - the bullet missed all his internal organs.” He shrugged. “Apparently he’s made a sufficient enough recovery to knock out a hospital porter, steal his clothes and leave the hospital - he’s got at least half an hour’s head start on us, so if you don’t mind,” he took another drag of his cigarette, “I’ve got some phone calls to make.”
He walked off down the corridor and Sam stared after him briefly before making his way into the side-ward. True to the Guv’s word there was no sign of Vic, just a discarded hospital gown and a barely conscious hospital porter. Sam backed out of the room, grinning, turning to face a worried Annie.
“He’s alright,” Sam breathed in relief. “I didn’t kill him,” He took Annie’s hands in his and squeezed them. “I didn’t kill him…I didn’t kill my dad,” he threw his head back to the heavens. “I didn’t kill my dad,” he yelled exuberantly.
“No you didn’t,” Annie agreed and Sam turned back to look at her. “Can we get you to a bed now,” she advised.
Sam nodded, the adrenalin draining from him, now the need for it had gone. He gestured before him. “Lead on,” and Annie moved off in front of him.
Sam took one step after her and passed out.
*******************************************
He awoke slowly, feeling warm and comfortable and found himself in a hospital bed with a nurse in 1970s uniform taking his blood pressure. She smiled down at him as she recorded the results and busied herself by tucking in his bedsheets.
“How long was I out?” Sam asked, cocking his head as he felt the weight of the dressings applied to face.
“A few hours,” the nurse replied. She smiled at him again. “You had visitors.”
“Did I?” Sam shifted himself further up the bed. “Who?”
“A woman.”
“Oh,” - that would be Annie no doubt. “Dark hair - policewoman?” he asked casually.
The nurse shook her head. “Blonde hair,” she shrugged. “Had a child with her - nice kid he was…well behaved.”
Sam’s heart leapt. “Did she…did the woman say anything?” he asked.
The nurse shook her head and began to walk away, then turned back. “The child left you something though…I wouldn’t have normally…but he was so insistent...” He followed her gaze to his bedside cabinet.
There, in a glass of water, standing proud, were a handful of yellow dandelions.
*********************************************
The End