Fic: Claiming a Soul, part II
Title: Claiming a Soul
Disclaimer: Ryan Murphy's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
Rating: R for (hopefully) frigthtening concepts
Word Count: 7202 (between both parts).
Continuity: This is an off-shoot of my universe. This is set when they're in college, and they've been married about seven months. Everything that happened in my canon universe has happened here, but this is its own parallel universe (you'll understand why).
A/N: A huge thank you-as always-to my writing...I don't know. What do I call you? My very, very beloved good friend and person whom without I would get nothing posted: Redlance. You're awesome!
A/N II: This is a little different from my normal fics. This story has some supernatural/mystery elements to it. Nothing too scary (no zombies or anything). I came up with the idea a few weeks ago when I was moving. I hope everyone likes it but it is a little off the beat and path. It did, however, just kinda by the fluid nature of the creative process, become a Bram fic in the end. Funny how that happens.
Summary: Sam, a star reporter for the USC student newspaper, investigates an interesting story.
Claiming a Soul, Part II
To go to Part I click here.
Speaking with Father Edward had freaked her out a little-okay, freaked her out a lot. She was half expecting him to tell her some parable about how such things were impossible, but his treatise on the nature of evil left her unnerved.
She couched the phone gently in her hand as she left his office. Where are you? she queried Ryan.
I’m at home, he answered. He sounded nasal -like he had a cold. I just got your note. I didn’t know you were a girl, he chuckled.
Ryan, I’ve been to VJ’s. You only have until today to claim it back!
I don’t have the money, he confessed. I just don’t have it.
Sam debated with herself. Ryan, just stay there, okay? I’m coming over.
Nothing on the other end. Ryan, did you hear me?
Yeah, he answered. You better hurry if you want any of the beer.
Jesus. Ryan, what are--
It’s Heineken, too-not that Natural Light crap, he boasted. I figure if I can’t afford the pawn ticket I can at least buy some quality beer.
Sam sighed. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just...quit drinking till I get there, okay?
* * *
Twenty minutes became thirty as the bus had to stop at every street-like it always does when she’s running late.
She ran up the steps of the apartment building, knocked on the door, and chastised herself for being out of breath after running three measly flights of stairs. She made a vague promise to-at some undetermined point in the future-exercise more.
The door opened a few moments later. Ryan was handsome, but his stringy brown hair was unwashed, and he already smelled like a brewery. Are you Sam? he asked-much more lucidly than she would have guessed.
Yeah, Ryan, she smiled. Can I come in?
He stepped aside to admit her into the apartment. She took in the apartment’s sparse furnishings in a single glance, and rounded on its occupant. Ryan--
He flopped onto a bean bag chair, disheartened, and then took a long swig of his beer.
Ryan, that’s not going to solve our problem.
It’s not your problem, he pointed out.
How much do you have? she asked.
How much what?
Money, Ryan! she reminded him. How much money do you have?
He shrugged. Thirty bucks? he groped. Not enough.
And she almost asked him the question that she was dying to ask him-the one that was so important in the big scheme but so inconsequential now: why?
But instead she focused on the immediate problem. How much do you need?
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the loan ticket worn around the edges. He squinted at the faded print. A hundred and forty-one dollars.
Sam made a show of doing the calculation in her head to bide her time. It wasn’t the hundred and eleven dollars-the trust fund left by her father’s inheritance and Brooke’s money from the settlement with Nicole’s family had left them very well off-but it was whether she wanted to ruin the story. Because once she became a part of it, she was no longer an objective observer.
One look at Ryan put any doubts to bed. I can help you, Ryan, she declared.
He looked up, a glint of hope in his eyes. Help? How?
I can give you the money.
He just stared at her for a second. But...why would you do that?
Sam didn’t know how to answer that. I-I don’t know if I believe that there is any power in that piece of paper down at VJs. But just in case, I can’t stand by here and just watch. You’ve got to claim that ticket, and then burn that paper once it’s yours again.
* * *
Getting money was easier said than done. She didn’t have her bank card on her, so she had Brooke meet them on campus and her darling wife handed her the cash. She got out a hundred and fifty-just to be safe.
