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36
She Cried
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Blood and dirt mixed, plopping down into the tub in clumps, swirling through water, marbling as it twisted down the drain. Hot water hissed from the showerhead. A few streams of water shot off in frayed directions. Steam billowed.
Sam had cranked it up as hot as it could go. The water scalded her skin. With a Quality Inn washcloth that had been bleached so often it was as stiff as a brillo pad, she scraped every inch of her skin, removing a good layer or two until it was an angry shiny pink.
She dunked her head back into the stream, watching water drip off the few strands of hair she had left. She had already washed her hair five times, but she could still smell corpse no matter how many times she shampooed. She even tried washing out her nostrils out with soap, but the dead smell had seeped into her skin, deep where no soap could get.
Whatever divine entity had been keeping her together so she could get out of the mansion and survive that car chase, was washing away with the blood. Pretty soon her hands were shaking so hard she could barely hold the washcloth.
With a shudder, she began scrubbing her body over again, but it did little to remove the feeling of unwanted hands touching her, pinning her, strangling her. Her scrubs grew more violent. Harsh breaths sawed out as desperation filled her, her throat welling in preparation of a good, long cry. The washcloth banged against her crotch and it twinged, sore. The bone there was for sure bruised.
"Fuck," she croaked, throwing the bloodstained washcloth into the tub. It landed with a slap.
She stood directly in the showers beam, staring down, shaking. As long as the faucet ran, she didn't have to face the world beyond this cheap shower curtain. She considered lying down. She considered giving up. If she showered forever, she'd never have to actually face what happened.
No. She had to do better than that. A mystery still needed solving. Danny was right. This was bigger than him, bigger than her, bigger than the both of them combined. She had to move forward.
She sucked in a deep, long breath, and cranked the faucet off.
The silence, punctuated by the steady drip-drip-drip from the faucet was way worse. Sam had taken thousands of showers. She had never felt this naked.
A soft knock pinged off the bathroom door. "Sam?" Matthews's soft voice questioned. "I'm going out for supplies. I'll be back in an hour, ok?"
Sam cleared the lump in throat several times, before managing an, "Ok."
There was a pause on the other side. For a second Sam thought Matthews was going to change her mind, but the shadow underneath the bathroom doors crack shifted and she was gone.
Sam let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding.
As she climbed out of the tub and toweled herself off, she could hear Valerie and Matthews talking in the bedroom. The TV was still on, and the murmur of it made it impossible to make out what they were saying. Probably talking about her. Sam couldn't bring herself to care.
She wrapped the towel around herself and felt a little bit less frail. Using her fist, she wiped condensation from the mirror and blinked at her own reflection.
Blood infiltrated the whites of her left eye. A reddish splot decorated just below. Her bottom lip was blistered and split, still oozing blood and swollen. Drawing up trembling fingers, she prodded at her cheekbone, which was an angry red color. A sharp pain shot through her and she hissed. With the patches of bruising and the burn scars, the left side of her face looked like a completely different person than the right.
Gingerly, she unwrapped the towel, turning her arms over and getting a good look at what was sure to turn into enormous bruises. Some around her wrists, and one on her hipbone where she had fallen.
Sam rewrapped the towel and leaned both palms against the sink for a moment to process. Wet strands of her hair flicked up and got stuck underneath her nose. An intense whiff of her mother's body slammed through her and Sam let out a small scream, yanking at her hair, hard, in frustration.
It had to go.
She fumbled around the bathroom for anything she could use. Little plastic cups dressed in more plastic scattered across the floor. Toilettes flew into the tub. Extra toilet paper scattered around her feet. With only a split second of hesitation, Sam began to rummage through Matthew's toiletries. She found a travel toothbrush, a comb, a teal razor, a tube of lipstick— not the ghost detecting kind— and a seven day pill box with four of the days still full.
