Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Someone's going to pay for this
Samantha Haskins turned out all right. When I first met her, she was a teenager who'd run away from home and was living on the street, hooking up with the wrong guy. She had her body stolen, her mind trapped inside a comatose man for almost a year, but give her credit - where finding out that some three other people had been using her body during that time would have broken some people, Sam took it as a wake-up call, both in terms of how there's bigger things going on than one's own personal problems and not to waste your life being miserable, because someone else can waste it for you.
I like her. We don't always see eye to eye, but I admire the heck out of her. She's making something of her life and the assholes who are behind all the mind-switching stuff should leave her the hell alone, especially when she's done nothing worse than become friends with Amy.
They'd become friendly enough that they decided to stick together as roommates past the summer. Sam and her friends had found a place in Allston, on the B Line, and it turned out that they had room for one more, which worked out fairly well; Amy could take the 66 bus to Harvard on the days when walking wasn't an option. It's kind of close to where Michelle lived when I woke up with her body, although I haven't actually seen the place yet; Sam's friends had rented a van for Moving Day, so Kate and I were free to visit her folks on the Cape rather than help move.
Anyway, the group of them went out for dinner last night when Sam's parents called, saying there was a hitch with one of the financial aid documents, and rather than put it off, Sam went back to the apartment to find what they needed.
Only when she got there, she wasn't alone; some guy was going through their still-packed boxes. She said it was like he had a degree in it - there was a pile of boxes that had presumably already been searched, and right next to it he was going through another quickly. He must not have heard Sam come in, but he did hear when she pulled out her phone to dial 911. He ran out quickly, but Sam was blocking her way, and he shoved her aside hard enough for her to break her arm on the radiator.
It's just a hairline fracture, but as you might imagine, Sam and Amy are livid. Amy called me from the hospital, and Gertie and I were just barely able to talk her out of buying a gun. Gertie pointed out the statistics on how they're more likely to injure their owners than do any good, but Amy said that wouldn't be a problem - she knew how to handle one. She wasn't sure how, but she'd found herself snickering at how someone on the cop show on the waiting-room TV was handling theirs.
Whoever did this, she said, was making a big mistake. She might not be remembering more than bits and pieces, but she was pretty sure that those bits were adding up to someone you did not want to fuck with.