Chapter Five
Sam coughed nervously and glanced at the woman behind the desk. He raised himself up and pulled his suit jacket away from his body. He brushed away imaginary fluff on his pants, adjusted his tie and then, finally, he sat back in his seat with his hands clasped firmly in his lap.
The receptionist smiled at him. He had been fidgeting ever since he had arrived for his appointment but she was used to client's nerves, especially on the first visit.
"Can I offer you a coffee, Mr Seaborn?"
"No thank you," Sam replied. She wished she had said nothing. Her question seemed to have set Sam off on another round of tie adjusting and suit-arranging. Sam tried to focus on his surroundings but all he could think about was the fact that in less than five minutes he would be expected to talk about what had happened. He couldn't even think about it without shaking and feeling sick. He couldn't even get past the memories of the thud and the scream that followed. The sound of them and the images that accompanied them played over and over in his mind. He coughed again, this time to try to clear the lump that had formed in his throat. The door to the office opened and a man emerged. He shook hands with someone who Sam couldn't see and then went to chat with the receptionist. The door closed again. Sam brushed a hand through his hair and took a deep breath but it seemed to catch in his throat. The man and the woman turned to stare at him as he tried to recover from the coughing fit.
"Are you okay?" the woman was approaching him. Sam stood up and walked away from her.
"I'm fine I just-" the thud echoed in his ear and this time the scream continued until he lifted his hand to his ears as if the sound was in the room and not his head. He could see the woman's concerned expression as she tried to help him sit down but he moved out of her grasp. "I'm sorry I need to…I can't do this…I don't want to…" he stumbled backwards the man at the desk quickly stepped forward to steady him. Sam watched the woman's mouth open and close but all he could hear was the scream. Doctor Brewer hurried out of his office. His mouth was opening too and the woman stepped away from Sam.
Sam heard his name being shouted and it broke through to him. He turned and looked at Brewer. "Okay, Sam, let's go and sit down. Just here, that's it." Brewer fetched a glass of water and waited while Sam took a few sips. "You couldn't hear me out there. I was talking to you but you didn't hear." Sam looked at him and nodded. "What could you hear?"
"Nothing." Sam looked for somewhere to put the glass and felt it taken from his hand.
"When you had your hands over your ears what were you trying to block out, me or something else?"
Sam didn't understand how this had happened. He didn't want to be here. He had tried to get out but had somehow ended up in here with this man trying to make him talk. He stood up on shaky legs. "I don't want to talk." He started for the door.
"We don't have to talk, but I'd like you to stay here until you're feeling a little more like yourself."
"I have to go, I don't want to talk. I don't want to listen. I don't want to be here."
"Don't talk, don't listen but stay here until you can stand up without looking like you're going to collapse," the doctor suggested.
Sam sat down again.
True to his word Doctor Brewer didn't talk to Sam, he just sat behind his desk and carried on with his paperwork. When he saw Sam was about to go he got up and walked towards him. "Come back when you're ready." He hid his surprise when Sam offered his hand, amazed that the man who was a wreck a few moments ago had appeared to pull himself together so effectively.
Sam walked out of the building and stood on the sidewalk letting the people move around him. He looked at his watch and worked out that he had a couple of hours before Josh and Toby would start ringing him to see how it went. He was still shaking slightly and suddenly felt nauseous. He ducked into an alleyway and held onto the wall as he vomited behind a trash bin. He emerged from the alley to find two women staring at him with disapproving looks. One of them shook her head and mumbled something. Sam heard her point and say something about drunks. He didn't feel any desire to correct them, and wondered if being drunk right now wouldn't be such a bad idea. As he thought about how the only time he had managed to stop the horrific images and sounds that increasingly haunted him was when he was drunk, the desire to lose himself became overwhelming. Drink was the only thing that deadened his emotions. He could talk later, when he was sober and she was still dead.
"Have you heard anything?" Josh stopped Toby as he passed his office.
"No."
"Have you phoned him?"
"No."
"Has he phoned you?"
