10

The mouth may lie, alright, but the face it makes nonetheless tells the truth ~ Friedrich Nietzsche.

Child Services were at the rescue for Sam. They demanded that Sam had an adult with him when he was interviewed. They said this was illegal and damaging to the poor boy who had obviously been through a lot of pain, stress and not to mention absolute terror. It was thus agreed that a Mrs Andrews could sit with Sam and make sure that nothing was said or done which could then be thrown back in their faces. As yet they had no actual evidence that Sam had done anything but what he'd said. The matter of the bed was a puzzle and the knife also, but that didn't prove that Sam had taken the knife. And for now, Sam was denying that little nugget as something he'd done.

Again the police talked to Sam. This time it was in a more comfortable room, with padded chairs and a less interrogative feel about it. Sam had been given a sweatpants and Tshirtto wear and though he was unhappy about looking like a chump, he sat quietly next to the young social worker and tried and tried to get into his head what happened.

'I might not have been in bed.' Sam muttered. 'Sometimes I lay on the floor next to it. I just don't like to admit that, because it goes back to the days when I was with Iolanda and the thought that what he did is that ingrained in my psyche is sort of depressing, but maybe that night I slept on the floor. I honestly can't remember, but if my bed hadn't been slept in then I guess that's what I did.' Sam kept his eyes down on his lap. 'I remember I woke up and my feet were cold, and I was a bit hungry and wanted a piss and I could see light under the door, so I assumed someone was out there and I opened the door and I saw Sally laying on the floor. The light was on in the hallway. I didn't touch her… I remember thinking that I must not touch her and there was a lot of blood, so I stepped carefully over her and I went to their bedroom.'

He was stopped at that point. 'You've told us what you saw, can you tell us what you felt?'

'Cold. My feet were really cold and my hands were cold. The air felt sort of fresh and sharp. Do you know what I mean? The sort of cold that makes your nose run.'

He was stopped again. 'Sam, I want you to tell me what you were thinking at this point, before you opened the bedroom door. You are standing in a lighted hallway with a bleeding body behind you. What were you thinking?'

Sam looked a bit confused. He wasn't sure what the man wanted him to say. He didn't know what the correct answer was here. 'I was scared.' He muttered. 'I was… I thought it was… I didn't know.' A sniff. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and looked up. 'At that point I just wanted to find John.'

'You didn't think that John might have done this? You weren't worried that the murderer was in the bedroom?'

Sam licked his lips in a quick pink sweep of his tongue. 'John wouldn't have hurt Sally. I couldn't hear anything. I didn't think there was anyone in the other bedroom and so I pushed the door open, cos it was only open a few inches.'

'And tell me exactly what you saw.'

'There was a side lamp on and I could see their bed was messed up, like Sally had jumped out of bed quickly and I could see… I don't know. I could see John and so I went around the bed and I grabbed him and shook him… and then I realised that I could smell a lot of blood and I touched his face and his skin was warm and wet and I grabbed his shoulders and shouted at him to wake up. The light from the lamp wasn't very bright, but as I shook him I could see that he was dead.'

'Good. You walked into the room, shook John… then what?' The cop though gave his partner a glance and Sam didn't like that glance one little bit.

'I ran from the room and I saw Sally again and I wondered maybe if she was alive and so I turned her over and I could see the cut in her neck and I knew she was dead… and so I ran… there was a telephone in the hallway so I ran down the stairs and grabbed the phone and called for help… and he just appeared from the dark. I don't know if he followed me or if he was downstairs and I saw the knife and I tried to fend him off and I felt him cutting me and he stabbed at me… and I was shouting for help and I was screaming down the phone and he stabbed me again, and then I fell backwards and the woman on the phone was talking to me… I tried to grab the phone again but it fell off the wall.'

'Good. Very good. Now that's what happened. That's what you describe as happening, but we want to know what you were feeling at that time. Did you feel cold still? Did you feel afraid?'

