What Nobody Else Sees

chapter five

The plan made him nervous. Not in the sense that it wouldn't work, because he knew it would. No, the fact that Callie had created it was what put him on edge. Sweet, innocent little Callie had created the perfect story to cover up her husband's death. Sam had read through it a number of times, looking from any loopholes that Callie couldn't make up an easy lie for. He found none.

He wasn't about to give Callie a second glance. It may have been a little suspicious, but could Sam blame her? He noticed the cuts and bruises, the way she jumped when he raised his voice, how Max seemed on edge at every little noise. It was just...a little disturbing at how easily the lies came to her. It had taken Sam years to not get sick after he came up with a story, not to mention how long it took him to come up with the stories. Callie had accomplished it in a little over an hour, and then proceeded to eat an entire McDonald's order and some of his.

Sure, Callie was smart. Everyone knew that. But this wasn't just smart-this was deception. This was lying. This was getting away with murder.

So how long had Callie really been planning this out?

Sam shook his head, sinking further into the wooden chair in the guest bedroom. He glanced around, taking in the pastel yellow walls and black and white artwork hanging above the bed. They had probably come from a yard sale. Going to yard sales was his mom's favorite hobby. It felt like everything Sam owned growing up had come from some yard sale or another. The longer he looked at the pictures, the more irritated he got. There was just something so...infuriating in never having something that was yours, really yours. Sam knew from a young age that his family was poor. He didn't complain about it, because complaining didn't fix anything. There were times that he just wanted to rip off his hand-me-down shirt and demand that his parents go to a clothing store and buy him a brand-new shirt.

Sighing deeply, Sam carefully removed the pictures from the wall and slid them under the bed. The last thing he wanted to see when he got back was those damn pictures.

He strolled to the back door, trying to appear as confident and relaxed as possible. "I'm going out. Be back in a little bit."

"Wait, where are you going?"

He stopped in the doorway, turning to find Callie staring at him from across the living room. She stared through wide eyes, trembling from head to toe. Pressing his fingers to his temple, he let out a deep sigh. Snapping at her wouldn't help, especially considering that she had a right to ask the question. Sam was irritated, but not at her.

"I want to go make sure that your gun ended up far away from here. I won't be gone long." He hesitated, suddenly afraid of opening the door. "You'll be alright without me?"

When Callie looked at him like, desperate and terrified, it made him want to never leave her side. It was exactly how she had looked when he showed up.

"I'll be alright without you." her voice was a faint whisper, as though a ghost had said it. Given how pale Callie was looking, she could've passed for one.

He tried to smile at her. "Everything will be fine, Cal."

As he stepped into the sun, he could hear the ghost repeat, "Everything will be fine."

Sam got bored easily. He guessed being the driver in a two hour car ride was better than being the passenger, because he at least got to focus on the road and traffic. There was more than enough for him to think about, though, most of it related to the well-being of his sister. Unlike Callie, he wasn't too concerned about being caught. It was his job to destroy evidence, and he wouldn't be alive if he wasn't good at it. None of the gang was ever caught because of Sam. It was always confessions and not being fast enough, throwing others under the bus and a million other things. But as long as Sam was in charge of the evidence, they wouldn't go to prison for that.

But this wasn't city crime, which was somehow worse. Small town crime just felt...Well, it made Sam feel. Maybe it was because you knew the victims, or at least the victim's family. Maybe it was because you witnessed the ripple that passed over the town, the sudden spike in fear. Maybe it was just because it was a disruption in the usual calm. Callie hated every single one of those things. Being the cause of the new chaos couldn't have been good for her.

Groaning, he realized that it would just be cruel of him to leave her again. He would have to stay in Key Creek at least until Monday, and even that might not be enough. Jackson and others could get by without him for a while, right? They had done it before he came along.

Jackson, the leader of their little group, was definitely the most terrifying person Sam had ever met. One person shouldn't make an entire city of criminals scared for their lives, but Jackson did it. When they first met, Sam knew that he wasn't to be trusted, but it wasn't until they walked into a bar together did he realize how much damage the man had done. People either rushed to Jackson's side, giving cries of praise, or they simply ducked their heads. Even the bartender seemed skittish. But there was a catch, something that Sam didn't quite mind.

As long as Sam was at Jackson's side, no one dared touch him.

He had never been respected like that before. It kept Sam around. Well, that and the fear of what would happen if he left.

Of course, he wouldn't admit that to Callie. Sam wasn't supposed to be scared.

He hated Key Creek more than anything, because he hated what it did to him. It made him soft and scared and feeling. There was his childhood and family and grief. If he could leave town without having dealt with the loss of his best friend, then that would be a win.

He parked the truck near a payphone, putting in Jackson's number easily.

"Hello?" came the gruff voice, thick with irritation and liquor.

"Hey, Jackson, it's Sam. Just wanted to let you know I'm out of town for a few days," he said, leaning back.

There was a pause on the other end. Sam kept quiet.

"Where are you? You alright?"

It was nice to be protected.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright, thanks. Family emergency. If you need me, you can send a message with Dylan," he said, praying Jackson was too hungover to accuse him of disrespect.

Jackson sighed. "M'k. Call me when you get back, and it better be soon. I've got business coming up."

Sam nodded once. "Yes sir. I'll see you soon."

The line went dead.

Sam's shoulders slumped, head tipping back. Soon. How soon could him and Callie fix this?