HOMECOMING
A Novel
By Jack White
Chapter 1
The Beginning of the End
"I just can't take it anymore, every time I see her, I picture you both together. It tears me apart inside!" she cries.
"Brittany, you know every day I torture myself thinking about how much I hurt you. The trust I misplaced, but it's been months you can't honestly..."
"Can't honestly what Sam? Can't still be upset, hurt, heart-broken! You got into bed with another woman, behind my back!"
"I know, but..."
"No, no buts Sam! I can't do this anymore; I can't see you depressed and angry. I can't fool myself into thinking it doesn't hurt. I'm sorry. I don't want this anymore!"
"But I love you!"
"And I loved you..." Brittany turns her back, and walks away with his heart.
Samuel Mattison's life was doused like water to a flame. The woman of his dreams Brittany Mountain had left him. Taking with her every ounce of him that lived and breathed.
Day 9, Sam sits in his room holding a picture of Brittany and him. The only light in the room, emanating from his laptop where he has a drunken e-mail open ready to send to her.
"I'm heart-broken and have felt awful all weekend. What with people asking how I am, “How's Brit?” If it’s over then it's
over, I want it to be over quick. I've tried to talk to you, I’ve tried to tell you how much I love you, that I want to make you
happy and for us to work. All I’ve had is "you've given up" and "you don't want it." Then last night and Friday I have two
people telling me that you’re seeing someone. Saying you told them Thursday.... You work fast if it is true!"
The cursor blinks asking for more input,
"How much more can I type, my friends don't believe me, and she certainly doesn't. What's the point no-one even gives a crap about me and how I feel anymore." Sam shuts down his laptop and cracks open another bottle.
"Bottoms up!" he sighs
As Sam races down yet another bottle of Mexico's finest Tequila, he remembers the bad times.
"I'm sorry, it's just there's so much going on right now that when I see red I just lose it. I can't control my anger."
"Sam, It scares me, I hate violence you know that!"
"I know, but recently I'm so pent up that it just, I just blow!"
Sam cracks bottle 3 open and has another swig, his neck muscles instantly recoil at the intense bite of his poison. He flashes back into another memory to torture himself.
"You have no right to talk about her, especially that way and especially to me!"
"Sam, cool it he's just drunk..." Brittany tries to explain.
"Yeah Sam cool it, I’m drunk..." Grant lowers his voice slipping in another dig."It's not like you’re going to go cheat on her again..."
Sam launches himself across the bar head first. Fingers clenched like claws homing in on Grant's airway. His hands grasp Grant's shirt pulling him to his chest by the neck. Feeling the adrenalin race to his bicep he coils his arm around Grant's neck tightening like a boa constrictor with every fleeting second until. The choke hold takes its effect and Grant falls unconscious just as Sam drops him to the floor. It’s almost a minute before the red mist and the rage in Samael's eyes pass. Brittany sits on her stool, her face painted in pure fear at the sight of her boyfriend attacking his own friend.
She grabs her purse and heads for the door shouting.
"You've changed, you’re out of control. Call me when you've calmed down! I don’t want to be near you right now!"
Sam's eyes well up as he re-lives some all-too common mistakes of his past, trying to piece together the times he went wrong.
"How did I turn into that guy, the guy everybody hates? Did I just deteriorate over time? Was my sell by date up, or what? I just don't get it!"
He sits further back in his chair, bottle in hand.
"All I ever did was love her. Maybe too much at times, but hey at least she knew right. Oh come on stop trying to convince yourself you were a saint! You cheated on her for Christ sake! You made the conscious decision to have sex with another woman!"
That was it. As he sat there in his chair going over all the mistakes he'd made, the friends he had pushed away, he decided one more act of cowardice wouldn’t hurt. Sam decides to run!
Flipping open his phone, he scrolled through his phone book looking for the numbers he needed. Jacob highlighted on the screen. Dialling...
"Sam? What do you want?" Jacob said sounding confused and angry.