Here you go, Sammy, Brooke said, handing her the money.
Thanks, babe, Sam replied. She gestured to the man standing with her. Brooke, this is Ryan McMillan, Sam introduced him.
The blonde smiled and shook his hand. Sam could see the confusion in her eyebrows. I’m Sam’s wife, she declared, and Sam could feel the territorial hackles going up.
Ryan seemed oblivious. Oh, he commented. Cool.
Ryan is part of the story I’ve been working on today, Sam assured her sweetheart.
Brooke visibly relaxed. Oh, she smiled sweetly. Nice to meet you, she offered genuinely.
Sam glanced at her watch when a streetlight nearby clicked on-bathing the sidewalk with its salmon hue. It was just after six. They still had two hours, but she didn’t want to cut it close. Hey, babe, we really have to go.
O-Okay, Brooke smiled. Sam gave her a kiss, and Brooke whispered in her ear: Are we paying informants now?
I’ll explain everything when I get home, she chuckled.
Oh, I saw Lily today, Brooke informed her. I invited her and Josh over for dinner Thursday night.
That’ll be fun, Sam commented.
Brooke rolled her eyes. That’s your ‘I really have to go’ voice, she smiled.
I really have to go, Sam affirmed. Brooke chuckled and said good-bye, and they rushed to the nearest bus stop.
* * *
There were no delays this time. The bus ride was a quick yet agonizingly long fourteen minutes.
She and Ryan didn’t say a word. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. Some reporter...
The bus let them out up the street from VJs. They walked at first but as they got closer Ryan broke into a run. Sam saw him reach the door of the shop, grab the handle, and tug it open.
Only it didn’t open.
The pit of her stomach lurched as she watched Ryan pull at the door-and then pull again.
It was locked, her mind kept telling her. No, she argued, it couldn’t be locked: it was only six-thirty. VJ’s didn’t close until eight.
Ryan pulled and pulled at the door until finally a small white square on the glass caught his attention. It was a piece of paper, folded in half, with black marker scrawled on it.
Ryan read the words aloud: Closed due to family emergency. Will reopen Thursday. He spoke as though he couldn’t comprehend their meaning.
Oh God, Sam exclaimed.
Ryan tugged at the door in desperation.
It-it’ll be all right, Ryan, she said-but she didn’t believe it. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Someone’s there! Ryan said. He pounded on the glass, and shouted for the occupant to let him in.
He cupped his hands over his eyes, and peered inside the glass. Sam, there’s someone--
Ryan gasped, and Sam froze to the spot where she stood.
He’s-he’s reaching into the case! Ryan yelled. Sam!
Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. I-It’s probably just Vince.
It’s not Vince! Ryan screamed. Panic flooded his voice. There’s someone in there, Sam! Look! he shrieked. Sam, he’s taking it!
On its own volition, Sam’s head was shaking back and forth ‘no’. She didn’t want to see who was in there.
No: she didn’t want to be seen by who was in there.
Sam! Ryan pleaded.
Sam took a step back. A chill enveloped her and she wrapped her arms around herself.
Oh God! Ryan stepped away from the glass, reeling. It’s him! He’s come for my soul! Jesus, it’s him...!
He stepped out onto the street and took one last look at the pawn shop. No! he screamed, and turned to run.
Sam’s eyes widened. She saw the bus-saw the angle. RYAN!!
The collision impacted the front window of the bus and sent the boy flying along the dark macadam. Sam’s breath caught in her throat. On the periphery of her senses she heard the screeching of tires.
Déjà vu.
This was the second time: the second time she watched a body smashed and contorted like a ragdoll, the second time she rushed to a figure lying prone on the street, the second time she saw a streetlight reflected in blood turned black in the moonlight.
Ryan! she cried. He was still alive, still conscious.
Pleading blue eyes met her brown ones. S- Sam, he rasped. He’s coming...!
No one’s coming, Ryan! Through blurred vision she searched the street behind them-and the pawn shop. There was nothing there.
Don’t let him get me, he begged. Don’t let him take me...
Ryan!
God, what have I done...? he cried.
Finally the question she had wanted to ask all night came blurting out. Why!? she shouted. Why did you do it?
