American Gothic Passion Play
byline: Anubis C. Soundwave
3. I'm just worried about Sammy.
"I don't know how," says Dash, despondent, "but I must have pissed in Mendelsohn's bowl of Wheaties." He nurses several bruises and light lacerations. "His jersey number and his fucking nutsack will be in my nightmares for years."
"At least we weren't completely shut out," says Kwan. "Elgin scored us a touchdown."
"By accident," snickers Dash. "Elgin was fleeing in pants-wetting terror from the Dire Wolves' D-line and forgot to hand off the ball."
"He insisted on learning the hard way," smirks Grieseman, "so he had to pay the price."
"Our O-line is composed of assholes," says Dash.
"Letting the new quarterback fend for himself is Ravens' tradition," says Shiro.
"Fuck tradition. You guys are picking on my little cousin," mutters Dash.
"'All quarterbacks must endure the trial by fire', remember?" says Grieseman. "You said so yourself."
"How exactly did you make it into varsity again, Grieseman?" asks Dash. "Your passing game is still shit."
"True, but I'm the better run-and-gun man," says Grieseman.
"We're kicking ass against Amity Prep, Ayoub Tech, and Bishop Scotland," fumes Dash. "Why can't we beat Elmerton?"
"Because in spite of your collective imbecility," says Elgin dourly, combing his hair, "the lot of you have a strong sense of self-preservation...which I apparently share."
Dash grins crudely at Elgin. "Apology accepted, Sands. Don't ever make us forfeit a game again," he says.
"Sometimes," says Kwan, "I wonder what Randy Petersen would have done."
"Against this iteration of the Dire Wolves? Panic and lose like the rest of us," spits Dash, "because these players aren't human. Mendelsohn and his defensive line want to drink blood out of our skulls."
"Actually," counters Grieseman, "Petersen had a pretty strong passing and running game back in the day."
"Which has fuck-all to do with this day and age," grunts Dash. "Anyone up for the Nasty Burger?"
"Why not?" says Kwan. "Shitty food to follow up a shitty game."
The other players nod.
"Do they have filet mignon?" wonders Elgin.
Dash chuckles. "Stick with us, Elgin," he says, "and we'll have you eating real man food yet."
The Ravens leave the locker room.
Sam takes a milkshake from Valerie. "You're closing tonight?" she asks Valerie.
"Yeah," says Valerie. "Let me guess: our team lost another game to Elmerton?"
Sam nods.
"Why are you here with the winning team," asks Valerie, "but wearing our school's T-shirt?"
"My cousin, the meathead goth with two cheerleaders on his lap," says Sam, dismissively waving her hand towards Zack, "got me to watch a game. Naturally, I'm showing school pride as a form of silent protest at being forced to sit through a football game."
"Sammy!" squeals Paulina as she arrives at the counter with Star.
"And this is where I leave the front counter to my peons," smirks Valerie. "I love being a shift supervisor." Valerie bellows at an employee to man the front counter, then leaves as the employee arrives.
The employee sighs. "It's probably the worst job I'll have," he says to Sam.
"Two small fries," says Paulina, "no salt."
The employee inputs the order. "That'll be $1.95," he says.
Paulina pays the employee.
"It's the only way to get fresh fries out of this place," Star whispers to Sam, "but we only do it when Valerie's out of earshot."
"The cooks will probably just refry the cooked fries for a minute to remove the salt," scoffs Sam. "Valerie hates waste."
"Hey, as long as the fries are good, I don't care," says Star.
"Why are you two hanging around me, anyway?" asks Sam.
"Let's see," says Paulina dourly. "A pack of jocks from Elmerton High surrounding a lone girl wearing a black Casper High fitted T-shirt."
"Which was your idea when you sold it to me," says Sam.
Paulina rolls her eyes as she receives her order of fries. "The Dire Wolves treat every game like a war," she continues.
