More Than Life Itself Read Free Page A

parcel wrapped in a stained cloth and tied with what appeared to be twine. He offered it to Sam.
    Whatever it was, the sight of it made him instantly nauseous, as if his body knew something he intellectually did not. He stumbled back another step and made no move to accept what was offered.
    "What's this?" the stranger asked, surprised. "Don't you want to save your little girl?"
    Despite a growing sense of fear, Sam croaked out another response. "I don't need your help."
    The other laughed. "Of course you do, you just don't know it yet." He slipped the package back out of sight. "When baby Jessica starts screaming in pain as her internal organs slowly rot away, you'll realise the truth. Of course, by then, I might not be so inclined to help."
    A grinning leer crept over his features, and the sight of it was enough to jar Sam out of his peculiar daze. This close, the stink of the man's unwashed body filled his nostrils, reminding him whom he was talking to, and the rational part of Sam reacted to the mention of his daughter's fate with anger.
    He surged forward, closing the gap between them, and grabbed the man's clothing in both hands. Hauling him close, Sam said, "I don't know who the hell you are, but you'd better leave my daughter alone. If I catch you anywhere near us or the hospital, I'll …"
    He never got any further. The world around him seemed to shimmer, as if a giant wave had suddenly washed through reality. The sensation was overwhelming, and he dropped the other man out of reflex as he sought to keep his balance. His vision swam, then stabilised. When he could see again he looked down to find the homeless man on the ground at his feet.
    Gone were the empty eye sockets, the leering, demeaning grin. Gone were the mocking voice and the hint of powers beyond the norm. In their place was a simple street bum, cloaked in ragged clothing and weeks of grime. Light blue eyes the colour of a robin's eggs stared at him out of a face streaked with dirt, framed by long locks of hair that hadn't seen soap in months.
    "I don't want no trouble, man," he said to Sam, the fear in his eyes obvious. "I don't know who Jessica is, but I won't preach here no more if it upsets you so."
    Confused, ashamed, afraid that he might be cracking under the strain, Sam turned away without a word and continued on his way across the park.
    He moved quickly, doing what he could to leave the park, and his fear, behind as swiftly as possible.
    A few blocks later he found a street he recognised. Turning left, he travelled north until he returned to the hospital.
    He'd gone out for breakfast and had come back afraid he might be slowly going crazy.
    It didn't seem like a fair trade to him.
    He kept his hands in his pockets to keep them from shaking, just the same.

    ***
    That afternoon, Jessica took a turn for the worse. Her pain escalated, so much so that the doctors decided to put her out completely for the night to give her body a chance to rest and to try and fight back against the invader. With Jessica unconscious for the next ten to twelve hours, Sam used the opportunity to return home for the first time in several days, where he hoped to get a decent night's rest in order to recharge for the battle he knew lay ahead.
    But it was not to be. His thoughts would not shut down, his mind wrapping itself tighter and tighter as he sought some avenue that they could pursue, some as yet untried means of a cure, anything to keep his little girl alive.
    Unable to sleep, he rose from the bed and wandered through the darkened house, letting his familiarity and the light of the moon seeping through the windows guide him in his passage. He ran his fingers over the furniture and stared at the many photographs that decorated the walls. Here was the couch on which Jessica had been conceived one passionate summer night six years earlier. Here was the corner of the rug he'd taped down time and time again because she kept tripping over it. Here was the door jamb where