The color in is eyes was fading. I-I had to...it was to get into a fraternity...
What? Jesus, this was a hazing ritual? Indignation welled within her, but it was shunted aside by her rational mind. There was a more pressing matter now.
And maybe a way out of this. Ryan, you had to do this? she asked.
He nodded feebly. What have I done?
Sam’s mind reeled. Was it possible? Was it enough? You were forced to do this... she reiterated.
Sam, save me... he begged. His eyes became unfocused. He didn’t have much time.
Sam turned away from him and faced the pawn shop. Instinctively, her arms went out behind her to shield the boy. She didn’t know who she was looking for, but she felt it now. Someone was out there.
She had no idea if this would work, but she had to try.
She’d never been more afraid in her life.
Can you hear me? she shouted to the night. Around her others had come to help her attend to the boy. They were probably looking at her like she was crazy.
She didn’t care. They were wasting their time. They couldn’t save his life. But maybe-just maybe-she could save his soul.
I know you’re there! she yelled. He knew you were coming! A chill ran the length of her spine, and she had to clamp her teeth together from chattering.
Jesus, she was scared. I can feel you out there! she challenged. It’s no good! her voice echoed back at her. The contract is no good!
Ryan wrote that he was writing that of sound mind and without duress! That’s not true! He was doing it to join a fraternity!
You see? she hollered into the cold air, he was forced to write that! She looked around to gauge for any kind of response.
He didn’t want to do it! He did it under duress. The contract is invalid! she bellowed.
You can’t take it! she shouted. You hear me? You can’t take his soul!
Was she reaching at straws? Would the denizens of the Underworld give a damn about technicalities?
Sam...! Ryan gasped. Sam looked around at him-but out of the corner of her eye she saw someone standing on the corner, watching. She could have sworn no one was there a second ago.
I’m here, Ryan, she sniffed.
I see it, Sam, he said weakly. I see- -
Her heart sank. What do you see!?
A light...
A sob escaped her, and tears welled in her eyes. Go to it, Ryan. she whimpered. Quick! she clamped her hand over her mouth as she watched the light go out of Ryan’s eyes.
He looked peaceful. Oh, please let it have worked!
She fought back her tears and wiped at her nose. Another bystander attending to Ryan declared that he was dead.
She turned back to the corner. The figure was still standing there, and the realization of who she was staring at-and who was staring back at her-robbed her of breath.
God, help me.
But she knew...
He’s gone! she shouted. We won, didn’t we?
We beat you, you bastard! she grinned.
She could have sworn it stared at her for a moment- that it raised its arm and pointed at her. Her teeth were chattering again-her momentary bravado long gone.
A rustling of leaves in the wind, and she was staring at an empty corner.
It was over. She cradled her face in her hands and released her emotions in great heaving sobs...
Someone was nudging her, asking if she was okay. They bombarded her with questions: was she a friend of the victim? Was he her boyfriend?
Time passed: seconds, minutes...she couldn’t be sure. She overheard two people talking about her. One was explaining that they thought she was in shock-and that maybe she was the victim’s boyfriend. The other voice said something about taking her in for observation.
Sam looked between her fingers. Paramedics were coming toward her-reaching out to her.
No! she yelled. They advanced on her.
No! She didn’t want to go with them. Not now. There was only one place she wanted to be-only one person who could possibly help her right now.
Sam sprang from her knees and took off as fast she could. The trees, streetlamps, and buildings were a blur around her. She ran as fast as she could and not once did she look behind her to see if they were chasing her.
And not once did she look in the shadows for fear of what might be looking back at her.
Finally she collapsed, falling against a bench. She reached into her pocket, and fished out her cell phone. The number she wanted-needed-was the last person she had called, and all she had to do was hit the ‘TALK’ button twice.
Thank God. She didn’t know if she could manage much more.
The line rang twice before a voice like angels answered. Hey, Sweetie, Brooke answered, and just hearing her voice broke down her fragile reserves.
Brooke...? Sam answered pitifully.
Sam, what’s wrong!? The fear in the blonde’s voice was unmistakable.