"And you are the spoils of victory," adds Star wryly, taking a packet of fries off Paulina's tray. "Or haven't you seen some of these creeps looking at you the way Foley drools over a porterhouse steak?" she adds, unnerved by the lustful stares from several Dire Wolves players.
"I have a concealed can of mace and my beautifully-manicured talons of death," says Paulina.
"I'll stick with my combat boots, my razor-sharp sarcasm, and my gothic scowl," says Sam. "Of course, none of our usual defenses will do any good if these asshats gang up on the three of us."
"This is our hangout," spits Star. "We won't be driven off just because those goons won a couple of football games against our team."
The Ravens enter the Nasty Burger; they head to their usual set of booth seats.
"Ah," sighs Star, "our meat shields have arrived." She escorts Sam to a booth near Kwan and Grieseman.
"I feel so much safer behind the human wall of jocks who barely survived their game against the slavering horde of sexist losers," scoffs Sam.
"Worst case scenario is that we can make a quick exit through the side door," grins Star.
"I'll be following right behind you lovely ladies," says Elgin, pushing back a stray lock of hair. "I can't afford to get my hair mussed defending your honor."
Dash, behind Elgin, musses Elgin's hair with an annoyed smirk.
"Why in perdition's name did you do that!?" spits Elgin.
"Wanted to give you something to do," says Dash as he sits next to Kwan and eats his chili fries.
"Go muss his hair," hisses Elgin fretfully, pointing at Zack. "It would likely be a slight improvement, though there's no helping his grotesque face." Pouting, Elgin sits next to Paulina, across from Sam.
Sam sips from her milkshake.
Elgin watches Sam drink. "What flavor is that?" he wonders, noting the green color.
"This is the most edible product the Nasty Burger has produced," says Sam. "Their mint-broccoli milkshake is surprisingly palatable."
"I'm certain I could make a better one at home," says Elgin. "I'm quite adept with the ice cream machine," he continues, "but I'm not certain how the broccoli would work."
"Treat it like rhubarb or cucumber," says Dash listlessly. "You can steam the broccoli, then put the florets in a simple syrup or just mix the steamed broccoli in sugar. In either case, add mint extract and then use a vanilla ice cream custard base."
"Of course!" says Elgin. "How daft of me."
"The scary part is that they're both serious," says Star.
"No; the scary part is that I want to try making that ice cream recipe," grins Sam.
"For you, that's pretty normal," says Paulina.
Zack approaches Sam's booth.
"My objective," says Elgin, "is to be a bachelor as long as possible, which means that I'll likely have to fend for myself in the kitchen. Mother was always a horrid cook in the rare moments she tried, and father...can somehow burn water."
"But that's why you get a woman to do your cooking for you," smirks Zack, leering down at Sam.
Sam sighs. "Are you sure you want to go there, cousin dear," she says, batting her lashes in mock-bashfulness, "considering what I know about your family?"
"Gramps doesn't cook by choice, you know," hisses Zack, a grimace of a smile on his face.
"Then move your topic away from consigning womankind to the kitchen," says Sam, fixing her eyes onto Zack.
"I'd be happy to do so, Sam," says Zack, "if instead of ripping a guy's balls off, you'd fondle them instead."
"I've never been into playing with marbles, Zack," Sam smirks.
Elgin raises an eyebrow, confused with Sam's retort; Paulina and Star's eyes widen as they catch the double entendre. Nearby, the other Ravens snicker; Dash stuffing his mouth with chili fries to stifle his laughter.
Zack glowers at Sam a moment, then snatches Sam's milkshake off the table.
"Hey! That's mine!" Sam spits.
"I'm wondering just what the fuck is in this shit," sneers Zack.
"Ask the supervisor on duty for a nutrition label and give me back my damn milkshake," demands Sam.
"I have to ask," Zack continues, "considering that you're talking shit to me." He sips the milkshake. "Mm. It's actually tasty." Zack slurps some more milkshake, then sets the cup down.
Sam glares at her cup of milkshake.
Zack kisses Sam on the cheek. "Thanks, little cuz," he grins crudely.