She opened Thursday. Most of the pills didn't have a stamp or a name on them, and most she had never seen before, but one she recognized. It was a painkiller. Commonly used for arthritis, although Sam had been given it in the hospital for cramping. A stronger version of ibuprofen, it would help with the pain in her cheek and the swelling, but it wouldn't keep her hands from shaking. It wasn't the brain-numbing Endocet she had been given after the fire. The amount of disappointment she felt worried her.
Sam dropped the painkiller back into Thursday's spot and closed it, carefully putting it back in Matthew's bag. Matthews probably needed it just as much as her. She tucked away her toothbrush, comb, and lipstick, until she was left holding Matthew's razor.
Studying her reflection in the mirror, she brought up the razor and did an experimental pass at her hair. Because of the guard, barely any of her hair got shaved. Frowning, Sam pried the guard off and popped the razor out.
"You alive?" Valerie asked, grudgingly, from on the other side of the door.
Why was Valerie even still here? She had never wanted to help in the first place. Sam thought she would have bailed the moment she was turned over to Matthews.
Sam's eyes narrowed in the mirror in concentration, pulling her hair backwards, away from her hairline, and brought the razor down again. A clump of wet black hair fell into the sink.
Valerie banged once. "Open it."
Sam's limbs jumped and the razor slipped, biting into her hairline. Blood welled. "Shit," she wavered, struggling to get her shaking fingers to rip off a piece of toilet paper to staunch the cut. The razor slipped from her grasp, clattering into the sink. A fat drop of blood landed next to the drain. She swayed.
"I'll break it down," Valerie was saying, "It's not hard. I've done it before."
Dizzily, Sam reached out and unlocked the door, then lowered herself onto the floor before she could faint.
Valerie stepped inside, a bundle of clothes underneath one arm. All the hot steam escaped the room. Green eyes roved around the scattered toiletries, the hair and blood in the sink, and landed on Sam, whose teeth had begun to chatter.
Sam didn't have enough energy to cover herself up or give a shit about what Valerie thought of her in that moment.
The water from the showerhead dripped and the TV murmured. Valerie crossed the bathroom and knelt down, depositing the clothes on the floor. She unhooked the towel from around Sam's torso. Sam lifted her arms and allowed Valerie to pat dry any spots she had missed with the same hurried detachment as a nurse.
Valerie helped her into a scratchy mint green sweater. She rolled the arms twice until Sam's hands poked out. Then, with arms interlinked, Valerie got her standing and into a pair of cotton drawstring pajama pants. Sam's shaking hands struggled with cinching the string before Valerie batted them away and tied her in with a few rough yanks.
The clothes smelled like laundry detergent and Matthew's perfume. They were about two sizes too large and served as a reminder that this all was wrong and she was a refugee of her own home.
"Stand straight," Valerie ordered, tone gruff. "Head up."
Sam almost told her to fuck off, but considering Valerie brought her clean clothes, she obeyed. Chin up, she shot the other girl a glare in the hopes she looked less pathetic than she felt.
Valerie glared right back. Something dark and worried swam in her gaze. Her eyes flicked back towards the sink. "What's up with the blood and the razor?"
Sam leaned onto the wall, resting her elbow on the towel rack. "I can still smell my mom in my hair."
Valerie's face softened. She plucked up the razor and shook her head. "Are you for real? This is not how you shave a head of hair," she lectured.
Eyeing the girl's massive ponytail, Sam said, "And how do you know anything about cutting hair?"
"Shut up," Valerie groused. She pointed with the razor to the mirror. "Well?"
Shrugging, Sam settled in front of the sink, with a clean towel draped over her shoulders, sitting atop Matthew's suitcase so she was a good foot shorter.
Valerie started by grabbing handfuls of what was left of Sam's hair, shaving large chunks off nowhere near the roots, before going back in close to the scalp. She worked in silence. The gentle pulling and yanking lulled Sam into a trance-like state as she watched layers of her hair shed around her shoulders, into her lap, and onto the floor. The strands dusted the bridge of her nose, and caught on her eyelashes.