She managed to tell Brooke that she needed her to come get her. She was able to lift her head, and see that she was near the science building. Wow-she’d run a long way. She wasn’t too far from home, actually.
Within a few minutes she heard a car screech to a stop nearby and headlights washed over her. She looked down at herself: she was still lying on the ground slouched up against the bench.
Brooke shouted her name, and she managed the barest hint of a smile. She was going to be all right.
Footfalls hit the sidewalk in rapid succession, and soon she was engulfed in the warmest embrace she’d ever known. Brooke was saying her name over and over-well, the variation of her name reserved specifically for Brooke’s use and no one else. Sam drank in the blonde’s presence like an elixir for her soul.
Are you all right? Brooke asked in a panic.
I am now, Sam managed to reply.
Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?
No, she answered, I just want to go home. I need to go home.
Brooke nodded, tears in her eyes. She helped Sam to her feet, and they walked to the waiting car.
* * *
When Brooke awoke in the middle of the night, Sam was staring at their bedroom ceiling. She hadn’t said a word about what had happened, and Brooke wondered if she ever would. She had simply buried herself as close as she could to the blonde, and Brooke held her as she drifted off to sleep.
Are you okay? she asked, and Sammy shook her head ‘no’. Is there anything I can do...?
You’re doing it, was her reply. Sam closed her eyes, and rested her head against her chest. Brooke simply held on for dear life, and eventually sleep overtook them again.
Morning passed right by them-it was well past noon when she finally awoke. Brooke had the good sense to shut off the alarm and their cell phones before they went to bed. She knew Sam needed to rest. The world would turn just fine without them for a few hours.
For the first few minutes she simply watched Sam sleep. She looked peaceful-until the ghosts of the previous evening invaded her subconscious and her eyebrows furrowed in her slumber.
Brooke woke her when the tremors cycled through her body, and her eyes moved rapidly under her eyelids. Hey, she called gently, Its okay...
Sam’s eyes snapped open. God, the poor girl looked terrified. Sammy, what happened?
Sam stared at the ceiling. I don’t-- the normally confident wordsmith stammered, I don’t know what to tell you because I’m not even sure what I think happened happened.
Does that make any sense?
Brooke nodded, although she was completely faking it. What this about the story you were working on? What happened with Ryan?
Sam nodded. He died, she stated matter-of- factly.
What!?
That’s not the worst of it, Sam assured her. But I think-I think I averted the worst of it. I think I saved him.
Saved him? Brooke was dumbfounded. Sam, I--
Brooke, she looked up beseechingly, how about I tell you everything-tomorrow?
And Brooke could only nod, sensing how fragile her beloved Sammy was at the moment. Is there anything I can do?
Sam buried her face in Brooke’s chest. Never leave me, she pleaded.
The chuckle rumbling through Brooke’s frame could be felt by both of them. Brooke looked at the wedding ring on her finger. Oh, Sam, if you only knew...
It took her such a long time to commit to someone-even though she wanted to so desperately: she wanted love-wanted to be loved. But she had to be sure that she wouldn’t repeat the mistakes her parents made-that she wouldn’t turn out like her mother.
That she could be with someone and not screw it up: not make a mess of another person’s life, or-God forbid-do to a child what her mother had done to her.
Leave Sam? She was broken until Sam found her. Sam made her a whole person.
How do I get you to understand, Sammy? she whispered. Without you there is no me.
Searching brown eyes found hers. After a moment the lingering skepticism within them faded, and Sam looked up at her with an expression so open, so devoid of any barriers that it was heartbreaking to behold. But Brooke knew in that moment that Sam finally-finally- understood just how much she meant to her.
The brunette smiled sincerely for the first time since she’d come home, and burrowed herself in the blonde’s arms. Brooke basked in the warmth of their embrace.
Within moments Sammy was asleep again. She needed to rest after her harrowing ordeal.
Brooke watched her sleep. Thankfully, the brunette’s slumber was peaceful, and she was pretty sure she knew why.
As Brooke McQueen-McPherson brushed the hair out of her wife’s eyes she smiled, because she knew that Sam’s lingering doubts were finally put to rest once and for all...
