In the Belly of the Beast

33

Finally. Sam saw his chance to sneak out of the house. The F.M. was so busy keeping Lenny occupied that she was totally ignoring him. He went to the back entry. 

Under the mellow light of candles from the kitchen, he quietly put on his coat. He double-checked his coat pocket, making sure the flashlight was where he had put it. He wrapped a scarf around his face. It would keep him warm, as well as camouflage his identity for the secret mission.

He slowly turned the doorknob with his gloved hand. It did not make a sound. Peeking over his shoulder to make sure his escape went unnoticed, he slipped out silently and stepped into the cold night.

The outside was inky in its darkness. There were no streetlights, no cars cruising up and down. Everyone seemed to be holed up in their homes, afraid to venture out into the too-dark blackness. The neighborhood was eerily quiet, the streets deserted.

Sam pushed the button with his gloved fingers, and the flashlight's beam sliced a trail into the blackness. He let the light weave a path across the littered yard. 

He walked passed the clubhouse. Time was short. The F.M. might notice his absence at any moment and call him back into the house. So, he picked up his step as he snuck into the neighbor's yard and snagged the crate that would boost him up above the window ledge.

He snuffed the light and put it back into his coat pocket. He placed the crate beneath the window and felt his way, creeping up to the sill. He popped his head over the ledge, only to realize the shade had been drawn so far down that the tiny slit of light that shone beneath revealed nothing.

A hand clamped down upon his shoulder and drug him to the ground. He let out a short, stifled cry of bewilderment.

The woman held him close. He squirmed and wrestled against her body, but he could not free himself from her vise-like grip.

"So, your curiosity got the best of you, little man. You want to see the freak behind the window shade? Come with me."

His mind was screaming inside his skull.

Run! Flee! Get the hell out of here!

His brain was giving his body these commands, but his legs robotically followed the woman. She led him up the steps and into the house . . . where there was light.

***

Here in the small, worn kitchen, the coil of the fluorescent bulb illuminated the rusty discoloration of the enamel sink, reflected off the metal legs of the vinyl dinette set, emphasized the peeling paint on the cabinet doors, and highlighted the dirty smudges that encircled their handles.

How? A generator? Sam didn't think so. The house was as quiet as a corpse.

She pulled a chair from the table, took off his coat and scarf, and sat him down. A black and white cat paddled into the room, its shoulders rolling with each step. He eyed Sam as if sizing him up.

Sam swallowed, trying to eat the lump of fear that stuck in his throat.

A slender, dark haired man joined them in the kitchen. He pulled up a chair beside Sam and sat down. The cat sprang into his lap, and the man's long fingers smoothly stroked the top of its head. The rattle of its purring motor filled the room.

Sam watched mesmerized.

"He's come to see Geoffrey," the lady said.

Sam let his eyes move toward the woman. He studied her in silence. She was beautiful, movie star beautiful, and Sam wondered if she was the old lady's daughter.

"Our little soldier has that killer curious streak, 'ey Sylvester?" the man muttered. "Sammy, my, my, what are we going to do with you?"

Sam could not believe his ears. Sammy, that was his real name, but because he thought it sounded babyish, he'd insisted on being called Sam.

How could this man know his true birth name? Sam was sure he'd never met this man before. He was absolutely, positively dead certain he'd never laid eyes on him before.

Eyes. There was something about his eyes. They were abnormally dark, as if. . .

He felt the tickling sensation – entering his brain, retreating – like a swimmer sticking his toe into the lake to test the waters before diving in. The man probed Sam's thoughts.

"Alien? Is that what you think I am, Sammy boy?"

He laughed at the thought.

"No, my little man, I'm not an alien. No, not at all."

He studied Sam's face.

"You've been watching from your playhouse, haven't you, Sammy? Yes. That was you."

"Ruby! For god sake, help me!" a choked cry sounded down the hall.

"How much longer?" Ruby asked.

"A little longer, my love. Just a short while."

Sam had no idea what was going on. He didn't know what they were waiting for, though perhaps it involved the fat guy Sam had caught a glimpse of earlier.

He did know one thing. It felt like the seat of his pants were glued to the chair seat. He wanted to yell for help, but his vocal chords were paralyzed.

He could only sit and watch.

Where was the old lady? He hadn't seen her anywhere. What had they done with her?

He had no answers. Only questions.