"You're not welcome," says Sam, irritated as she shoves Zack away, "and you could have kept your jock slobber to yourself." Sam wipes off her cheek.
"I suppose it depends on the jock, doesn't it?" says Zack, his back turned to Sam; he fixes a hard look onto Dash.
"I'm trying to eat my chili fries, dude," says Dash, disturbed by the murderous look in Zack's eyes. "Whatever family beef you and Manson have going on has nothing to do with me, Mendelsohn."
"Whatever," Zack snorts. A piece of plastic pokes out of his mouth.
"Not that I care if you choke to death," Dash continues, "but you shouldn't have cellophane in your mouth."
Zack's eyes widen. "Nice to know that the Nasty Burger in Amity is just as shitty as the one back home," he smirks, pulling out the plastic and throwing it away.
"My shake didn't have any plastic in it," mutters Sam, opening her milkshake.
"What are you doing?" wonders Star.
"Making sure there's no burger backwash. That is the worst," says Sam.
"Because of your vegetarian thing?" asks Paulina.
"Not only that," says Sam, "but it's just fucking disgusting even if I were a meat-eater."
"True," nods Paulina. "Nothing's worse than having a chunk of somebody else's chewed-up food in your soda."
"You can't tolerate backwash from just anybody, you know," says Sam.
Dash nudges Kwan. "This is probably the most civil conversation Paulina and Manson have ever had," he says.
"You can use her first name, you know," says Kwan.
"Kwan, old buddy," counters Dash with a thin smile, "you're still on thin ice with me."
Kwan rolls his eyes, sharing a glance with Grieseman.
Thirty-eight minutes pass.
Sam approaches the front counter, draws a female cashier close, and purses her lips at the cashier.
"I'm...not into that," stammers the cashier, adjusting her glasses.
"Come on," says Sam as she sits at the counter. "You know that girl on girl is hot. Though what I'm moist for," she hisses, leaning back on the counter, "is a hard, throbbing schlong. Damn, I feel horny tonight!"
"She's been talking about wanting sex for at least eight minutes," says Paulina.
"Yeah," adds Star. "Our weirdo's not being her normal kind of weird. Maybe Mendelsohn's right-what is in that milkshake?"
"The same artificial colors and flavors as always," says Dash. "You know Manson drinks that every week when she's hanging with her fellow geeks."
"I don't think I can just rub this one out," moans Sam. "I need the real thing, baby," she adds, looking toward the Ravens.
Elgin tugs on his T-shirt collar. "I feel rather aroused and twitterpated," he says, "but I'm confused because Samantha isn't normally like this."
"Do something, Dash!" hisses Star.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do?" balks Dash. "It's a free country-a woman has the right to express her horniness to the Nasty Burger," he adds, eyeing Sam hungrily.
Smirking, Zack nods to his teammates; the Dire Wolves rise as a group and approach Sam.
"Uh-oh," says Elgin. "I get the feeling those ruffians were expecting this to happen." He nudges Dash.
"Fine," fumes Dash as he rises from his chair and reaches Sam before Zack and the Dire Wolves do, gently gripping Sam's arms.
"Ooh," coos Sam, leaning onto Dash's chest, "are you my first volunteer, Mr. Baxter?"
Dash studies Sam's eyes, noting her expression is glassy and unfocused. "'Mr. Baxter' refers to my dad and grandpa," he says, nervous.
"I said I'm horny, Dash," says Sam, "not desperate." She plants a sloppy kiss on Dash's chest.
"You're being weirder than usual, Manson," says Dash, nudging Sam away from his body as he shields her from the Dire Wolves.
"Why are you so scared of my freak flag?" quips Sam.
"Yeah," sneers Zack, pulling Sam roughly towards him. "Let her flag fly." He licks his lips.
Sam looks up at Zack. "I'll never be that desperate, Zackie-poo," she says as she weakly attempts to move away from Zack.
