*Title In Construction/Progress*

Chapter 8--Sam--I'm Sam

I can hear the boy in another room on the phone, calling some nearby doctor that lives out here in the back woods.

"Ronny! Sure darn good speaking to ya! Long time, no see!"

The boy's way of talking is much more broken and uneducated than it was a couple minutes ago.

"Why, I sure know it's late, but hey! I've got a cousin that's spending a while with us," he continues the act. "A drunk for a dad; he's a horrible uncle. My aunt died years ago," he murmurs a fake explanation. "Anyways, she done fell out a a tree earlier today and it sure looks like she got herself a mess of broken ribs."

I almost want to laugh at how hard he must be struggling to continue talking like this, but I know that would be suicide for my ribs.

"Uh-huh! And looks like we got ourselves a cock-a-doodled head, too!"

Cock-a-doodled head? What is this?

The man looks up from his spot on the floor.

"It's an expression this doctor uses for broken," he explains, rubbing his tired eyes. I nod.

"We-e-ll, I sure appreciate you kindly coming and given us a good-ole house call, 'specially at eleven thirty at night!"

The boy chokes out a laugh that sounds like a sawing noise mixed with a donkey call.

"You too! See ya soon, ole boy!"

A minute later the boy comes back into the small living room.

"The doctor will be here soon," his words now civilized again. He makes eye contact with me, before his eyes dart away, and he blushes. I thank him for calling a doctor.

"I'm afraid we didn't have a proper introduction. I'm John, and this is my father, David," I introduce ourselves.

"Call me Dave," Dave says with a yawn.

"And you are...?" John asks.

"Sam. Well, Samantha-, Sam. I'm Sam," I stutter.

"Sam. I like that." His comforting smile flashes before my eyes as another wave of white hot pain washed over me and devours all my senses.