Disclaimer: Ryan Murphy's sandbox, I'm just playing in it.
Rating: R for (hopefully) frigthtening concepts
Word Count: 7202 (between both parts).
Continuity: This is an off-shoot of my universe. This is set when they're in college, and they've been married about seven months. Everything that happened in my canon universe has happened here, but this is its own parallel universe (you'll understand why).
A/N: A huge thank you-as always-to my writing...I don't know. What do I call you? My very, very beloved good friend and person whom without I would get nothing posted: Redlance. You're awesome!
A/N II: This is a little different from my normal fics. This story has some supernatural/mystery elements to it. Nothing too scary (no zombies or anything). I came up with the idea a few weeks ago when I was moving. I hope everyone likes it but it is a little off the beat and path. It did, however, just kinda by the fluid nature of the creative process, become a Bram fic in the end. Funny how that happens.
Summary: Sam, a star reporter for the USC student newspaper, investigates an interesting story.
Claiming a Soul, Part II
To go to Part I click here.
Speaking with Father Edward had freaked her out a little-okay, freaked her out a lot. She was half expecting him to tell her some parable about how such things were impossible, but his treatise on the nature of evil left her unnerved.
She couched the phone gently in her hand as she left his office. Where are you? she queried Ryan.
I’m at home, he answered. He sounded nasal -like he had a cold. I just got your note. I didn’t know you were a girl, he chuckled.
Ryan, I’ve been to VJ’s. You only have until today to claim it back!
I don’t have the money, he confessed. I just don’t have it.
Sam debated with herself. Ryan, just stay there, okay? I’m coming over.
Nothing on the other end. Ryan, did you hear me?
Yeah, he answered. You better hurry if you want any of the beer.
Jesus. Ryan, what are--
It’s Heineken, too-not that Natural Light crap, he boasted. I figure if I can’t afford the pawn ticket I can at least buy some quality beer.
Sam sighed. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just...quit drinking till I get there, okay?
* * *
Twenty minutes became thirty as the bus had to stop at every street-like it always does when she’s running late.
She ran up the steps of the apartment building, knocked on the door, and chastised herself for being out of breath after running three measly flights of stairs. She made a vague promise to-at some undetermined point in the future-exercise more.
The door opened a few moments later. Ryan was handsome, but his stringy brown hair was unwashed, and he already smelled like a brewery. Are you Sam? he asked-much more lucidly than she would have guessed.
Yeah, Ryan, she smiled. Can I come in?
He stepped aside to admit her into the apartment. She took in the apartment’s sparse furnishings in a single glance, and rounded on its occupant. Ryan--
He flopped onto a bean bag chair, disheartened, and then took a long swig of his beer.
Ryan, that’s not going to solve our problem.
It’s not your problem, he pointed out.
How much do you have? she asked.
How much what?
Money, Ryan! she reminded him. How much money do you have?
He shrugged. Thirty bucks? he groped. Not enough.
And she almost asked him the question that she was dying to ask him-the one that was so important in the big scheme but so inconsequential now: why?
But instead she focused on the immediate problem. How much do you need?
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out the loan ticket worn around the edges. He squinted at the faded print. A hundred and forty-one dollars.
Sam made a show of doing the calculation in her head to bide her time. It wasn’t the hundred and eleven dollars-the trust fund left by her father’s inheritance and Brooke’s money from the settlement with Nicole’s family had left them very well off-but it was whether she wanted to ruin the story. Because once she became a part of it, she was no longer an objective observer.
One look at Ryan put any doubts to bed. I can help you, Ryan, she declared.
He looked up, a glint of hope in his eyes. Help? How?
I can give you the money.
He just stared at her for a second. But...why would you do that?
Sam didn’t know how to answer that. I-I don’t know if I believe that there is any power in that piece of paper down at VJs. But just in case, I can’t stand by here and just watch. You’ve got to claim that ticket, and then burn that paper once it’s yours again.
* * *
Getting money was easier said than done. She didn’t have her bank card on her, so she had Brooke meet them on campus and her darling wife handed her the cash. She got out a hundred and fifty-just to be safe.
Here you go, Sammy, Brooke said, handing her the money.