"Let her go, dude," says Dash, freeing Sam from Zack's grip. "Manson's not in the mood she thinks she's in."
"I guess you'd know that better than anyone," Sam whispers into Dash's ears. She giggles hysterically.
Dash touches Sam's forehead. "You're hot," he says, worried.
"I've always wanted you to say that to me," sighs Sam, stroking Dash's cheek.
"Okay," says Dash, beckoning to his teammates, "I'm convinced: you're not yourself. I'm taking you home." He hoists Sam over his shoulder as his teammates surround Dash and block off the Dire Wolves from him and Sam.
"Are you going to soothe my hysteria!?" cackles Sam.
"You're not feeling well," mutters Dash, "and I'm calling a doctor." He heads to the side door, which Star holds open.
"We should make our exit, too," says Paulina after Dash leaves the Nasty Burger with Sam.
Star nods.
Elgin notes the group leaving, and starts to follow, but Kwan grabs him.
"Unhand me..." stammers Elgin.
"You're JV," smirks Kwan, "which means you have to suffer. You don't get to make a graceful exit."
Valerie moves in between the Ravens and the Dire Wolves. "Take your ad hoc production of West Side Story out of the Nasty Burger," she orders.
"Gladly," growls Zack, glaring as he and his teammates exit the Nasty Burger. The Ravens follow the Dire Wolves out.
At his home, Dash places Sam onto his bed. "Stay here," he says sternly. "I'm calling the doctor."
"Can't you just play doctor?" says Sam, slipping off her shirt. "I'm ready for my physical."
Dash stares at Sam a moment, tenses his fists, then leaves his room, slamming the door shut.
"You carry a horny girl all the way from the Nasty Burger to your room," shrieks Sam from inside the room, "and you're not going to fuck her!?"
Dash knocks on his door. "Sammy," he says, "I want you to be aware and alert when I work my magic on you." Shaking his head, he heads downstairs, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
"...I need you to explain, Dash," says Lindsay as she escorts a young female client out of her office at the Sands Law Firm.
"...yes, call a doctor, and her parents...!" hisses Lindsay after several minutes. "I'll be home shortly...good-bye." Lindsay ends the call, glowering.
"He strikes again," she spits as she grabs her car keys. "But this time," Lindsay continues, "I'm going to nail the bastard's balls to the wall."
Lindsay exits her office, startling David.
"You're leaving?" wonders David.
"My son," says Lindsay curtly, "may have just rescued someone...from your client."
"What are you talking about!?" balks David. "If you're referring to Zack," he continues, "he's at the Nasty Burger near Casper High with his teammates, pissed off that Dash carried Sam off like a sack of potatoes."
"I'll explain as soon as I get more information from Dash," says Lindsay. "What he's told me so far is that Sam seems...sick." She gives David a meaningful look.
David's eyes widen. "I'm coming with you," he says.
In Dash's bedroom, Sam strokes the cheek of the paramedic as he draws her blood. "Dash really goes all-out," she smiles.
"You'll be all right," says the paramedic. He looks toward David, who stares at Sam in worry.
Downstairs, Dash studies his sneakers. "I've told you everything that happened, Mom," he says, trembling, "about eight times already. Why are you on my case?"
"I'll need you to say it all again," says Lindsay, "in court."
"Court!?" balks Dash, his eyes wild as he gawks at Lindsay. "For what!? Nothing happened."
"Samantha was drugged," says Lindsay.
"I'm thinking something was off about Manson's milkshake tonight," counters Dash in disbelief. "If she were on something," he continues, "she would have thrown herself into Mendelsohn's arms."
"Son," says Lindsay, her hand on Dash's shoulder, "that just means that your schoolmate's long-term memory is intact."
"Okay," says Dash, "so who are you taking to court?"
"Zack Mendelsohn," says Lindsay.
"Aren't we going a bit too deep into Minority Report territory, Mom?" asks Dash. "You don't have any proof that Mendelsohn or any of his teammates slipped a mickey into Manson's milkshake."
