Chapter 26
Her mother returned form work several hours later, and having worked her usual twelve-hour shift, she was not only tired, but somewhat shaken. She was assigned to the pediatric intensive unit where she had spent the last ten years of her career. That day, she had the unfortunate experience of seeing a toddler die in its mother’s arms and was very affected by it. She tried to never let it show, thinking that Samantha didn't need the burden of knowing the suffering she saw on an almost daily basis. She had always worked long hours, and it often got in the way of her marriage, resulting in her divorce. But that was years ago, when Samantha was very young. No sooner had the ink dried on the divorce papers than her ex-husband disappeared, making no attempt to contact her or Samantha. However, a couple of years later his body was pulled out of Casco Bay and although he was still able to be identified, his cause of death could not be determined. Wanting to do the right thing, Samantha's mother went to the expense of having his body cremated and quietly buried in Evergreen cemetery. Given the time it took to get their lives back on track, she decided not to tell Samantha until she was old enough so as not to let it interfere with her life. It would certainly have an effect on her, but it would be easier for her to cope with.
She walked in the front door, and hanging up her jacket noticed Samantha napping on the couch. She had always gone to her bedroom when she was tired, and never fell asleep on the couch. The jingling of her keys coming to rest on the coffee table startled Samantha out of a restless sleep, and taking a sudden gasp, bolted up on the couch.
“Sam,” her mother began. “Why aren't you in bed?”
Samantha quickly got to her feet and throwing her arms around her began crying.
“Sam, honey, what is it?” she asked.
She held Samantha tightly, thinking that her sleep had become more disturbed than she first believed. Her mother prompted her to sit back down on the couch as Samantha grabbed her phone from the coffee, and tried to find the words that would prepare her for something even she found hard to believe.
“Mom,” she began. “I think someone was in the house last night.”
Knowing this was unlikely, she still took Samantha's suspicion quite seriously, thinking that whatever made her sick may be affecting her state of mind as well.
“What do you mean someone was in the house?” she asked.
As Samantha replied to her mother's concerns, she swiped through the pictures on her phone.
“Someone took a picture of me last night,” she began.
Her hands began trembling as her eyes teared up.
“They did it when I was sleeping.”
Her mother sat next to her, and taking one of her hands, tried to calm her down. But her attempt was of little use and Samantha, now shaking and near hysteria, ranted about someone standing next to her bed, photographing her in the middle of the night.
“Sam!” her mother interrupted. “There's an explanation for it, I promise and if I can't figure whatever this is, we'll find someone who can, okay?”
Her job involved being both patient and compassionate to the very ill but this was very different, as her daughter's health meant far more to her than that of the strangers she worked with every day.
Samantha continued going through the pictures on her phone, but when she was unable to find it, she began to panic.
“It was here!” she said.
Her mother remained calm and asked if she may have deleted it by accident.
“No!” she replied. “It was here! Someone took my picture when I was sleeping! Dammit! Where did it go?!”
It wasn't that her mother doubted Samantha's sanity. She had stood by, watching her go through a flu, whose severity she'd never seen outside an isolation room. From experience, she knew that serious illnesses can sometimes impact people's emotions, even their state of mind and she began to think that Samantha might have become over-stressed by her illness. She reached out and gently taking her phone, set it on the coffee table near her keys. Taking her hands, her mother tried to reassure her by telling her that her sleep had likely been disrupted, and under those circumstances, mild hallucinations were common.
“Sam,” she began. “Why don't you go back to bed and get some sleep? I'll be up in a while to check on you, okay?”
Samantha was already beginning to nod off, and as her mother put an arm around her shoulders, she startled awake.
“C'mon,” her mother said. “Let's get you back to bed.”
It was late at night by the time Samantha woke again. The lights were off, and her mother had gone to bed. Looking over at her desk, she saw her phone, it's screen flashing with an incoming call. No one she knew would call at such a late hour, and without thinking, she picked it up, and touched the screen. What she saw terrified her and dropping it to the carpeted floor, quickly crawled off the bed and cowered in a corner. Something had, again, used her phone to capture her image, but there was something different about it. She did not appear to be sleeping. Her eyes were open, her mouth drawn into a relaxed open smile, and her skin a pale yellow. For all appearances, this second image portrayed Samantha as a lifeless corpse, but not yet being taken over by nature. With that image having burned itself into her mind, the only way Samantha could understand it was as some terrifying prophesy, that her life would soon come to a close. She had never seen death before, but the open-eyed stillness within the image was recognized on a deep, instinctual level. Even children sometimes recognize death when they see it.