'Of course I was afraid! The bastard was stabbing me!'

A few nods. 'And did you drop anything in the hallway, Sam?'

Sam frowned. 'Drop something? Drop what?'

'You left bloody fingerprints on the floor next to your bedroom door.'

Sam looked blank. 'I have no idea. I can't remember. I don't think so, but I might have slipped and touched the floor for balance or something? I really can't remember.'

'You remember everything very clearly, Sam. I would think you'd remember if you fell over in the hallway.'

Sam shifted the way he was sitting. 'Well I don't remember. I don't know. I have no idea. Are you sure it was my fingerprints?'

'They must have been yours. Didn't you say that the assailant was wearing blue gloves?'

'But he might have put them on afterwards.'

More nods. 'Well we don't think that's quite what happened. But maybe you'll remember later? What can you tell me about the house… a normal night at that house? Did they lock all the windows and doors, Sam?'

'Always… usually… I don't know. I suppose so. Maybe. I had my window locked and the front door was locked and bolted.'

'Rear exit?' The cop asked.

And again Sam licked at his lips and he could feel sweat dripping down the side of his face. He rubbed at his nose again and shrugged. 'I guess it was locked too.'

Nods… those fucking nods! Sam wanted to staple their heads to the wall to stop that bloody nodding of the head.

'The problem we have, Sam is that there is no evidence that there was anyone in that house apart from you and the Greens. Your fingerprints are on the rear exit door handle. Your fingerprints are on the door of the Green's bedroom. Your fingerprints on the telephone and on the knife. The intruder must have been very careful, don't you think?'

'I guess.'

'Did you open the back door and let someone in?'

'No.'

'Are you sure of that? You say you have nightmares. Do you sleepwalk?'

'No.'

'How did the murderer get hold of a knife which Sally thought you had?'

'I didn't have it until it was stuffed in my chest! I didn't take the fucking knife! She probably took it outside for some damned reason and left it there. I don't know! I didn't take the knife. I didn't hurt them! Why the fuck would I hurt them! They were good to me! They were nice people.'

'Nice people who said they were afraid of you. They reported that you had violent outbursts. That you have sexual perversions. They were scared of you. Are you sure that…'

'Enough.' Suddenly the social worker spoke up. 'Either accuse him of something or stop this now.'

'Are you sure…' The cop ignored Mrs Andrews and carried on. '…that you didn't make sexual advances towards John? Are you sure that you didn't try something like that as he slept?'

Sam bounced to his feet. 'Are you mad? Why would I want to touch John? You're sick!'

'It says in the written log made by the Greens that you rubbed your erect penis against John's leg when he arrived home from work. You masturbated at the dinner table and you constantly accidentally brush your hand against John's pants.'

Mrs Andrews stood and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. It was instantly brushed off by Sam who stood staring at the cop like he was something that had just dragged himself out of a pile of turds.

'We had a look at your recent purchases from your shopping trip. We've had a look at your browsing history on the laptop you had access to. Now sit down and maybe you can enlighten us as to why a sixteen year old boy would want to dress like a female whore.'

Sam threw himself back onto the soft chair he'd been sitting on. 'Fucking homophobic motherfucking cunts.' He hissed. 'Just because I'm a fag doesn't mean that you have the right to suppress my inner nature. And for your information the girls love to see a boy dressed like that. I'd get the fag-hags throwing themselves at my feet, but that's irrelevant because I'm bi. I'll fuck boys or girls.' He slapped his hands over his face and shut up.

'You are sixteen.' The cop told Sam as though he didn't know. 'Sodomy…'

'Blah fucking blah! It's against the fucking law – I fucking know that, so why are you sitting on your arses telling me I killed someone because I have pink boots and some new underwear. Why are you not out there finding out who raped me? Huh? Because a pair of pink boots doesn't make me a murderer.'