"She was drinking the milkshake before Zack took it, correct?" asks Lindsay.
"Yeah," says Dash.
"What was her behavior like then?" Lindsay continues.
"Typical Manson-esque snark," grins Dash, "complete with a pot-shot at Mendelsohn's balls."
"Normal, then," says Lindsay, glancing at a legal pad.
"That's when Mendelsohn got pissy and snatched up Manson's milkshake," Dash continues. "He drank some of it, then set it back down. When I told him about the plastic in his mouth," he adds, "he chalked it up to standard Nasty Burger cuisine and threw the plastic away."
"Do you think the staff cleaned up the restaurant for the night?" asks Lindsay.
"Gray was running the Nasty Burger tonight; of course the place will be clean," says Dash, rolling his eyes.
"Shit!" spits Lindsay.
Dash sighs. "Mom," he says, "if I were you, I would just drop the issue. Sam Manson is safe; Zack didn't get to rape her-presuming, as you do, that he was even the culprit in the first place. Crisis averted."
Lindsay trembles. "I'm...not you, son," she says tersely. As an adult," she continues, "I have to think about how matters will play out in the long run. I have to consider...a lot of factors, many of which have been placed under my strict confidence-which I swore an oath as a lawyer to maintain. So!" declares Lindsay. "This is not over. I won't rest until Zack Mendelsohn is behind bars."
Dash opens his mouth to shout, only to glance at a picture of a teenage Drew and Miles; he swallows a huge breath, breathes deeply, then squares his shoulders. "Mom," he says in as controlled a voice as possible, "there's no proof. Believe me," Dash continues, "I've heard the sick rumors, and I wouldn't be surprised if Mendelsohn's a serial date rapist or something."
Lindsay stares at Dash, astonished.
"No jock is that popular," Dash snorts, "especially somebody as creepy-looking as Mendelsohn. He looks like the Undertaker after John Cena hit him with a steel chair about fifty times-and that's before he's spewing blood-red stage smoke at my football team in preparation for the bi-weekly mauling like an evil dragon."
"Dash," says Lindsay, "Zack's even more of a monster than you think he is. My duty as a lawyer, and as a mother, is to get him away from innocent people as quickly as possible: and I will do it."
Dash winces.
"You're worried about how this will look," Lindsay continues, a wry smile on her face as she runs her fingers through Dash's hair. "You want your team to save face. I assure you," she says, "I am not thinking about the Ravens. The fact that Elmerton High will be forced to actually play football for once instead of trying to murder you, Elgin, and the rest of your team is just an unintended bonus."
"So you want me to go on the witness stand and just repeat what I told you," says Dash, shaking his head.
"Just the facts, Dash," says Lindsay.
Dash resumes staring at his sneakers. "I...really don't care," he mutters weakly. "I'm just worried about Sammy. I mean..."
Lindsay studies Dash.
Dash struggles to fight back tears, feeling vulnerable. "Dude is her cousin!" he snarls. "She told me once that he was an asshole, but I never had any real reason to think badly of him outside the football field. Why would he go that far?"
"Because there was no one in Zack's life to draw a line and tell him 'no'," says Lindsay simply. "No one who he truly respected."
Dash scrunches his brow a moment. "Mom," he says after a moment, "why are you believing anything I say?"
"I don't have to trust you," smirks Lindsay. "I know that if you were planning to commit such an act: you would not be enough of an idiot to carry her away in the presence of numerous witnesses, bring Sam to our home, carry her to your bedroom...and then call me."
"Because you would rip my balls off and murder me," says Dash.
"I went through six hours of labor to bring you into this world, Dashiell," says Lindsay, "and I'll be damned if I let you shame my womb."
"Yes, ma'am," smiles Dash.
Groggy, Sam wakes up in a hospital room, blinking at her family.
"You've had an exciting shabbat," says Eva, smiling softly.
"What happened?" asks Sam, confused.
"We...still aren't quite sure, Sammy," says Pamela. "We're just glad you're safe."