"I just wanted to say sorry for all the ways I’ve pissed you and the guys off. Something inside of me has changed I've changed..."
"You can say that again. Why are you even calling me I told you I’ve had enough of your self-loathing and pity. We all tried to help you but you just didn't care, you didn't want to know me or us!"
"I know, and I’m sorry I truly am. Listen I’m going away, to sort things out and get help, I can’t control my anger or my depression. It scares me..."
"It scares us all Sam!! Get yourself sorted. 15 years we've been there for each other. All those years we spent as best friends as brothers. Now, I don’t even want to know you. I’m sorry Sam but get help!" With a click the line goes dead.
"I will!" Sam whispers to himself.
With one last call to make before he destroys his phone he calls Brittany.
"Damn voicemail!"
"Please leave your message after the tone."
"Brittany, I'm going to fix things. Make it all go away. I love you gorgeous, and will forever. You'll always be the one for me. Goodbye! I love you!" Sam hangs up with a quiet sigh.
Chapter 2
Sam sits at his desk pen and paper in hand a writes;
To all those I have let down and those who I have hurt. I’m writing to you all to apologise for how I have acted, to say sorry for all the anguish and betrayal left in my wake. I write to say goodbye. I’m leaving it all behind, to change and fix whatever inside me is broken. My anger has boiled over from within too many times, my lack of control over my emotions has led to spiteful and rage filled outburst. They have snowballed and had a domino effect in all of your lives. I’ve not been the best friend I should have, the lover I promised to be. The friend who was always there disappeared in depression, hate and paranoia. Brittany the way I treated you was unforgivable, the love I hold for you never came to fruition, it turned into control and abuse of your trust. Jacob we were supposed to be brothers but I failed you. You stood by me so many times and I just ignored your pain and your needs. For all this I am truly sorry. I wish all you lives to be filled with happiness and love. I hope to take all of the negativity and pain with me when I leave. Jacob we are family. Brittany I will always love you. I will always remember your smile and your uncontrollable will to make people laugh and have fun! These words won’t mean much to you now, but I hope in the future they will have some positive effect on your lives.
I love you both.
Samael.
He folds the letter and tucks it away in the desk. Noticing the window has turned to pitch black Sam picks himself up and crawls into bed.
Chapter 3
It’s 8 am and the all too awake radio presenter burst into the room at full volume.
“Good morning Brittan, It’s 8 am welcome to the only breakfast show you want and need!”
SMASH! Sam launches the alarm into the wall opposite his bed, taking a chunk out of the coffee coloured upright. Sunlight engulfs his room swallowing up any trace of darkness, and with it any chance of Sam getting more shut eye. Scraping himself out of the sheets he’ll never feel again, Sam yawn, stretches and clambers to his feet.
Eyeing up his laptop he decides to get his finances all in one place. Where did I put my wallet? Whilst turning on the laptop he spots his wallet beneath a pack of Marlboro Red Cigarettes. The wallet contains no cash just a couple of Credit Cards, bank card and a picture of Brittany and him. Dark brown hair flowing to her shoulders, her brown eyes entrapped in. With the sea setting the scene for two happy lovers to share as she is swept off her feet. Putting the snapshot aside he lays his credit cards on the desk and goes to the login screen of his laptop. The password box waits for his entry, Sam obliges and enters [brittanymountain1].
He opens up the internet pages for his credit cards and bank account, once logged Sam transfers the remaining balance from his two credit cards to his bank account. £7,850 should be enough. Now where am I going to stay in London? Trawling through hotel web searches and hostel recommendation sites an ad for “Grandeur Executive Suites” catches his eye. The picture in the ad is what seems to be an old gothic style building, with the name plastered in gold lettering above a “Now Re-Open” sign. £1,000 a week, where’s the catch?
Picking up the landline Sam dials the number in the ad...
“Good morning Granduer Executive Suits, Tara speaking how can I help you?”