'Did John ever touch you or make suggestions…'

'NEVER!' Sam howled at them. 'Never, ever! He was happily married to Sally! What the fuck are you suggesting? Why is this all dragged down to some nasty perverted level. I like pink boots. Someone stabbed John and cut Sally. Those things are not connected. And sure I like to dress up. Who doesn't like to look good, but I'm too damned scared to leave the house so where the fuck do you think I'm going to go dressed like it. It was simply for my own damned pleasure and there is nothing at all illegal in that! Nothing at all. And yes I signed up for the gay porn channels but it was just to wind them up. I never actually watched any of it and I never got a vibrator from the shopping channel and I didn't get my damned butt plugs either. I've done nothing wrong except it seems, not to be a corpse.'

Then with a horrible twist of information Sam thought that his world was going to fall into a dark hole.

'We have located your legal guardian, you'll be pleased to know. He is going to come and collect you and take you to a hotel he's booked in to. You can go with him, but you are not to leave the city. Do you understand. You will be needed for more questions.'

'My guardian?'

'A Mr Louis Iolanda.'

Sam bounced once again to his feet and shook his head. 'You've got to be fucking kidding me. He's the one who's abused me and held me captive most of my life. He's the one who put these scars on my back! You can't send me to him! You can't do that! I don't want to go with Iolanda! He will kill me! He will sell my body for profit! You can't… Woman…' Sam turned to Mrs Andrews. '…tell him he can't! I'll go with you. Fuck I'll tell you that I slit Sally's throat if that'll help but I'm not going to go any fucking where with fucking fuck… fucking Iolanda.'

The cops nodded. They'd been warned that Sam was a trouble boy and that his father was dead and now his uncle was the man who would care for him. Iolanda had explained that Sam made wild accusations because he was – frankly – a suffering soul who just needed attention and stability. He needed boundaries and he needed to know what time food was going to be put on the table. It was simple things with Sam and his shock tactics of the sexual advances and the filthy language didn't mean that he didn't love the boy, for his brother's sake… yes he would take care of Sam. He had booked into a nice hotel with a double suite. They had their own rooms, but a shared lounging area. There was even a hot tub… it was going to be relaxing and hopefully Sam would finally be able to realise that the world wasn't against him. The world could be a lovely place. Iolanda just needed the chance to prove it to Sam…

Sam was removed from the police station in silent stunned panic. He could see the man who he knew was going to beat him to death and trample his bones to a mush. He could see him just standing there like butter was his favourite friend. Sam shuddered and Mrs Andrews grabbed Sam's elbow, thinking that he'd run off. She didn't have her running shoes on today.

'Mr Iolanda.' She put out her hand and he took it and smiled a slightly greasy smile.

'Ma'm. Thank you for looking after Sam for me. You have the address we will be at?'

She nodded and passed over a back pack with Sam's worldly belongings in it and then she passed over Sam who moved begrudgingly towards Iolanda. 'You know he will kill me.' He hissed at her and she patted Sam's arm for comfort.

Iolanda had washed and changed his clothes. He looked, if you didn't look too closely, like a fairly average bloke. There was nothing outwardly or obviously creepy or sinister about him… except maybe for the slight comb over he'd added to his suave look. He had on a dark jacket which wasn't quite big enough to button up, a pair of black pants which were held up with suspenders and a belt. He had on shiny black shoes and a white shirt. Nothing alarming at all really, except it was who it was. Sam knew that he was going to be a murder victim. He knew that he was walking slowly to his death… he would be found mutilated and torn apart in a random hotel room tub. He would end up on the table of a laboratory and he would be sliced and inspected and looked at because this was Iolanda and he had no doubt that this man would do that. He'd enjoy that.

'Why don't you just kill me now?' Sam moaned as he walked to the car.

Iolanda grasped Sam by the elbow. 'In front of witnesses? I'm not that much of a fool. Get in the damned car. You've caused me enough trouble and I'm not going to put up with this constant complaining. You'll do what I tell you, dog, or you're going to be very sorry.'