"You seem… different," Sam managed to say after a long moment. She watched Valerie in the mirror, but the girl never looked up, so Sam didn't comment.
"My mom taught me. She used to cut my dad's hair," Valerie murmured, almost to herself, as she worked. "I cut it now that she's gone."
Sam glanced back down at her palms in her lap and ran some of her hair between her thumb and pointer finger.
After some time, Valerie leaned in close, eyeing her critically. "Done," she announced.
A totally different person stared back at her in the mirror. All of her injuries and scars were displayed, no longer hidden behind a tangled mess of bangs or shoved in a beanie. The side of her head that used to have hair had maybe an eighth-of-an-inch left. The shave was admirable even for Valerie only having a small razor blade to work with.
Her frame shivered uncontrollably, despite the sweater.
Valerie set the razor next to the sink and grasped both her shoulders. "I thought I did a pretty good job," she protested, shooting Sam a glare through the mirror. It was lacking her usual hostility. Sam was learning more and more that this was just her normal face. Valerie's lip quirked and Sam couldn't help but smile back.
The hotel lock buzzed and Sam froze, relaxing when Matthews came in carrying plastic bags full of what looked like medical supplies, clothing, and Chinese takeout. She placed them on a small wooden table, using her heel to kick the door closed. Water poured off Matthews' black raincoat.
Valerie squeezed Sam's shoulders. It felt like her version of giving a hug. Whipping the dirtied towel off Sam's shoulders, like a hairdresser whipped off an apron, Valerie said, with a straight face, "That'll be twenty bucks. Hard cash. You can pay me after this is all over."
Sam let out a huffing laugh. "Deal."
.
.
Sam watched a silent dance of hands and arms perform in front of her as Valerie and Dr. Matthews undid the takeout, passing napkins and soy sauce, distributing chopsticks, and cracking open containers. The smell of grease wafted through the air. It was the best thing Sam had smelled in a while.
She leaned forward in her chair, blanket wrapped around her shoulders slipping. Her cheekbone twinged, gauze covering the cut in her head and ointment mixed with antiseptic spread over her bruises. Dr. Matthews had performed the first aid. She had barely said four sentences.
"Veggie chow mein?" Dr. Matthews asked her, holding up the container. Five sentences.
"I can do it," Sam said hoarsely. She was beat up, but not so beat up she couldn't serve herself. Dr. Matthews passed it to her and she put all her focus onto making her paper plate.
The three of them ate in relative silence. The distant roar of rain pattered outside. Once in awhile a car passed by on the road. It was when Sam decided she wanted seconds of the chow mein, that Valerie shifted in her chair and said, slowly, "Soooo…"
"So," Dr. Matthews echoed. "I'm guessing, by the fact that there is a police car belonging to your"— she pointed her chopsticks at Valerie— "father in the parking lot, you two don't want me to call the police?"
"No," Valerie agreed. Her eyes flicked to Sam in confusion, as if she had been expecting Matthews to bring up the elephant sitting in the empty fourth chair.
Maybe Dr. Matthews didn't believe she had seen him. Maybe she thought she was dreaming. Sam knew the feeling. It felt like she had been operating inside one labyrinthian nightmare ever since Halloween.
"Can you tell me who did that to your face, Sam?" Matthews prodded.
Valerie kicked Sam's leg underneath the table right as Sam, unthinkingly, said, "Masters."
Noodles fell out of Dr. Matthew's chopsticks. "What?" she said, tone flat.
Valerie threw her chopsticks down in frustration. "Let's just add more people to his list."
Dr. Matthew's face had gotten really pale and Sam felt like a complete idiot. This wasn't just her psychologist. This was also Jasmine Fenton. Jazz. Her family had been damaged when she was in her teens and Sam had just answered over fifty years of unexplained tragedy in less than two seconds. She hadn't even asked Danny if he would be okay with it. She had just gone ahead and done it. "I'm sorry," she blurted. "I'm so sorry."