“Yeah, I’m wondering why your suits are so cheap?”
“Well sir we have just re-opened and for our first 2 months we are offering our guest half price rates!”
“Where’s the catch? Hidden charges on the room service? TV cost extra, what?”
“Sir every service available at the hotel comes included in your room rate! Can I make a reservation for you?”
“Why not, names Mattison any open from this evening?”
“Yes Mr. Mattison. How long will you be staying with us?”
“4 weeks. I’ll pay in cash when I arrive!”
“We look forward to your arrival Mr Mattison!”
“Thank you.” With that Sam hung up the phone and set his mind to more pressing matters, his stomach.
Downstairs, the kitchen is a mess and hasn’t had a proper clean in weeks. A typical bachelor’s kitchen, dirty plates and used cutlery lay in the sink. Boxes from microwave ready meals litter the counter top. Opening the kitchen fridge Sam fights his way through the pizzas and beer cans looking for some microwave macaroni and cheese. Sam opens a beer and picks a fork out of the sink. His microwave pings and he digs in to his ‘healthy’ breakfast.
Back in his room Sam grabs a duffle bag from his overly cluttered closet and starts to pack his essentials.
Back-pack
· Clothes, 2 pairs of torn black jeans, 2 charcoal grey t-shirts, boxers, socks and black leather penny loafers.
· 2 packs of Marlboro Red Cigarettes
· Switch blade knife (Relec from the sixies)
· Pack of cards
· Usual toiletries (Toothbrush, deoderent etc...)
· Passport
· All important Bottle of Mexican Tequila
Resisting the temptation Sam zips the tequila in the duffle bag and tosses it onto the bed and calls the bank.
After going through all the security checks, passwords and general useless “Customer Service” crap, Sam get’s thorugh to his local branch at the bank. The youngster on the end of the line eventually gets Sam’s polite ‘hints’ and calls for a supervisor.
“Mr. Mattison, how can I help you today?”
“I’d like to clear my account this afternoon!”
“Ok Mr. Mattison where are we moving the funds too?”
“No transfers. I’d like to withdraw it all in cash please.”
“Mr. Mattison that will take some time...”
“You have till 4pm this is a family emergency!”
“Ok we’ll have your money ready for you when you arrive. Is there anything else we can help you with today?”
“No, and thank you!”
“Please ask for myself when you arrive. Mr. Panderman.”
“Will do!”
Sam disconnects and snaps a towel of the bed rail and slopes to the bathroom.
The showers cold spray runs down his shoulders and chest. A shiver shoots down his spine as he preps himself for the next for days/weeks. Today’s the big day Sam. Leave it all behind. It’s just you now, no-one else. Your nothing to them enjoy the next few weeks splash out, spend and forget. One last stand. We’ll end it soon enough.
Drying off and donning his favourite long sleeve shirt and matching black jeans, Sam ticks off his mental check list. (Back packed – check, letter – check, money – almost check, hotel – check, You – check)
Duffel bag over one shoulder letter in hand he slams his door shut for the last time, turns right and heads towards his bank.
Bank windows the size of houses broadcast the sun-light into the street. The doors to the bank before him open and close as business types to pensioners reel in and out. Through the door he is greeted by over suspicious security guards eying up his duffel bag hands on their pepper sprays. Upon reaching the counter he asks for Mr. Panderman. Appearing before him was a middle aged gentleman who would be better placed in a laboratory torturing mice. Panderman hands over Sam’s cash and he tucks it away in his bag and makes a quit exit. Outside his cab pulls up and Sam directs the driver to Brittany’s.
Brittany’s flat is situated on the top floor of her building. Paying the taxi driver extra to hang around for ten minutes, Sam climbs the five flights of stairs to her door. Without knocking or hesitation he slips the letter under her door runs back to the waiting taxi. With one last look back Sam focuses on his plan ahead.