Sam sniffed and looked over his shoulder at the woman from Children's services. They were meant to keep kids safe, not send them merrily off to their death. Didn't she realise? Hadn't anyone read the notes and his file? Didn't anyone give a shit about him? He got into the car and put on the seat belt and then pulled his feet up onto the seat in front of him. They drove off in silence. Sam didn't bother protesting or fighting this. If he made too much of a fuss they'd clearly see that he was a lot stronger and had a lot more hate and violence in him than he wanted them to see. He wasn't going to have the murders pinned on him.

'You were very stupid. Why kill them?' Iolanda asked his victim.

Sam wrapped his arms around his shins. 'They were going to send me away. I didn't want to go. But they would have sent me anyway. So I made it my choice and not theirs.'

'Idiot. I thought you were better trained than that. Didn't Flanders teach you anything but how to fuck?'

'And he'll come and get you and take me back with him.' Sam snapped back at Iolanda. 'He wont let you get away with this. He's going to

come find me and he'll do dastardly things to your corpse. He'll screw anything.'

Sam didn't much like that smug sound and he didn't much like that even smugger look. 'Sam… poor deluded Sam. He's gone. You know that. You can feel it inside of you. Something is missing. That's your old love… gone. The dogs ate him. I fed him to my dogs… how do you like that huh? You might have thought that you'd escaped me but sweety love… I've been on your tail virtually from the start, though I have to admit that I avoided the snow. Silly boy. You should have known I was around.'

'I could smell you. I could as good as taste you.'

'Poor bunny. It'll all be over soon. And to think I don't have to worry about Flanders walking in on us. What fun! We are going to have such a lark young man.'

'I'll report you.' Sam threatened in a not very sure voice.

'Report me for what? and how?'

'Underage sex and to the cops when then hear my screams of rape.'

'Poor, poor boy. You just don't understand do you? You will do what I tell you and you wont complain any more than that rat of a gargoyle Reid would report Flanders for rape. Not going to happen… and in a couple of years you'll be legal. I'll have that little butt all to myself.'

Sam held onto his legs tighter. 'But you're not… you don't… you hate fags.'

'Yes, you might be right… but I love kids.'

'You creepy fucking pervert.' Sam turned his head and looked out of the window. 'Why can't you just kill me?'

'Because unlike Flanders, I like my meat warm. Now be quiet. I'm already bored with your whining.'

'Well you're going to get very bored then aren't you? Because I can whine and moan for days. I can even do it in my sleep.'

Sam still had his head facing the side window and the punch to the back of his head forced his head to bang off the window and put white stars in front of Sam's eyes. 'Don't threaten me. I can see that a lot of my training has come undone. I don't think it's going to take long to get you back on your hands and knees and being a good little puppy again.'

Sam didn't speak. He sat and looked at his reflection in the window and wondered how someone so good looking could get into such shit and such a small space of time. He wondered why that mega brain of his had let him get in the car with Iolanda. He wondered why he had accepted it so easily and that scared Sam. He didn't want to be jumping whenever Iolanda clicked his fingers, but he thought that maybe he was half way back there already. He didn't have a tantrum. He didn't cause a fuss. He just sat and looked at his reflection and wondered how much longer that beautiful face was going to be living. He reached out and touched the curves of his face in his reflection and was very sure right there and then that he'd never seen anything quite as glorious as what he was looking at. Spencer always said that Floyd was perfection, but Spencer had obviously not looked too closely at him! Now Floyd was gone… maybe Spencer would love him? Maybe Spencer would come and find him and get him away from this hell he was being driven to, though seeing the hotel Iolanda was pulling up at, it didn't look all that hellish. Maybe there was a chance to enjoy this?

'You are my son.' Iolanda told Sam. 'Act like it.'