Having pulled the blanket off her bed, Samantha wept quietly in the corner. Too afraid to pick up her phone, she remained curled up in the corner of her bedroom, as though hiding from something that seemed to be reaching out for her. The next morning, her mother walked into her room. Every day since her illness, she went in and kissed her on the head before going to work. This time, she was both surprised and greatly concerned to find her sleeping in the corner of her room, her head resting against the wall. She looked back on Samantha's bed, and finding her phone, picked it up and began looking through her pictures. Not knowing exactly what she was looking for, she paged through the first few images, finding nothing of particular interest. Turning off her phone, she set it back on Samantha's desk and walked around to where she still slept, curled up in the corner. Crouching down, she put a hand on the side of her head.
“Sam,” she whispered.
Samantha startled awake with wide eyes and a sudden gasp. She was too panicked to cry and found it difficult to put her words together. Her mother whispered to her again.
“Sam, what is it?”
With her senses returning, she was able to reply but with very few words.
“I was dead.”
Her mother was terrified, realizing that her behavior was much more than a reaction to the flu.
“What do you mean you were dead?”
Now, the tears came and Samantha continued, a few words at a time.
“On the phone.”
“What about the phone? Is it another picture?” her mother asked.
Samantha brought her hands up from under the blanket and covered her eyes as tears streamed down her face.
“It was there! I was dead this time!”
Her mother's voice took on a tone of urgency as she tried to reason with Samantha's troubled mind.
“I checked the pictures on your phone already. There's nothing there.”
Samantha looked up at her with fear and confusion. She knew what she had seen and was beginning to doubt her state of mind. It was the first sane thought she'd had since before seeing the first picture, captured as she slept.
“Sam,” her mother continued. “You need to get back in bed. I'm going to take your phone for a couple of days, okay?”
A teenager's phone is often considered sacred, and Samantha's mother didn't like the idea of taking something from her that had come to represent a strong element of her privacy, but her health continued to be at risk.
She helped Samantha to stand and walked her the few steps to her bed. Knowing how badly she needed sleep, she came up with an idea as to how to get her into a deep, sound slumber. As Samantha's head settled back onto the cool smoothness of her pillow, her mother quickly left for her own bedroom. Returning within a couple of minutes, she brought a ceramic potpourri cup, a candle and a small sprig of marijuana. Setting the candle at the bottom of a metal frame, she placed the marijuana in the cup, and being certain the candle stayed lit, put the vaporizer on Samantha's desk, toward the back. She sat near the foot of the bed, watching to make sure she fell asleep, but soon, she began to feel the intoxicating effects of the oil evaporating from the ceramic cup. Leaving the room, she left the door open a few inches to allow the vapor to escape. The amount she used was enough to get Samantha to sleep, no more than that.
The next morning, Samantha rose with a clear head. Her body lacked the aches, pains, and exhaustion she had experienced over the last two or three days. Getting out of bed, she saw the potpourri cup on her desk, its candle melted down and flickered out hours ago. She lifted the top to find a small bit of marijuana - brown and dried - sitting at the bottom of the ceramic cup. She grinned and shook her head, realizing that her mother had, in fact, drugged her to sleep. But aside from the method, it worked extremely well and Samantha felt like a new person, well rested and healed.
Throwing on a bathrobe, she walked down the stairs and into the living room where her mother sat on the couch with the day's paper in one hand and her coffee in the other.
“Sleep okay?” she asked.
Samantha sat in a nearby reclining chair and closing her eyes, settled back, remarking on a night of deep, dreamless sleep.
“Oh...fantastic,” she said.
Her mother glanced up from her newspaper with a slight grin.
“I hope you don't mind that I gave you a little help,” she said.
Samantha took a deep cleansing breath, and stretched her arms out over her head.
“I know,” she began. “Thanks, mom.”
Her mother, having continued reading the morning paper, inquired as to when she might return to school.
“I was thinking maybe tomorrow,” Samantha replied.
“Tomorrow?” her mother said. “Let's see how you're feeling tonight.”
Samantha sat, reclined in comfort as her mother quietly sipped her coffee. Suddenly, her mind was intruded upon by a single thought.
“Shit,” she muttered.
She flew out of the recliner and heading for the stairs, remembered the school-work she needed to catch up on.