Thanks, babe, Sam replied. She gestured to the man standing with her. Brooke, this is Ryan McMillan, Sam introduced him.
The blonde smiled and shook his hand. Sam could see the confusion in her eyebrows. I’m Sam’s wife, she declared, and Sam could feel the territorial hackles going up.
Ryan seemed oblivious. Oh, he commented. Cool.
Ryan is part of the story I’ve been working on today, Sam assured her sweetheart.
Brooke visibly relaxed. Oh, she smiled sweetly. Nice to meet you, she offered genuinely.
Sam glanced at her watch when a streetlight nearby clicked on-bathing the sidewalk with its salmon hue. It was just after six. They still had two hours, but she didn’t want to cut it close. Hey, babe, we really have to go.
O-Okay, Brooke smiled. Sam gave her a kiss, and Brooke whispered in her ear: Are we paying informants now?
I’ll explain everything when I get home, she chuckled.
Oh, I saw Lily today, Brooke informed her. I invited her and Josh over for dinner Thursday night.
That’ll be fun, Sam commented.
Brooke rolled her eyes. That’s your ‘I really have to go’ voice, she smiled.
I really have to go, Sam affirmed. Brooke chuckled and said good-bye, and they rushed to the nearest bus stop.
* * *
There were no delays this time. The bus ride was a quick yet agonizingly long fourteen minutes.
She and Ryan didn’t say a word. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of anything to say. Some reporter...
The bus let them out up the street from VJs. They walked at first but as they got closer Ryan broke into a run. Sam saw him reach the door of the shop, grab the handle, and tug it open.
Only it didn’t open.
The pit of her stomach lurched as she watched Ryan pull at the door-and then pull again.
It was locked, her mind kept telling her. No, she argued, it couldn’t be locked: it was only six-thirty. VJ’s didn’t close until eight.
Ryan pulled and pulled at the door until finally a small white square on the glass caught his attention. It was a piece of paper, folded in half, with black marker scrawled on it.
Ryan read the words aloud: Closed due to family emergency. Will reopen Thursday. He spoke as though he couldn’t comprehend their meaning.
Oh God, Sam exclaimed.
Ryan tugged at the door in desperation.
It-it’ll be all right, Ryan, she said-but she didn’t believe it. Something was wrong. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.
Someone’s there! Ryan said. He pounded on the glass, and shouted for the occupant to let him in.
He cupped his hands over his eyes, and peered inside the glass. Sam, there’s someone--
Ryan gasped, and Sam froze to the spot where she stood.
He’s-he’s reaching into the case! Ryan yelled. Sam!
Sam swallowed the lump in her throat. I-It’s probably just Vince.
It’s not Vince! Ryan screamed. Panic flooded his voice. There’s someone in there, Sam! Look! he shrieked. Sam, he’s taking it!
On its own volition, Sam’s head was shaking back and forth ‘no’. She didn’t want to see who was in there.
No: she didn’t want to be seen by who was in there.
Sam! Ryan pleaded.
Sam took a step back. A chill enveloped her and she wrapped her arms around herself.
Oh God! Ryan stepped away from the glass, reeling. It’s him! He’s come for my soul! Jesus, it’s him...!
He stepped out onto the street and took one last look at the pawn shop. No! he screamed, and turned to run.
Sam’s eyes widened. She saw the bus-saw the angle. RYAN!!
The collision impacted the front window of the bus and sent the boy flying along the dark macadam. Sam’s breath caught in her throat. On the periphery of her senses she heard the screeching of tires.
Déjà vu.
This was the second time: the second time she watched a body smashed and contorted like a ragdoll, the second time she rushed to a figure lying prone on the street, the second time she saw a streetlight reflected in blood turned black in the moonlight.
Ryan! she cried. He was still alive, still conscious.
Pleading blue eyes met her brown ones. S- Sam, he rasped. He’s coming...!
No one’s coming, Ryan! Through blurred vision she searched the street behind them-and the pawn shop. There was nothing there.
Don’t let him get me, he begged. Don’t let him take me...
Ryan!
God, what have I done...? he cried.
Finally the question she had wanted to ask all night came blurting out. Why!? she shouted. Why did you do it?
