The Story of Samo: Flashback Story Three
Samo looked around the shop nervously. It was late, so Gianan would be in bed by now, if he wasn’t staying up waiting for him, that is. For most normal people, it was hours past when he should have gone to bed. For a young man of eighteen, it was horrendous. The worst part was the reason he was late. Coming in from walking the streets with his friends in the middle of the night would have gotten him scrubbing the floors of the garage for a week. He hated that job. Praying that the creak of the door would not be heard, he slunk through the garage. Everything was neatly put away, safe where it was. There was nothing he could knock over in the dark and make such a racket that he woke Gianan and revealed his tardiness. Not like the last time. Even the remnants of the engine Kiara accidentally blew up were put away.
He approached the stairs to his upper room and stopped at Gianan’s door. It was open, and he stopped to see if he could hear anything. No snoring. Gianan did not snore that often, so no big deal. He wasn’t coming out to scold him for being so late. At least that was good. Samo set his hand on the railing and stepped on the wood board. He cringed as it creaked loudly. Pausing, he set more weight on it and moved to the next step. With each board, the creaks and groans seemed to get louder. He walked, holding his breath and hoping that he would not be heard. When he reached the landing at the top, he breathed a sigh of relief. It never creaked up here, and he was about to be free and clear. Just then, he heard a noise.
The sound of shuffling feet came from Gianan’s room. Samo stood still at his door. His hand was on the latch as he turned his head to see a form, tall and male walking toward the door of the garage. He whispered, “Master Gianan?” The form turned to him and looked up. Samo couldn’t see his face, but he could see the man resembled Gianan in form, tall and somewhat muscular. Of course, just about everyone seemed tall and muscular to Samo. He started down the steps and said, “Master Gianan, I-”
When the man put his finger to his lips, Samo stopped. The man looked at him again. He said, “Master Gianan? Is that you?” He started down the stairs again as the man turned and walked to the door. He shouted, “Who are you?” He raced down the stairs and jumped over the railing when he was still six steps from the bottom. Grabbing a heavy wrench, he chased after the man, who ran out of the garage. “Stop!” he shouted. “What are you doing?” When the stranger had fled, he turned back to the garage with a sick feeling in his stomach. He whispered, “No.”
Dropping the wrench on the ground, he ran into Gianan’s room and found him lying on his bed. He rushed over to see his master laying there with his hands at his sides and still dressed in his work clothing. He sometimes fell asleep in his clothes, but this was different. This was so very wrong. He wasn’t breathing. “Master Gianan?” Samo crept closer to him and set his hand on the man’s chest to feel for movement, for anything. There was no breath coming through his lungs. As he teared up, he set his ear to Gianan’s chest. His heart had stopped beating. Samo screamed.
He dropped to the floor and crawled away, still screaming. He wasn’t sure when his screams of terror and distress turned into screams of “Murder! Help! Murder!” He did know that, by the time he ran out into the street, he was screaming those words repeatedly. Soon, his neighbors were looking out their windows and some were coming out to see what they could do. Before long, police officers had arrived and were trying to calm him down. He had lost all recognition of what was going on. Soon, a young officer with mutton chops was wrestling him to the ground and prying a wrench from his hands. He didn’t know when he had picked up the wrench. Before he knew it, more officers were arriving and he was tied up against the wall of the garage. Tarat, his friend—was he?—was standing by, arguing with the officer who had tied him up.
When they took Gianan’s body away on a stretcher, Samo began screaming again. He tried to get up, but the ropes around his wrists cut into him, and he fell again. He curled his knees to his chest and bucked, trying to get out of the ropes. Tarat pushed the other officer out of the way and knelt down to him. He help him to sit up and yelled, “Samo! Samo, it’s Tarat. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”
For the rest of the night, Samo sat there, waiting to be let go. When the police questioned him, they believed his story for the most part. Of course they would, it was true. Finally, Tarat untied his wrists and took him to his own apartment. Samo woke the next morning to find everything had changed. Gianan was dead. It would never be the same again. He just didn’t know how.