“I've got tons of work to do.”
But before reaching the top of the stairs, she heard her mother call out to her.
“Get something to eat first! And nothing heavy!”
After showering, Samantha ate a light breakfast, substituting hot chocolate for coffee. As soon as she was finished, she rinsed off the dishes and loaded them in to the dishwasher. Returning to her bedroom, she grabbed the list of assignments, as well as the first book within reach. Algebra. It wasn't her favorite subject, with complicated equations and word problems. When in class, she sometimes thought that finding 'x' was unnecessary, when 'x' could go to Tibet or Nepal and find itself. The truth was Samantha hated math, and didn't the see the point in learning something she'd likely never use. But she was a good student, and wanted to succeed. And homework was homework, and all of it had to be done.
She was nearly caught up by evening when the phone rang. Her mother, still holding her cell phone, had turned it off, forcing Henry to call their home number. Running down the stairs, she answered the phone in the living room. Her assumption was correct. Henry had called to see how she was doing.
“Hey, Henry,” she said.
Concerned, Henry inquired about her recovery.
“I'm actually feeling a lot better. Thanks for bringing my homework over. I just got caught up.”
Henry asked if they could get together some time to review the video from their last visit to the abandoned house.
“Yeah,” Samantha replied. “I'm probably going back to school tomorrow, so how about Saturday?”
Henry agreed, and brought up the idea of going back to the house but Samantha had doubts, as she had begun to associate it with her illness.
It was late by the time she hung up the phone, and having done homework since mid-morning, she had become mentally exhausted. Her lengthy conversation with Henry only made her that much more tired, and hanging up the phone, she felt her eyelids wilting with heaviness, her body deflating as her energy quickly escaped. Her mother was just pulling into the driveway as she retreated to her bedroom for the night. As she slipped into a knee-length night shirt, Samantha heard the distinct sound of her mother's keys strike the polished surface of the coffee table. Although Samantha's symptoms were nearly gone, her mother was still concerned for her state of mind. She knew the only reason her previous night's sleep had passed uneventfully was the vaporizer she'd put in her room. Tonight, however, would be an exception, as she was planning to send her back to school in the morning and wanted her going with a clear head. And since her nightmares seemed to be centered around her phone, she would leave it in the kitchen. Samantha could get in the morning on her way out to school.
After dropping her keys on the coffee table, her mother called out to her, believing she might still be awake.
“Up here, mom!” Samantha replied.
She took note of how relaxed her voice was, and saw it as a refreshing sign of continued recovery. Hanging up her jacket, she walked upstairs and through the open door of Samantha's room.
“Okay to come in?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Samantha answered. “I was just going to bed, what's up?”
Observing her appearance and behavior, her mother quickly concluded that she was, indeed, ready to return to her normal life of school-work and ghost hunting.
“Oh, nothing,” she began. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”
Turning down the covers of her bed, Samantha replied that she, once again, felt like her old self, without the slightest hint of the illness that nearly prompted her mother to rush her to the hospital. Her mother, nearly convinced she was finally free of whatever had made her ill, told her that if she got sick during the night, or if there was something she needed, to wake her immediately.
“I think I'll be okay, mom,” she said. “Thanks.”
Her mother nodded with a gentle smile.
“Okay, sleep tight, Sam.”
Leaving the door open, she turned off the light, and walked back down to the living room. After returning from her shift, she usually sat in the living room, and would unwind by reading the newspaper. But that night, she had another reason for staying up late. No longer worried about Samantha's passing illness, she was still concerned about the nightmares she had been having and why her phone seemed to be involved. She supposed that all psychological experiences involved a focal point and that without them, one's psyche, lacking the proper reference to reality would quickly fracture. She hoped that by removing her phone to the kitchen, she would eliminate the association between it and Samantha's nightmares.
Her mother left the morning after, having chosen to work an extra shift. Samantha was accustomed to the hours her mother worked and learned to function on her own. This meant being responsible for herself – cooking and cleaning, dishes and laundry, in addition to homework. Thus far, she had mastered the practicalities of daily life but on a personal level, Samantha had a long way to go. She had only made an important discovery about herself, while searching through the abandoned ambulance station with Henry and Melissa. Not knowing her mother's position on such matters, she wondered when the time would be right to tell her. However, more importantly, how would she tell her? She supposed there was no delicate way to inform her mother of what she had discovered to be her true sexuality. But the words would be there when the time was right.