Dr. Matthews' eyes stuck to her food, a nauseous look crossing her wrinkled features. Wordlessly, she she began the process of refolding her paper napkin. Her eyes scanned the table.
"Danny should be here for this," Valerie muttered. The dark expression on her face said this was yet another strike against the ghost.
"He'll come back," Sam defended, even though secretly she agreed.
Dr. Matthews flinched.
Shit. The hotel room was suddenly claustrophobic. The chow mein now writhed around in her stomach. Valerie disapproving glower coming from the corner of the room was unbearable. Intent on going somewhere nearby, somewhere she could think, somewhere where she couldn't mess anything up any worse than she already had, Sam grabbed the keycard off the table and made for the door.
Valerie scrambled up, palm slapping on the door, forcing it back closed. "Where do you think you're going? There's still that weird eclipse outside."
Sam frowned. When Valerie didn't move her hand, Sam asked, bitingly, "What? You going to hold me captive now, too?"
The hand slipped off the door. Valerie looked like Sam had slapped her.
"Sam," Dr. Matthews said tiredly. "Wait."
Sam shouldered her way past and took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the way her cheekbone complained at each jolting step.
.
Not going very far, Sam used her keycard to get into the hotel pool room. It was completely empty. The pool's glossy smooth surface reflected the hanging neon lights, which buzzed softly overhead. It smelled intensely like chlorine, which was preferable to the faint dead smell Sam kept getting still. Steam rose from the pool, coating the walls and the ceiling in a thick mask of condensation that made all light from outside fuzzy and muted. It was no graveyard, but it would have to do.
Sam's bare footsteps echoed. She chose one of the many pool chairs and leaned back, adjusting the backrest so she was laying flat looking up at the clear plastic ceiling.
Everything had turned to shit.
A sob ripped from her lungs. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. Tears flooded her eyes, spilling out of the corners of her eyes and pooling in her ear. Her left eye stung from the salt in her own tears and Sam cried harder.
She cried so hard, she didn't notice she had an audience until she heard a creak erupt from her right. Lurching up, Sam found Danny sitting on the chair right beside her, looking both helpless and contrite.
She wiped the uninjured side of her face with the sleeve of Jazz's sweater. "Nice of you to show up," she commented, body still trembling, voice choked through sobs.
"I never left," Danny admitted. His stare was wide and unblinking, like the first time they had talked in the graveyard, and Sam knew now it was because of the sheer amount of emotion she was displaying. If he was still mad at her for dropping his sister on him like that, he didn't show it.
That noise was back. It was definitely coming from Danny and it didn't sound particularly reassuring. "What does that sound mean?" Sam asked.
"You can hear it, too? I guess that makes sense..." Danny muttered, almost to himself. He glanced at her. "It's a timer." He turned his hands over, peering at them. They glowed warmth like a nightlight. "A summoned ghost gets to bend the rules for exactly twenty-four hours. Which means, for a short amount of time, we have a small advantage."
Break the rules… Did that mean Danny had no curse to stop him from telling her the truth? Was this all finally coming to an end?
"This could be the last nice moment we spend alone," Danny realized.
Her heart have a hard yank. Sam shook her head, face crumpling, tears beginning to form again. "What happens after? Where will you go?" she wondered.
"I don't know," Danny admitted. "No one's ever solved it. I guess we'll all leave… somewhere." Out of the corner of her eye, Danny got up, pushing her gently over so he could lay down next to her in her chair. As he settled he asked, "Is this okay?"
Sam adjusted so she was on her side, so they were laying face to face, and tucked her hand underneath her good cheek.
"Badass haircut," Danny breezed with a small smile.
A snort escaped her. She began committing his face to memory, charting the freckles across his cheeks and the flecks of green in his pool-blue eyes. His lips were fuller than most of the boys she had met. They were always curved in a hint of a smile. As she stared, they spread apart into a wider grin. Sam refocused and found him studying her with a similar intensity.