The color in is eyes was fading. I-I had to...it was to get into a fraternity...
What? Jesus, this was a hazing ritual? Indignation welled within her, but it was shunted aside by her rational mind. There was a more pressing matter now.
And maybe a way out of this. Ryan, you had to do this? she asked.
He nodded feebly. What have I done?
Sam’s mind reeled. Was it possible? Was it enough? You were forced to do this... she reiterated.
Sam, save me... he begged. His eyes became unfocused. He didn’t have much time.
Sam turned away from him and faced the pawn shop. Instinctively, her arms went out behind her to shield the boy. She didn’t know who she was looking for, but she felt it now. Someone was out there.
She had no idea if this would work, but she had to try.
She’d never been more afraid in her life.
Can you hear me? she shouted to the night. Around her others had come to help her attend to the boy. They were probably looking at her like she was crazy.
She didn’t care. They were wasting their time. They couldn’t save his life. But maybe-just maybe-she could save his soul.
I know you’re there! she yelled. He knew you were coming! A chill ran the length of her spine, and she had to clamp her teeth together from chattering.
Jesus, she was scared. I can feel you out there! she challenged. It’s no good! her voice echoed back at her. The contract is no good!
Ryan wrote that he was writing that of sound mind and without duress! That’s not true! He was doing it to join a fraternity!
You see? she hollered into the cold air, he was forced to write that! She looked around to gauge for any kind of response.
He didn’t want to do it! He did it under duress. The contract is invalid! she bellowed.
You can’t take it! she shouted. You hear me? You can’t take his soul!
Was she reaching at straws? Would the denizens of the Underworld give a damn about technicalities?
Sam...! Ryan gasped. Sam looked around at him-but out of the corner of her eye she saw someone standing on the corner, watching. She could have sworn no one was there a second ago.
I’m here, Ryan, she sniffed.
I see it, Sam, he said weakly. I see- -
Her heart sank. What do you see!?
A light...
A sob escaped her, and tears welled in her eyes. Go to it, Ryan. she whimpered. Quick! she clamped her hand over her mouth as she watched the light go out of Ryan’s eyes.
He looked peaceful. Oh, please let it have worked!
She fought back her tears and wiped at her nose. Another bystander attending to Ryan declared that he was dead.
She turned back to the corner. The figure was still standing there, and the realization of who she was staring at-and who was staring back at her-robbed her of breath.
God, help me.
But she knew...
He’s gone! she shouted. We won, didn’t we?
We beat you, you bastard! she grinned.
She could have sworn it stared at her for a moment- that it raised its arm and pointed at her. Her teeth were chattering again-her momentary bravado long gone.
A rustling of leaves in the wind, and she was staring at an empty corner.
It was over. She cradled her face in her hands and released her emotions in great heaving sobs...
Someone was nudging her, asking if she was okay. They bombarded her with questions: was she a friend of the victim? Was he her boyfriend?
Time passed: seconds, minutes...she couldn’t be sure. She overheard two people talking about her. One was explaining that they thought she was in shock-and that maybe she was the victim’s boyfriend. The other voice said something about taking her in for observation.
Sam looked between her fingers. Paramedics were coming toward her-reaching out to her.
No! she yelled. They advanced on her.
No! She didn’t want to go with them. Not now. There was only one place she wanted to be-only one person who could possibly help her right now.
Sam sprang from her knees and took off as fast she could. The trees, streetlamps, and buildings were a blur around her. She ran as fast as she could and not once did she look behind her to see if they were chasing her.
And not once did she look in the shadows for fear of what might be looking back at her.
Finally she collapsed, falling against a bench. She reached into her pocket, and fished out her cell phone. The number she wanted-needed-was the last person she had called, and all she had to do was hit the ‘TALK’ button twice.
Thank God. She didn’t know if she could manage much more.
The line rang twice before a voice like angels answered. Hey, Sweetie, Brooke answered, and just hearing her voice broke down her fragile reserves.
Brooke...? Sam answered pitifully.
Sam, what’s wrong!? The fear in the blonde’s voice was unmistakable.