Chapter 4
On the other side of London a dark figure lurks in the shadows. Beneath a fire escape he waits, the burning ash from his cigarette the only light in the alley. A slender young woman barely out of her teens turns into the alley to use a shortcut to a local bar. Her red dress flows in the drafts catching the eye of the hidden man. Liking what he sees he lets her walk past and follows her close behind. She hears his footsteps but before she can react he’s ontop of her pinning her face down to the concrete. Tears streaming down her face, she can feel his dirty hands on the insides of her thighs, and his evil laugh as he tears the hem of her dress up the small of her back. Too scared she can’t bring herself to scream, she lays still and gives up. In an instant the weight is lifted from her back, confused she rolls over seeing her attacker launched across the alley with supernatural force. A cloaked man stands before her, he glides towards her and holds out his hand. The mysterious hero pciks her up to her feet and before she has the chance to say “thank you” her hero is gone. Vanished back into the darkness of the night. She stumbles towards the street and falls at the feet of a man clearly concerned at her state and asks her what happen. She explains her rescue through the waterfall of salty tears.
Dropping through an open grate he lands as soft as a cat on the underground rails. Walking down the abandoned tube line Gabriel chuckles to himself at the way he launched the rapist almost through the alley wall. The half tonne steel door opens with ease under his vampiric strength. His home is deep underground in an abandoned hall within the disused trains lines. A giant 10th century chandelier hangs in the centre of the room. In the corner of the room he takes his leather cloak off and hangs it on the rack. His muscles are his most prominent feature, his hair jet black and to his shoulders and his skin as pale as chalk. There’s an oak chest in another corner with clothes from 3 different centuries spilling out of it. Against the smallest of the walls stands a refrigerator. he opens the door to the fridge and removes a litre bottles of thick, dark red liquid and heats it in the microwave. Sitting in his arm chair continues to read from his book where he left off. The microwave dings and the smell of warm pigs blood fills the room. Gabriel’s dinner is ready.
Chapter 5
Brittany opens her door, kicks off her shoes and notices the small white envelope on the floor. Baffled at the lack of address and stamp she breaks the seal and reads Sam’s last words to her. Her face drops and she turns bright green with fear. Hoping it’s not too late she rings Sam, to no avail, worrying she then calls Jacob.
“Jacob, he’s gone!”
“Whose gone?”
“Sam! He left me a note saying he’s running away, he’s going to do something stupid I just know it!”
“DAMN IT SAM!!”
“Oh Jacob we have to do something.”
“I’m meeting Balthazar later. I’ll come over after.”
“Oh Jacob hurry!”
Crumbling to the floor, her head in her hands Brittany weeps uncontrollably, crying out Sam’s name!
Jacob sits at the bar in his local dive (The local whole they call it) waiting for Balthazar to arrive. The bartender slides over a bourbon and says Balthazar is waiting in the back for him. Through the door Balthazar stands and wraps his arm around Jacobs shoulders.
“Jacob my brother how is our business holding up?”
“Well boss! New corners and selling chains every day. We’re hoping to expand into the Soho gangs territory soon.”
“Excellent. I think its time you officially take over yourself. Be my number 2?”
“Balth...”
“Brother, Jacob brother!”
“Brother, it would be my honour.”
“Good. Now take this to Charring Cross tube station. You’ll be met by a man called Cleverly. Give him the case and walk away” Balthazar hands over the metallic case.
“No problem.”
“There’s a signing bonus inside in an envelope for you. £35k”
“Thank you Balt...Brother!”
They toast over a shot of bourbon and Jacob leaves.
Chapter 6
It’s been 3 weeks since Sam left and as usual he’s drunk beyond belief, strolling from bar to bar, leaving turmoil wherever he steps. Battered and bruised he stumbles over his own feet using his face as a cushion he finds himself kneeling before yet another bar. He manages to fight the door open an staggers in. The place smells of stale cigarettes. It hasn’t been cleaned in years since the smoking ban. Slumping onto a bar stool he orders a tequila, and another.