"Did you ever go to prom?" Sam wondered.
Danny blinked in surprise, before shaking his head. When he resettled, he rested it closer to hers. She could count eyelashes from this distance. "No. To tell the truth, I never liked anyone enough to ask."
"Would you have asked me?"
A blush crept across his cheeks. Then, mischievously, "Would you have said yes?"
Sam scrunched her nose, pretending to think about it.
Danny made a wounded noise. "You're maddening," he grumbled. Reaching out, he lightly touched the tip of his pointer finger her cheek just underneath her eye and traced it around the curve.
Sam's breath caught in her chest.
Danny pulled back, resting his head back down onto the chair.
Contentment radiated in her stomach, before she remembered this was actually a goodbye. For a second there it had felt like the beginnings of something great.
"Remember that first night?" Danny asked, voice a warm murmur. "Back in the graveyard, when you didn't know I was a ghost? Back when we were just two kids, goofing off all night? That was... nice. Is it wrong to want to go back?"
Sam shook her head. Things had been simpler back when Danny had only been the neighbor boy. It must have been nice for him to pretend, even for the short amount of time it lasted, that he was normal and that he could have all the normal things that had been stolen from him. Sam found herself wanting some of that back too. Back when she still thought he was alive and they had a chance.
Danny's gaze flicked away from her, towards the door. "Was that really her?"
"You mean your sister?" Sam couldn't read his expression.
In one swift move, Danny pushed himself up and swung his legs off, sitting on the edge of the chair with his back to her. His shoulders hunched. "How can you be sure?"
"I'm sure," Sam assured. "I think you're sure too."
"How long have you known she was alive?" he asked, before, with a shake of his head he said, "Nevermind. Doesn't matter."
Sam propped her elbows beneath her, sitting up. "Only a few hours and right now she's hurting." When Danny gave no answer, Sam rested her hand on the chair next to his. "I know this is… a lot... but you have to try and explain."
"That would only hurt her more," Danny dismissed.
"She deserves to know," Sam argued. "She's had to live with this mystery her whole life."
"So? She can live with it a little longer," Danny hissed, mood suddenly dark; his entire body rigid and tense, arms tight by his sides. "Knowing the truth is a whole lot worse than knowing nothing at all."
"Worse for her or for you?" A flare of impatience rose up in her. "You're not heartless, Danny. Besides, you're just as old as her. Maybe you should act like it."
Danny flinched. He spun around to stare at her in disbelief that she would have the gall to insult him instead of baby him.
Sam crossed her arms and held her ground.
Instead of being mad, Danny broke into a soft laugh. "Alright, fine," he chuckled. "I'll velcro on my orthopedic adult shoes and talk to her, but only if you get a few hours of sleep."
Her arms loosened in relief at the promise. A nap didn't sound like a bad idea. But… "What about the timer? We don't have a lot left. We should plan."
Danny got up from the chair and offered her an arm. "We've got enough time to do both."
Taking his offered arm, Sam allowed Danny to pull her back on her feet. She caught their reflection in the pool and had to admit that Danny was right. She wasn't fooling anyone.
Danny gently tugged her into him and Sam got a noseful of cigarettes. His head rested briefly against hers. When he pulled back he had this look on his face that told Sam immediately he was thinking about what had happened down in the basement.
"I can't talk about it," Sam said tiredly. Talking about it wouldn't change the fact that it had happened. It would just make them both miserable. She was pretty sure Masters had done it to hurt her as much as possible, and while it had worked, she wasn't about to let that stop her. "A really smart person once told me the past is done."
"Well, I'm not done," Danny said, voice gravelly with hate. "Not with him."
a/n: Happy Halloween! Sam's finally reaching her limits. Thank you to all who reviewed! sammansonrepilica, Lisa-24-7, hepchaton, youshouldn'tneedtoknow, TheSmilingRose, Frankie'N, OutOfThisUniverse, Shaveza, Fan, and catoayla. You guys are the best. Until next time!