2.9 Samantha

I can't remember falling asleep, though I was rudely awoken to the sound of the telephone. It had a terribly high tone, one which would bother anyone. I looked around to see where I was. There were empty bottles on the floor, a couch, and a TV in the corner. I was in the living room. I slowly made my way to the phone and waited for a response on the other end. There was silence for a moment.

“Is this Tom?”

The voice sounded familiar though I couldn’t attach a name to the voice.

“It’s Samantha.”

Samantha, Samantha …

“Extraterrestrial Studies?”

I remembered now, come to think of it I had completely forgotten about the university student and the eccentric course she had chosen. There were other more important things to think about.

“I just thought I’d ring you to see how you were.”

I didn’t reply, maybe I should have asked her how she had gotten my number but I didn’t think of it at the time.

“Not great,” I said. “Been driving for hours.”

Bang! Bang! I heard a heavy banging it was coming from the front door.

“Just one second.” I said and then turned to the door first checking through the peephole who was on the other end. A man wearing a dark navy jacket stood on the other side – it was only the postman.

I opened the door and found the postman handing me a brown package.

“You are Mr. Caldwell ?

“Yes,” I replied. I took the package off him, closed the door, and threw the package on the coffee table.

I was back at the phone

“Sorry about…so you were saying?”

It was silent on the other end, only a little crackle could be heard which was followed by a mumble of a voice or two and then Samantha said, “Do you have the book?”

“What book?” I questioned her something wasn’t right.

“I don’t know what book you are talking about.”

The dial tone went dead, and I left standing, questioning the strange question. There was a book and for some reason she was interested in it.

I stood for a while and then turned my attention to the package I had tossed on the empty couch. After examining the date and realising it must of got lost on the way I unwrapped it.

In my hands was a stack of papers the first page entitled. “Essential Things About Life,” and then next to it in poor writing was – working title. I flicked through the pages there was what looked like a complete history of sheep, purposes, function and duality, but then turning to the first page I realised there was a name just under the title – Charles Neville – the publication that dad had recently purchased for a ludicrous amount.

I sat lost somewhere thinking about such a manuscript, dad must have mailed it, though there was nothing to link him to it, no return address, no connection. Then there was Samantha’s request for the book, perhaps someone had gotten to her, her voice sounded oddly shaky. Whatever was going I was holding the book my father purchased, unless there was another copy but I was sure there was only one.

I flicked through the TV nothing on as usual, I found myself dozing off and suddenly been woken up by the ringing of the phone. I stumbled and then tripped half the way flying towards the phone.

“Hi it’s Samantha again; sorry I couldn’t really talk before.”

I grunted.

“Meet me at four at Smiths, I’ll be by the cafeteria, and bring the book.”

The phone went dead. What was the need for such secrecy?

And what was the book it couldn’t possibly be the book my dad had bought.

I thought for a second, thought why my apartment had not been searched, if indeed I had assaulted a cop. What was the reason for such a strange request, what was Samantha up to?

I checked my watch ten to four, that didn't leave for much time, on foot Smiths was about eight minutes away and that was by walking briskly, I ran into my room pulled a backpack from under the bed threw the manuscript in my bag and then slid my feet into a pair of white trainers.

Maybe meeting Samantha would answer some of my questions. I was about to find out.