Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller by Mark White Page B

straight.’
    ‘What about Max? Does
he know?’
    ‘No. Sarah’s going to
tell him that I’ve had to come up here for a few days to see you. She’ll
probably pretend that you’re unwell or something.’
    ‘Great! Blame it all on
a sick old woman. Still, probably for the best.’
    ‘He can’t know the
truth. Not yet, anyway.’
    ‘You stay here as long
as you want. Think about what you’re going to do. I’m afraid I can’t help you
with that, but what I will say is that she doesn’t deserve you. I know I’m your
mother, but she’s cheated on you for four years. That’s a lot of dishonesty. If
she can do that to you, then what else is she capable of?’
    ‘Mum…’
    ‘I’m just saying, okay?
You’re my son, Sam. You deserve better than that, especially after everything
you’ve been through. Everything we’ve been through. Now,’ she said,
taking his empty cup from him and rising to her feet. ‘How about a refill? And
something to eat? You must be starving.’
    ‘What’s that?’ he said,
his thoughts elsewhere.
    ‘I asked, cloth-ears, if
you would like me to fix you something to eat.’
    ‘Sorry, I was miles
away. That’d be great, thanks.’
    Janice smiled at him
and walked away. It wasn’t until she reached the kitchen that she finally
allowed herself a few tears. She placed his empty cup on the table and covered
her face with her hands, trying to muffle her sobs. She knew how hard this was
going to hit him. Right now he seemed to be dealing with it well enough, but
knowing her son as she did, she knew that it was only a matter of time before it
really hit home. She would need to be there for him; he wasn’t strong enough to
handle this alone. After everything that poor boy had been through, to leave
him alone would be the end of him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
     
    Sam
rose at 5.00am the following morning having barely slept a wink, his head throbbing
as he searched for his slippers. He’d tossed and turned all night, his mind
working overtime to make sense of yesterday’s events. He was a worrier at the
best of times, but this particular problem was driving him insane. He still
couldn’t decide what to do; it was as if there was an invisible line dividing
him into two equal parts. One part desperately wanted to forgive Sarah and
start afresh, the other part ordered him to hold firm and stand his ground…let
the unfaithful bitch squirm for a while. He knew it was too soon to make an informed
choice. Everything was still so raw.
    Not wishing to disturb
his mother, he crept down the hallway and descended the stairs to the kitchen,
closing the door behind him and switching on the light. His eyes immediately
found what they were looking for. His mother’s handbag. He began rummaging
around inside, relieved as his fingers found the box of Paracetamol that his
head so desperately craved. Liberating two capsules from their protective
packaging, he walked to the sink and half-filled a cup with water, gulping down
the capsules with the desperation of an addict. He had a feeling today was
going to be tough.
    With no appetite, he
decided to take a walk, hoping the fresh air would help clear his head. There
was nothing else to do: the shelves supporting his mother’s Catherine Cookson
novels held little appeal, and he couldn’t risk waking her by turning on the TV
or radio. He pulled on his coat and boots and headed out into the morning air.
    The potholed streets of
his hometown were dark and deserted; the Local Authority refusing to switch on
all of the streetlights due to budget constraints. Anyone visiting Cranston for
the first time would have struggled to find their bearings, (not that anyone in
their right mind would actually choose to visit Cranston), but Sam knew
the town like the back of his hand. Born in nearby Stepley Hill Hospital, he’d
spent his entire childhood here. He’d moved house only once - after the
incident - to a run-down terrace on the other side of town, where, unlike most
of his