Sam notes that David and Ephraim are glaring at the ground, unable to look at each other. "What fight did those two get in now?" she asks.
"We'll discuss that when we get home," says Jeremy.
"Everyone else is here except Zack," says Sam. "Our family's not complete without everyone's favorite misogynist asshat. I think I saw him at the Nasty Burger, gloating about his victory over Casper High, and then...I'm here..." Sam trails off, noting Jeremy's darkening expression.
"Don't worry about Zack," spits Jeremy, a terse smile on his face. "He's exactly where he needs to be at the moment. For his own good."
David trembles, his face contorted with controlled rage; Ephraim winces in pain. Hanna pushes back a lock of Sam's hair.
"We'll...let you rest a bit longer, honey," says Pamela, kissing Sam's cheek.
Sam's family leaves the hospital room as Danny and Tucker enter.
"What the fuck is going on!?" balks Sam after Tucker shuts the door.
"Something weird," begins Tucker.
"No point in sugar-coating it, Tuck," says Danny, scowling. "You were drugged Friday night with some kind of date rape drug."
"W-what...?" breathes Sam.
Danny hands Sam the medical clipboard with her vitals.
Sam reads the document. "It says...that Mrs. Baxter checked me in late Friday. I was at the Nasty Burger Friday!" she shrieks in disbelief. "And I wasn't on a date with anybody," she continues. "No; the only thing I recall being forced to do was watch Zack be an insufferable ass on the football field as he and his stupid team brutalized the Ravens."
"It's on the records. You had that drug in your system," says Danny. "We weren't there," he adds in self-reproach, "so we don't have a clue exactly what happened."
"The good news is that whoever drugged you never got his chance to take advantage," says Tucker. "Dash literally carried you out of the Nasty Burger."
"I..." Sam trembles, a heartbroken expression on her face. "Who did this!?" she spits, crying. "Why!?"
"We don't know for sure," says Danny, pulling Sam into a hug as she sobs. "Just rest for right now."
Sam shoves Danny away. "Don't tell me what to do!" she seethes. "I want the cocksucker who schemed to do this and worse to me to pay! I will not be a victim!"
"And we won't get anywhere by reacting through raw emotion," says Danny. "You need to rest," he continues, "and let me do my job." Transforming into the Phantom, Danny leaves the hospital room by phasing through the window.
"What will Danny do?" wonders Sam, sullen.
"Hopefully, nothing illegal," quips Tucker.
"I hope he castrates the son-of-a-bitch," Sam hisses.
Sam sleeps in her hospital bed; Tucker starts to doze off in the chair next to the bed...
...except a nurse shakes Tucker's shoulder. "Visiting hours are over," he says to Tucker.
Tucker adjusts his glasses, then studies the nurse carefully: a tall, muscular blond male wearing wire-frame glasses. "Dude, you're not a nurse," pouts Tucker.
"Funny," quips the nurse, "everyone in the hospital seems to think so."
"If you're going to impersonate a medical professional," says Tucker, "it might be a good idea not to use your school ID...'Dash M. Baxter'," says Tucker wryly.
"Damn you and your up-to-date prescription glasses," says Dash, removing his glasses. "Still, if security here is shitty enough that I could waltz in unnoticed with pajamas I bought from Wal-Mart and my ID," he continues, "then we can't just leave Manson alone here."
"Maybe," says Tucker, "but I'll be the first to admit that whoever drugged Sam back at the Nasty Burger could easily plow through me alone."
"True," says Dash. "It had to be either one of us Ravens, or one of the Dire Wolves."
"If if was one of you dudes," says Tucker, "we'd have known about it and stopped you."
"How?" scoffs Dash. "Fenton was a no-show for mascot duty that night; you're his geek minion, and you weren't there, either."
"As jocks go, you dudes are too straightforward. At worst, you'd ply girls with booze, which involves a degree of consent from the girl," says Tucker thoughtfully. "Also, you'd be dead-not trying to look like an orderly who's a bit too into Mickey Mouse."
