What Nobody Else Sees

chapter ten

While Callie was at church, Sam took the time to wander around the house. It was pretty ordinary, kind of like their childhood home. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an attic. The house was familiar and foreign. In Memphis, Sam lived in a small apartment. At this point, he could've bought a slightly bigger one, but he didn't mind the size. After all, it was just him living there.

The guest bedroom was what Sam had claimed as "his". He had even put some of his clothes into the tall white dresser. Sure, the shaggy green carpet was enough to scare anyone away, but Sam decided to cut Callie some slack since the house was built in the sixties. Overall it was a nice enough room, if a little impersonal. Sam knew what that was like. His Memphis home gave no clue to where Sam came from, or the people he knew. No pictures, no newspaper clippings, nothing that could be traced back.

At the end of the narrow hallway was the master bedroom. Master bedrooms always made Sam nervous when he was cleaning up the gang's crime scenes. Sam was already invading privacy, obviously, but it felt like he was crossing a line. Even at Callie's house, he settled for standing in the open doorway, taking in the bedroom, from the wallpaper with roses at the top, to the neatly made bed. The same bed where he had found Callie screaming earlier in the morning. It sent shivers down Sam's spine, thinking of the way that she clutched her Bible and squeezed her eyes shut. Not only was it heartbreaking, it was morbid. Despite what Callie said, Sam knew she wasn't ok. Behind the carefully applied makeup and ironed dresses was a terrified, guilty girl. He knew better than anyone. He had killed the terrified, guilty boy inside of him. Shaking his head, he left the room.

Across from the guest room was a slightly larger room. Sam didn't know what he expected in there. In a corner of the room sat a tiny wooden desk, filled to the brim with large textbooks and various study materials. Sam squinted at it, walking closer. Why would Peter or Callie keep their high school textbooks?

Callie Hall

May 30th, 1986

Management 101 (Test Three)

A+

Sam blinked in surprise. Callie was in school? Realization dawned on him, recalling that no one on his mother's side of the family had gone to college. Callie would be the first.

His mother used to say that Donna would be the first, but they never had the money to send her anywhere. Donna hadn't cared much for school anyways. Sam was supposed to fill that hole. Were they disappointed when he left, crushing his mom's hopes? Sam always said that she was living through him, but he knew why. He knew that she was trying so hard to give her children a better life, to help them go farther. Now that Sam was older, he understood that.

He couldn't go to his parents' house. No way.

Sam left when he was nineteen. A stupid, angry, bored-out-of-his-mind kid. There was just so much that he couldn't handle, and then there was Blake's death

Just thinking of his best friend sent him down a rabbit hole of what-ifs and could-have-been scenarios. Ever since it happened, Sam had tried to block out those thoughts. There was no use in imagining a different ending, because the story was already over.

Sam left the room. "C'mon, pull yourself together. So what if Blake's dead and your parents are disappointed in you? Whatever. Callie is your one and only concern right now."

It wouldn't hurt to go to the cemetery one last time before leaving, right?

He walked into the kitchen, arms protectively crossed over his chest as though he could defend himself from those emotions. It almost made him wish that he was back in Memphis. In Memphis, these emotions couldn't touch him. He was much tougher, braver, uncaring. It never bothered him, until he was forced to face those thoughts. Grabbing a soda from the fridge, it was like the events of 1980 had come back to haunt him.