Sam's Way Forward – Page 1

APLC – P4
February Blog – Short Story
March 2022

“Sam's Way Forward”

DARUR – apqustion3.weebly.com

The article in the paper had brought it all back, the past rushing into his
mind as if it were just yesterday, instead of a whole two and a half score ago. He
can still remember the smell of the wood smoke, the dancing flames licking the
logs, and the cool night air. The camp counselor for Camp Turn Around was an
ex-convict turned youth minister who went by the name of Steve and had almost
more ink than skin. He ran the Shenandoah wildness camp for troubled youth six
months out of the year in attempt to make troubled boys stick to the “straight
and narrow”. On the last night of camp, Steve decided a cleansing exercise was
in order, that they all needed to let go of their troubled pasts. Most of the boys
had been in and out of juvie for shoplifting, drug use, and/or violence. Steve had
said to write our confessions on a note, seal it in a bottle, and release it into the
Shenandoah River as a form of catharsis or something. Maybe if he had known
just what I had to confess to, he might not have suggested the exercise.

Present Day
Charlie nearly choked on his chef's egg white omelet when the article in the
New York Times caught his eye, the title loudly proclaiming, “Message in a Bottle
Confesses to Fifty Year Old Murder”. Apparently, some teenagers found his note
off the coast of St. Simon's Island, Georgia.

Ryan and Zack Thompson were vacationing with their family on St. Simon's Island,
Georgia over the Memorial Day weekend. At the bright, young age of 20 and 22, they were

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a little bored with sleepy St. Simon's so they went kayaking. Imagine their excitement at
finding a floating bottle with a message inside. After carefully removing and unrolling the
fragile note, they were shocked to see the words, “We killed Sam”, dated August 15, 1972. In
statement to our journalists, the boys noted they would have written it off as a prank except
for the obviously vintage bottle that contained the note. They immediately recognized the
vintage from the boys' mother's studies as an avid collector of old glassware, an amber
colored glass syrup bottle. The 1970's shape of the Mrs. Butterworth bottle was
unmistakable. The Thompson's delivered the bottle to the local police who quickly turned it
over to the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. The GBI was able to trace the paper used to
write the message to a camp in Virginia, operated between 1968 and 1978. The GBI is
working with The Virginia Bureau of Criminal Investigation.

–––
Realizing his special low fat, high protein breakfast has gone cold, Charlie
pondered the article. So had his perfect latte made from freshly roasted and
ground Colombian beans. Surveying the plush, comfortable, custom made
furnishings, as if seeing them for the first time, he starts to worry that the years
has so carefully put between his old, delinquent, teenage self and his new,
educated, successful self are falling away, as he realizes how much he has to
lose; his company, his lifestyle, his appearance of integrity. Everything.

–––

Of course, the “accident” should never have happened. Johnny and I had
been in and out of foster homes all our lives. We knew how the social order
worked. At 14 we understood we would get adopted, and most of the younger
kids knew we were at the top of the pecking order. They didn't mess with us or
get in our way. Until Sam showed up. Sam was small for twelve and was new to
the foster care system, both parents having been recently killed in a traumatic

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car crash. He was suddenly all alone in the world and looking for a new “family”.
He thought John and I would be the best two older brothers he had never had.
Well, lets just say we were not having any part of it. The more Sam tried to hang
out with us, the more we tried to ditch him. And the worse we treated him, the
more tenaciously he pursued us. He even tried to follow us when we sneaked out
to hike in the woods at night. Finally, John decided we would teach Sam a lesson.
We told him to meet us at 10:00 pm sharp and we would let him go with us on
our nighttime excursion. He was so ecstatic to finely be included he didn't
hesitate when we told him his payment would be to bring along stolen snacks
from the food pantry. It has been so many years since I allowed myself to
remember the details of that fateful September night back in 1971. I always
thought that some things are just better off not remembered. Reading that
article in the paper makes in seems like no time at all has passed. I recall
grabbing the flashlight and my favorite sweatshirt, wondering if Sam would
actually show up. I wish he hadn't. Quietly I crept outside, careful not to let the
screen door slam shut. Our plan had been to lead Sam into the woods for a few
miles and leave him out there alone in the dark. I assumed we would go back
and get him the next morning but we never got the chance. I still remember how
he tried to follow us back but we were too strong and quick, as we knew the way
in the dark. Sam did not. We heard him calling to us at first and them
desperately calling out as we got farther and farther away, until the only sound
we heard was our own breathing and the suppressed sounds of our sneakers
hitting the damp pine straw.
The next morning the foster parents grew concerned when Sam didn't show
up for breakfast and a quick look in his room revealed he had not slept in his bed.
By mid morning, Mr. and Mrs. Scott had called the police and by 2 PM they had
located Sam's body at the bottom of a ravine, several miles in the wrong direction
from where we had left him. The poor kid must have tried to hike his way out,

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gotten turned around and fell into the ravine in the dark. Everyone assumed Sam
had been trying to run away and Johnny and I certainly didn't offer any other
explanation. We were lucky because no one had seen or heard the three of us
leave the house together the night before. I say we were lucky but the guilt
about what we had done manifested itself in ways we really couldn't have
imagined back when we were young, myself being barely 14. Johnny started
drinking and using drugs to escape his nightmares and ended up of dying of liver
problems at age 38. As for me, I've been very successful in my profession life
but close friendships have alluded me. I never wanted anyone to know me well
enough to have any need to know my past. God forbid they learn enough to start
asking questions about things that I would prefer left forgotten.

I just realized I've been alternately pacing around my pent house

apartment and staring out at the view without really seeing it. What should I do
now after being confronted with my crime again after all these years? I don't
really think anyone will actually reopen Sam's case. The police didn't question
any of us back then. Why would they now? Sam's death was ruled an accident
and I'm the only person left alive who knows of my involvement. A confession
from me now would not bring Sam back. I would lose my customers and
stockholders after working so hard to turn my life around. Sam's death was
actually the wake up call that got me back on track. Maybe finding my message
in the bottle at age 65 when I'm ready to retire is a sign it's time to give back,
although I doubt be penance will ever be complete. Time to close one chapter
and open another. I don't have any children of my own so I'll use my
accumulated wealth and contacts to start my own program to reach troubled
youth. I'll call it Sam's Journey Forward.

DARUR – apqustion3.weebly.com