“Keep em’ coming!” He dribbles to the barman.
“You ok mate?”
“It’s my birthday...” Sam sarcastically remarks.
Drink after drink, Sam manages to finish the bottle behind the bar. He tries to get up off his stool and falls backwards. Flailing his arms he takes 3 regulars with him smashing their drinks.
Livid they pick Sam up and drag him outside. The first blow comes from the biggest guys right hook shattering his cheek. Trying to fall to the floor the other two hold his weight. The biggest pulls Sam’s head back by the hair pulling out clumps and rams his head into Sam’s face breaking his nose. Released from their grip he falls in a heap to the floor. Face down in concrete the only sounds Sam can hear are boots whistling through the air and the crunch as his ribs are cave. The two smaller drunks kick him around like a tin can until he no longer moves. After taking his wallet to buy their next round they roll him into the street like a discarded piece of trash and walk back inside.
Ten maybe twenty minutes pass by until Sam moves. Inch by inch He crawls his battered a bruised body to the curb where he lays gathering the energy to hail a taxi. Slouched over his knees holding his ribs and tasting nothing but blood Sam musters up the courage to stand and point himself towards his hotel. One foot after the other he struggles holding onto the walls and garbage bins to make his way back to the hotel.
Crashing through the Graduer Executive Suites doors he collapses at eh concierge desk.
“Mr Mattisson? Are... are you ok?”
“What do you think... Can someone help me to my room I’ve lost my wallet?” Sam spits out with a bloody smile.
“Sir surely a hospital will fair better than your room!”
“My room!! Please!”
The concierge clicks his fingers and waves over a porter to help lift Sam to the elevators. They both drag Sam into the elevator while trying to limit the blood stains on their uniforms. The elevator doors ding open and the porter struggles with his “Baggage” to the suite door. He opens it and props Sam against the door frame as requested. Turning to leave and find a fresh uniform he catches Sam’s attempt at a thank you. Frowning he walks back to the elevator.
Trying with all his might to stay upright, Newton’s law takes effect and Sam crashes against the wall as he slams the door. Smashing the back of his head against the hallway wall Sam falls to the floor. With the room spinning he closes his eyes and blacks out.
Chapter 7
“The past 2 weeks have been gruelling on you all. You think this has been hard? Be prepared to crack, break down and meet you worst nightmare. Those of you who have made the cut take heed this is just the beginning. Those who have failed, try shopping centre security!” The Training officer booms at his applicants.
Brittany stands at attention, exhausted and glad to have made it this far. She tries not to smile and keep order, although she can’t stop thinking her dreams are coming to fruition. Around her stand 30 recruits all from different backgrounds, ethnicities and “Don’t ask don’t tell” sexualities, due to all the new political correctness in public service positions. Shamed about lying about her sexual orientation on her Police Application Brittany promises herself to make up for it with her service. “For the common good” replays on loop in her mind.
“The few of you who have made it you are dismissed. Those below par follow me” In typical militant fashion the instructor turns on his heel and marches off with the failures in tow.
“Brit? Brit, wait up!”
“What’s up Chris?”
“God are you not hyped about getting this far? I mean come on did you think we’d make it?”
“What are you saying Chris? Just because I’m a woman I can’t...”
“Oh shit! No, no I didn’t mean it like that I mean come on. The Met, its the toughest force to join I didn’t think I’d even get past the application being white!”
“Oh, well when you put it that way then yeah I’m pretty stoked actually. I can’t wait to start learning though. All this physical stuff is great you know. Of course we have to be fit. I want to solve crimes not chase them down dark alleyways!”
“Yeah well I can’t wait for arms training and combat.” The young recruit smiles crudely.
“Arms? You want to go into armed response? Why didn’t you just join the army?”
“Army, HA! What and go to war and get shot. Hell no! I want to join the armed response for the action. You know, armed response controls the situation. In the Ayou can get clipped from anywhere! I’m not the brightest spark but I sure ain’t stupid! Hey listen you fancy a drink after cleaning up?”