She managed to tell Brooke that she needed her to come get her. She was able to lift her head, and see that she was near the science building. Wow-she’d run a long way. She wasn’t too far from home, actually.
Within a few minutes she heard a car screech to a stop nearby and headlights washed over her. She looked down at herself: she was still lying on the ground slouched up against the bench.
Brooke shouted her name, and she managed the barest hint of a smile. She was going to be all right.
Footfalls hit the sidewalk in rapid succession, and soon she was engulfed in the warmest embrace she’d ever known. Brooke was saying her name over and over-well, the variation of her name reserved specifically for Brooke’s use and no one else. Sam drank in the blonde’s presence like an elixir for her soul.
Are you all right? Brooke asked in a panic.
I am now, Sam managed to reply.
Are you hurt? Do you need to go to the hospital?
No, she answered, I just want to go home. I need to go home.
Brooke nodded, tears in her eyes. She helped Sam to her feet, and they walked to the waiting car.
* * *
When Brooke awoke in the middle of the night, Sam was staring at their bedroom ceiling. She hadn’t said a word about what had happened, and Brooke wondered if she ever would. She had simply buried herself as close as she could to the blonde, and Brooke held her as she drifted off to sleep.
Are you okay? she asked, and Sammy shook her head ‘no’. Is there anything I can do...?
You’re doing it, was her reply. Sam closed her eyes, and rested her head against her chest. Brooke simply held on for dear life, and eventually sleep overtook them again.
Morning passed right by them-it was well past noon when she finally awoke. Brooke had the good sense to shut off the alarm and their cell phones before they went to bed. She knew Sam needed to rest. The world would turn just fine without them for a few hours.
For the first few minutes she simply watched Sam sleep. She looked peaceful-until the ghosts of the previous evening invaded her subconscious and her eyebrows furrowed in her slumber.
Brooke woke her when the tremors cycled through her body, and her eyes moved rapidly under her eyelids. Hey, she called gently, Its okay...
Sam’s eyes snapped open. God, the poor girl looked terrified. Sammy, what happened?
Sam stared at the ceiling. I don’t-- the normally confident wordsmith stammered, I don’t know what to tell you because I’m not even sure what I think happened happened.
Does that make any sense?
Brooke nodded, although she was completely faking it. What this about the story you were working on? What happened with Ryan?
Sam nodded. He died, she stated matter-of- factly.
What!?
That’s not the worst of it, Sam assured her. But I think-I think I averted the worst of it. I think I saved him.
Saved him? Brooke was dumbfounded. Sam, I--
Brooke, she looked up beseechingly, how about I tell you everything-tomorrow?
And Brooke could only nod, sensing how fragile her beloved Sammy was at the moment. Is there anything I can do?
Sam buried her face in Brooke’s chest. Never leave me, she pleaded.
The chuckle rumbling through Brooke’s frame could be felt by both of them. Brooke looked at the wedding ring on her finger. Oh, Sam, if you only knew...
It took her such a long time to commit to someone-even though she wanted to so desperately: she wanted love-wanted to be loved. But she had to be sure that she wouldn’t repeat the mistakes her parents made-that she wouldn’t turn out like her mother.
That she could be with someone and not screw it up: not make a mess of another person’s life, or-God forbid-do to a child what her mother had done to her.
Leave Sam? She was broken until Sam found her. Sam made her a whole person.
How do I get you to understand, Sammy? she whispered. Without you there is no me.
Searching brown eyes found hers. After a moment the lingering skepticism within them faded, and Sam looked up at her with an expression so open, so devoid of any barriers that it was heartbreaking to behold. But Brooke knew in that moment that Sam finally-finally- understood just how much she meant to her.
The brunette smiled sincerely for the first time since she’d come home, and burrowed herself in the blonde’s arms. Brooke basked in the warmth of their embrace.
Within moments Sammy was asleep again. She needed to rest after her harrowing ordeal.
Brooke watched her sleep. Thankfully, the brunette’s slumber was peaceful, and she was pretty sure she knew why.
As Brooke McQueen-McPherson brushed the hair out of her wife’s eyes she smiled, because she knew that Sam’s lingering doubts were finally put to rest once and for all...