"No, and I really think I covered this when I said I hadn't heard anything," Toby stated keen to get back to his office.
"Right, I'm going to phone him." Josh reached for the phone. "I'll try his apartment first," he started to dial, "No, I'll try his cell phone then I can leave a message." He started to press the buttons then stopped. "Or do you think I should try him at home in case he-" Josh glanced up. Toby had gone and in his place stood Donna. "What are you doing?"
"Toby told me to stand here and let him know if you said anything interesting."
"Shut the door." Donna stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her.
"No," Josh shook his head, "I meant go away and shut the door behind you."
Wordlessly Donna exited his room. Josh started to dial Sam's number again. He listened to the ring tone and as the answer machine started Donna came back into the room.
"Toby said to put on channel nine." She watched Josh trying to find the remote and then walked over to the television and switched to the right channel. Josh didn't recognise the man or the show on the screen and he queried if Donna had the right channel. They both turned their attention back to the television when they heard Sam's name mentioned. Old footage of the funeral was being shown. There were clips Josh had seen before of Claire's mother walking towards the church. The picture cut back to the studio where an interviewer sat opposite Claire's brother.
"Obviously that was a very traumatic day for you, Stephen, but your grief over your sister's death has been compounded by the fact that you don't believe you have been told the whole story. Can you tell us about that?"
Stephen started to speak. He looked pale and tired. "My sister's death was no accident. The White House, paramedics and police officers should be brought to account for what really happened that morning."
"Please tell us what you think happened," the presenter prompted.
"Please don't," Josh urged.
"I believe Sam Seaborn was drunk…"
"Oh come on! At eight-thirty in the morning," Josh said.
"…the other possibility is that he fell asleep at the wheel."
"Well which one is it?" Josh shouted at the television.
"Shush, Josh." Donna kept her gaze on the screen but placed a hand on Josh's arm.
"This whole psychogenic shock thing is just a story to explain why he went to the White House instead of staying at the scene."
"This is a joke," Josh murmured as he walked past Donna and out of the room.
Toby was switching off his television when Josh stormed into his office. "Why is he saying this?" Josh fumed.
"Because he's grieving and trying to make sense of what happened and he can't so he's looking for someone to blame," Toby spoke calmly and his tone forced Josh to stop pacing and sit down. "No one will pay attention to this. The hosts as good as dismissed what he said-"
"After letting him say it," Josh interrupted.
"It's nothing to worry about. What really happened is pretty well documented. I expected him to say something like this. I agree it's less than ideal but it could have been a lot worse." He waited for Josh to calm down. "No one's going to believe it," he concluded.
"Yeah, because it's not like this administration has ever been accused of lying before."
"Go and phone Sam and just hope that wherever he is, he didn't see it."
"I'm here for the spin." CJ said entering the room. "But don't make me say psychogenic shock again because someone will ask me how to spell it and I just get the letters p-s-y and h floating in front of my eyes."
Toby smiled, reached for his notepad and sat down next to CJ. Josh left them to it, if CJ and Toby weren't going to worry, neither was he. Something bothered him about Stephen Walsh though. The way he had said Sam's name had chilled him. He had never heard so much hatred expressed in one word before. He went back to his office and reached for the phone.
Four hours later Josh sat at the top of the stoop outside Sam's apartment. He had left messages on Sam's cell and home phone but he'd had no reply. It was a mild evening and Josh was prepared to sit here until Sam came home. He was debating if he could give Sam's stoop as a delivery address for a pizza when a cab pulled up and Sam stumbled out of it. Josh watched as he negotiated the first steps, a look of concentration on his face that in happier times would have made Josh laugh. Sam held onto the railing as he made his way up the steps. Josh sat and waited for him to reach the top before greeting him. Suddenly Sam stopped walking. He swapped his hands on the railings, spun round and sat down heavily. He still held onto the metal bar and rested his head against his outstretched arm.
Sam didn't move and so Josh walked down the steps towards him.