“No thanks Chris I’ve got some calls to make, my ex.. A friend of mine went missing a few weeks back and I want to check in with a few people for some updates! Thanks anyway.”
“No probs, catch ya Monday. Hope your err... friends ok!” Chris waves and jogs on to the men’s showers.
Brittany peels off her sodden tracksuit in the women’s shower rooms and runs a warm shower. Reaching in her training bag she pulls out her favourite shower gel and colour safe shampoo and conditioner. Warm water running over her head down her back Brittany thinks about Sam silently praying to herself, hoping he’s ok. Completely scared and worried her eyes well up and she starts to cry. She slides down the wall and holds her knees to her chest.
Drying off she sprays her cheap brand deodorant under her arms slips into her low cut jeans and tank top and packs her clothes away to wash over the weekend. While searching in her handbag for her car keys she checks her phone for any messages from Sam or Jacob. Double checking she’s not missing anything she puts the phone away and throws her bag in the back of her small 4 door car. Still feeling down she reaches back in her bag for her phone and dials.
“Hello?”
“Chris, it’s Brit.”
“Oh hey changed your mind about that drink?”
“Actually yeah, the invite still on the table?”
“Of course it is! I’m just going home to change want to meet me there?”
“Sure what time?”
“Say 8, there’s this new place I’ve been wanting to try if your up for it?”
“Sounds great, where is it?”
“It’s called “Kells” it’s and Irish bar in down town near Leicester Square!”
“Ok. 8 it is!”
“Looking forward to it!”
The engine turns over first try and Brittany drives out the car park.
Maybe a drink will do me some good?
Chapter 8
Groggy and with one hell of a headache Sam comes-to on his hotel room floor. Pulling himself to his feet he checks the time on the bedside clock. 1 pm.
“Christ I feel like a car wreck!” as he stands up straight and moves in sight of the wall mirror he looks at his face covered in dried blood. His Jaw all black and bruised, his eyes like two piss holes in the snow and surrounded by dark bruises. Unfortunately not instantly remembering the events from last night, he collapses to his knees after taking a deep breath and realising the extent of his injuries. Breathing was now a problem with the number of cracked ribs he’d sustained. Getting up the courage to shower was not an option, but crawling was. On his hands and knees like a child Sam runs a hot bath to soak in. Slowly removing the debris that was his clothing he rolls into the bath and groans. His face like a panda and his body like a paint by numbers portrait of agony.
After a good 2 hour soak and another bottle of tequila his pangs of pain are not so severe so he scoops himself out of the tub and grabs the complimentary silk robe. Limping into the lounge of his suite Sam slumps down in the old gentleman’s arm-chair. Bottle in one hand and TV remote in the other, at the press of a button the plasma screen slides out from behind a painting. Using the in-house phone Sam calls the concierge.
“Concierge desk, how can I help?”
“Mr Mattisson from the penthouse suit, is there a doctor available I could use some pain killers?”
“I’ll send someone to you sir. Hope you are feeling better this evening.”
“Thanks a bunch mate.”
Replacing the handset he slides further down in the chair and takes another long swig.
A knock resounds from the door and not being bothered to move Sam hollers at the door.
“You’ve got a key. It hurts to move.”
“Ok sir.” The young porter opens the door and walks through to see Sam sitting in the chair looking almost as bad as he did when he’s left him the previous morning. The porter covers his mouth and nose to shield from the stench of booze consumed and sweating out of the man in front of him.
“Sir are you ok. I brought you up here last night. You were in one hell of a state. The concierge tells me you would like some pain killers?”
“Let me guess you a medical student working part-time here?”
“No Mr Mattisson, but for clients such as yourself we can get a hold of (prescriptions) without the hassle of a doctor.”
“Oh I see. Well what can you get?”
“Anything your after sir. Obviously at a price but pretty much anything you need.”