"What's that got to do with any of us slipping a mickey into Manson's milkshake?" asks Dash.
"One," says Tucker, "she'd never trust any jock from either school near her food-especially not you, dude."
"She's still burned about the bos scrofa thing?" asks Dash.
Tucker nods. "And I'm burned because you should have made me a plate," he says. "Anyway, unless there was an unscrupulous Nasty Burger employee who was looking for a good time," Tucker continues, "the only person who had the opportunity to slip something in Sam's milkshake was Zack: who definitely has motive."
"If by 'motive', you mean 'raging hard-on', then yeah," shrugs Dash, "but so do most jocks. Just because you and Fenton banished Manson to the friend zone doesn't mean the rest of us did."
"So you admit she's attractive," says Tucker.
"I never denied it, Foley," grins Dash, as he gives a lingering glance to Sam. "I don't hate her, you know. She's not impossible to like or anything; she's just weird in her way, like you and Fen-dork."
Tucker shakes his head. "Doesn't change the likelihood that Zack's the culprit, dude," he says.
"Why do you want Manson's creepy cousin to be the culprit?" balks Dash.
Sam stirs awake, but keeps her eyes shut as she notes Dash.
"It's not what I want," says Tucker. "It's where the facts point. Zack grew up alone with a traditional male chauvinist father figure-and Mr. Mendelsohn's a cool dude otherwise, man, but it's a flaw. Also," continues Tucker, "he goes to a school where everyone worships him and will bend over backwards to please him-to the point where his coach and the school principal came over to Zack's house and pressured Mr. Mendelsohn into fixing them up. Zack's the type of dude accustomed to getting what he wants-and not taking 'no' for an answer."
Dash whistles. "I...just don't want to think he's that rotten a guy. I mean," he continues, "Mendelsohn does terrify me a bit, but I also look up to him-and not just because he's taller than me. He's a skilled athlete. I look at a guy like him, and I say to myself: if I work hard, and train and practice, I could beat him, and prove that I'm worthy to call myself a part of his league."
"Prove to whom?" asks Tucker.
"To myself. As a player, Mendelsohn's a benchmark," says Dash.
"That's probably true," says Sam, slowly sitting up, "but if what Tucker says is true, then as a human being: Zack is a worthless shit-stain on mankind's collective boxer shorts."
"So you're telling me I'm wrong, Manson," says Dash, "for idolizing a guy who has that much skill and control."
Sam scowls.
"Or maybe I want to have a little faith in someone who's related to you!" continues Dash hotly. "I figured that the rest of your family loves you and would never want to hurt you, so why would he be the exception?"
"Logically," says Sam, "Zack was the only one aside from me who could have put anything in my milkshake."
"The logical inference is flawed," says Dash, "because we don't have any evidence to prove it. I don't want my mom making a fool out of herself over something that thankfully didn't happen."
"To me," says Sam. "That doesn't mean Zack hasn't hurt other girls...which is what your mom's thinking, isn't it?" she adds with a wry grin.
"You and she think alike," smirks Dash.
"Men do tend to seek out their mothers," quips Tucker, slipping out of the hospital room.
Dash's eyes widen as he catches Tucker's barb. "Please excuse me," he says, a crude grin on his face. "I feel a wave of nostalgia coming on, so I have to give your geek buddy a long-delayed wedgie-especially since Fenton isn't around."
"No swirlies," says Sam.
Dash snorts. "You can't do that in a hospital," he says. "Too much biohazard. I'll call the security guards and tell them to wake up." Dash leaves Sam alone in the hospital room.
Sam rubs her arms. "For what it's worth," she whispers aloud as tears form in her eyes, "I want to believe the best of him, too. But...I know I can't." Sam grabs a pillow and sobs into it.
NEXT: "No matter how tragic the truth may be..."
A/N: The above quote excerpt is from the Ace Attorney series by CAPCOM. Make of that what you will.