"Sam," Josh warned Sam of his presence before getting too close but he didn't appear to hear him. "Sam," Josh spoke more loudly and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. There was still no response so Josh sat down. He was thinking whether he should shout at Sam for drinking again or offer words of comfort, when Sam's head slipped away from his arm and he realised that he was asleep. Josh caught him as he started to slip forwards and shook him gently.
Sam turned bleary eyes towards Josh. "Just five more minutes and I'll have it done," he murmured.
Josh ignored the nonsensical statement and hoisted him to his feet. He turned them both around and struggled up the remaining steps. Luckily a neighbour was leaving as they reached the door and held it open for them. When they got to Sam's apartment Josh dumped him unceremoniously on the floor and rummaged for the keys in his pockets. He unlocked the door and wedged it open. He pulled Sam up again and heard him mumble, "Nearly finished."
"God, Sam, so am I. You weigh a tonne."
The thought of getting him to his bed was too much for Josh and he settled for sitting Sam on the sofa, pushing his head down and pulling his feet up. He loosened his tie and belt, removed his shoes and covered him with a blanket. Aware of Sam's recent penchant for vomiting he laid him on his side, placing a pillow behind him so that he couldn't roll back. It was only six o'clock so Josh ordered pizza and went down to his car to get some work.
Two hours later Josh was engrossed in his work when he heard a murmur followed by a groan. He recognised the signs and hoisted Sam up and as good as dragged him into the bathroom. When Sam was finished Josh pulled him up, bent him over the bath and sprayed cold water from the shower on his head. Sam struggled but was in no state to overcome Josh's firm grip. When he thought Sam had had enough he wrapped a towel around his head and pulled him away from the bath. Sam sat leaning against the towel rail opposite Josh who sat against the bath.
"Gee, dad, does this mean I'm grounded?" Sam's attempt at humour got no response so he raised his head to discover Josh staring at him.
"Well I'm glad you can see the funny side because watching you puking your guts up is really getting boring."
Josh's gaze switched to the shelf above Sam's head and a look of disbelief fell upon his face, "Sam?"
"Yeah."
"There's a bottle of Mr Bubble on your shelf."
Sam rubbed his hand over his face. "I know."
"You know! Sam, there's a bottle of Mr Bubble on your shelf!"
"Do you think it's been planted by the Mr Bubble bogey man?"
"That would frighten me less than the thought that you actually bought it."
"This is the 21st century. I think a man can feel free to buy whatever brand of bubble bath he chooses."
"Okay, Mr Bubble, and I'm reading from the bottle here Sam, I think you should listen to this, Mr Bubble has a new richer, thicker formula with skin soother that safely and gently cleans children's sensitive skin with lots of long lasting bubbly fun. Do you really think that's the sort of thing a man should have in his bathroom."
"Are you denying a man his right to choose?" Sam asked.
"No, but I'm beginning to wonder if 'don't ask, don't tell' should apply to the purchase of bubble baths."
Sam rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. A mixture of a sigh and a laugh left his mouth. Josh continued to gaze around Sam's bathroom. A tap dripped in and the open window invited the noise of the traffic below to accompany the sound. Through the door Josh could see the worktop in Sam's kitchen, "Sam."
"Yeah."
"There's an empty bottle of scotch on your worktop."
Sam's eyes opened. "I know."
"It was full on Friday. When did you start downing bottles of scotch over a weekend?"
Sam just shrugged.
"That was a stupid question. I should be asking when you started drinking in the middle of the day." Sam closed his eyes again, this time the sound was definitely a sigh.
"That was a stupid question too. I know when you started drinking and I know why you started. You've got to stop."
The two men stared at each other. "My shoulder doesn't hurt and my head doesn't ache when I'm drunk. I don't hear the sound of her…I can't hear her scream. She isn't dead when I'm drunk, Josh."
Sam hung his head but Josh continued to look at him. He had no idea what he could say to comfort Sam. He watched as his exhausted friend slipped further down the wall and felt like any chance he had of helping him was slipping away too.