“I’m in a hell of alot of pain. Can you get me Vicodine?”
“Vike, Methadone, dope, anything you need!”
“Well I’m not into needles or narcotics for that matter but, Vicodine pain killers will do. 30 or 40 whatever is normal!”
“Ok, that’ll be about £150.” All pleasantries gone by now.
“Open the drawer behind you and take what you need. Be as quick as possible I need to go out for a drink!”
“Will do!” The porter tries to fight back a laugh and grabs £200 and leaves on his errand.
Flicking through the channels and chugging down his poison Sam settles on a random local channel and tries to focus on the flashing images. Advert after advert splash across the 52 inches of plasma. Fifteen minutes pass, another twenty, Sam constantly checks the time with the TV remote, desperate for some other form of medication than alcohol. Fifty five minutes pass and there is a dull thud on his room door.
“Mr Mattisson? It’s me Tony? I have the... the room service Items you requested. Are you available to sign for them? I have a key if you’re not able to come to the door?”
“Yeah come in!”
Coated in a shiny glaze from running the kid closes the door behind him and nods towards Sam.
“Kid you could be on Broadway with that acting!”
With a slight cough insinuating further payment. The porter answers “Unfortunately Mr Mattisson the West End doesn’t have the same (Benefits) as this job. He says rubbing his fingers together in Sam’s direction. Sam coughs up an extra £20 and tips the kid.
“Cheers for the help kid!”
“Oh no, thank you Mr. Mattisson!” the kid says as he hands over the goods, takes his tip and exits the room.
Struggling with the child safety device on the lid, he eventually pops open the bottle of drugs and tosses a handful in his mouth and washes them down with the last of his Tequila. “Shit, going to need some more booze!” Sam mutters to himself as he discards the bottle into the trash already overflowing with empty bottles. After giving it 20 minutes for the drugs to take effect he pulls himself out of his chair and goes over to his suitcase to get dressed for another night on the town. Wearing his favourite black jeans and overpriced black t-shirt Sam grabs a handful of cash from the drawer and sprays himself with the last of his aftershave. Just as he gets to the door he feels around his pockets for his pills and realises they are still in the lounge on the table. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glimpse of an advert for a new club on the plasma screen, “Kells! The place to be for a night of responsible drinking and good old Irish fun!” Hmm sounds like a good place to go tonight. He grabs a pen and paper from the desk and jots down the address on the Headed paper provided in all the rooms. Snapping his leather trench coat from off the sofa Sam heads for the door. His watch reads 6pm, “Anytime is a good time for a drink!”. At the ground floor he sees the young porter gives him a nod and walks over to the concierge.
“Feeling any better today Mr. Mattisson?”
“Taxi to Kell’s please, the new bar in Leicester Square!”
“No problem sir.” Dialing a local taxi firm the concierge has to hold his breath and turn his back from the overwhelming stench of alcohol that Sam is emitting. Outside the door in the car-port Sam light a good old Lucky Strike and waits for his taxi. Half way through his cigarette the taxi arrives and Sam climbs in give the driver directions and heads off for another night of heavy, sorrow some lonely drinking.
Chapter 9
He apartment is a small 1 bed studio flat in the northeast side of Wembley. Her answering machine reads 6pm and there is still no word from Sam. “It’s been almost 6 weeks since he ran. Where is he?” Brittany picks up her phone and calls Jacob to see if he’s heard any different.
“Brit what’s up? How’s the training going at the Met?”
“It’s ok Jake, listen have you heard anything from Sam?”
“Brit sweetheart give it up. He’s probably lying drunk in a ditch somewhere!”
“Jake don’t say things like that he’s going to be fine. You and I both know he wasn’t himself recently!”
“Yeah well I honestly couldn’t care less anymore Brit. He brought it all on himself. If I hear anything I’ll let you know though ok?”
“Thanks Jake!” She hangs up the phone wondering what to wear tonight.