Читать книгу Sam is Dead - Hannah Kirkell - Страница 9

Chapter Four

Sam is dead.

The moment I allow myself to be happy, that fact—a fact colder and crueler than death itself—reminds me why I cannot be.

Sam is dead, and if I am the only one mourning him, then I will mourn him enough for everyone.

I miss Sam.

This is the first time I have allowed myself to think that. I wish it wasn’t so. I wish I was just like everyone else in the town, content to hate a man, a murderer, that they did not know. I wish Sam didn’t intrigue me after our first three encounters. Maybe then I would be free of the terrible guilt that crushes me when I try to slip into sleep’s release.

God, I wish I could sleep.

But Sam continues to find his way into my dreams. At first, I slept so that I could see Sam. Now, I stay awake so that I cannot. Every time I dream of him or hear his name, I feel a seed of guilt panic in my stomach.

Sam is dead. He has been for three months as of today, and I still cannot come to terms with it.

*****

After our last encounter, I didn’t see Sam for a few weeks. I tried to tell myself I wasn’t looking for him, but as I’ve never been in the business of lying to myself, I couldn’t.

Sam was the most interesting person I’d ever seen or heard of. His complexity rivaled that of a fictional character. Before, I did not know that humans could be so complex.

It was a cold day in February when I decided to walk to the library in hopes of finding a new book to read. When I found one that piqued my interest, I settled down onto the uncomfortable couch to see how it read.

It had a slow beginning, but it was starting to get interesting when a shadow crossed my page. I glanced up and flinched in surprise when I met Sam’s gaze.

“What the hell? Say something next time!” I yelped, much to the chagrin of the librarians who proceeded to shush me.

Sam laughed quietly, and I realized that it was the first time I’d heard him really laugh. For such a scary man, he had a nice laugh.

“Lighten up, kid. Where’s the fun in that?”

I shook my head. “I don’t like people sneaking up on me.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”

I set my jaw and did my best to stare him down. “Oh.”

He nodded in what I hoped was understanding. “So what are you reading?” he asked, seemingly anxious to change the subject.

I flashed him the cover, not trying to hide the annoyance at being disturbed. His eyes lit up.

“Catch-22?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like it?”

I sighed.

“Well, I don’t know. See, someone named Sam keeps interrupting me while I’m trying to read it,” I snapped.

To my surprise, he laughed. “All right, kid, point taken. Calm down. I’m just trying to make some conversation.”

I put down my book, exasperated. “Why me?”

He made direct eye contact with me. “Because you seem to be the only person in this goddamn town who doesn’t hate me for one reason or another.”

I blinked, and in my hesitation, Sam managed a weak smile, and all but ran from the room.

*****

To this day, I haven’t been able to finish the book. Every time I see the cover, I remember Sam’s failed attempt at concealing the pain in his voice. As tough as he was, I know it got to him just how alone he was.

If I could go back and say something, anything to make him turn around again to stay, I would. I wish I’d been able to find the right words to tell Sam that I didn’t hate him, and that I found him to be kind at times—albeit difficult to get along with.

But I cannot turn back the years, and I can never tell Sam what I wish I’d said three years ago.

Because Sam is dead.