'Actually I'm your underage fuck bunny…'

'Sure you are.' Iolanda placed a hand on Sam's back. 'And I'm going to enjoy myself. Come now.'

o-o-o

It was the rattling of the chains which brought Spencer back to where he was. He had been mentally drifting around in nice warm comfortable places inside of his mind. Now he was dragged back to the dark and the stink and a rattling in his ear. He moved quickly away from the door and back to the blankets. He kept his head down and heard rather than saw Floyd chain the door locked again. He heard a sharp intake of breath and then there was the displaced air and a fresh outdoors rotting smell as Floyd sat down next to him.

'You moved stuff. I told you to keep your hands off my shit.' Floyd elbowed Spencer hard in the ribs. 'Just don't OK?'

Spencer didn't reply. He pulled a blanket over his knees for a bit more security and gave Floyd a side glance. 'Where have you been?'

'Sheerwater. It's no good. Couldn't even get by the bitch in the fucking reception. What I'm going to have to do is employ a lawyer, or rather you're going to have to employ one and demand back what I need. I'll pay for it out of my fund… don't worry, but you're going to have to do it. Would look a bit odd if it's me huh? Unless… Oh.' He grabbed Spencer's knee. 'Fine! I'll do it! I'll say I am you. I think it's best like that don't you? What's that expression for?'

'I need to go home.'

'You are home.'

'Floyd… I know that you find this comfortable and safe, but I don't and I know my comfort isn't your problem, but I'm slightly concerned that you'll lock me in here and you'll not return.'

Floyd gave that idea a good deal of thought for two whole seconds. 'I'll return.' He snapped. 'Of course I'll return. Why wouldn't I?'

'Iolanda?'

'Fuck him… but… you've made me think of something. I've had this fucking nasty pain in my chest for a couple of days and I wondered… do you have a fucking nasty pain in your chest?'

Spencer shook his head. 'To be frank, the only fucking nasty pain I have is where you've forced yourself into me.'

'Ah hu. Interesting, but you didn't get sympathy pain shit for Sam anyway did you?'

Again Spencer shook his head. 'You think he's alive then.'

'And in such deep shit you'd not believe. I can feel his panic. It's like a warm bucket of shit being thrown over my head. Not nice. And so what I'm going to tell you will come as no great surprise…' Floyd stopped talking and got to his feet. He kicked the messy card over the grate in the ground and then went and washed his hands in the bowl of rusty water. Then slowly he scooped some out with his hands and drank deeply. Spencer sat and waited for what it was that would come as no surprise, but Floyd seemed to have forgotten he'd been talking to him about something. Floyd sat on the cold ground the other side of the drain and peered at Spencer through the light the flashlight was giving off. 'You are stunningly beautiful.' Floyd said. 'Even battered and bruised you are the most beautiful creature… apart from myself obviously. You are perfect. From your hair, to your little nose, those strong white teeth, your height, those hands… damn, those lovely hands that know exactly what to do to me… perfection.'

Spencer blinked but said nothing. Was he meant to tell Floyd how perfect he was too? Well Spencer might well be able to see that lovely face under the grime and dirt, but admit to it? Never… not on his life was he going to give Floyd that. 'What do you want to do about Sam?'

Floyd hugged his knees and shrugged. 'Fuck if I know. I don't have a fucking clue, but I'll feel him if he's in trouble. The pain in my chest though, that was something sharp, stabbing… but shallow and… Impossible to describe, but almost like I was being stabbed with a pen knife or such. Nothing deadly. Not even totally painful, but I could still feel it. It's not you then huh? You've not got pains in your chest?'

'This could just be you… I mean it could be that the heart you have…'

'Yeah… could be I'm dying. Good thought. Anyway, you have no objections to me using your name? The sooner I can get my liver back the sooner I can make some good pate.'

Well that was disgusting, but Floyd was surely going to get his heart too? 'Your heart?'

A shake of the head. 'Thinking I'll maybe not bother. I kind of like how I am.'