Night (chapter two)

She had only just sat down her things when he knocked on the door. Over and over. He was going to drive her insane. She begrudgingly unlocked it, and Sam promptly let himself in.
“Why are you like this?” she asked as he crossed over to her fridge and helped himself to her leftover pasta. He shrugged and plopped himself down, pulling out the library book and staring at it.
“Why this one, Lena?” he asked with a full mouth. The wind answered him, howling outside like it only wanted to be included in the conversation. A heavy sigh rang through the room as she sat next to him.
“It's going to storm, sam. You should leave,” she whispered. It had been a long day and she was in no mood to describe what was currently lurking in her mind.
Her gaze was stuck on the small window that sat above the sink. She hated storms, almost more than she hated that Sam was eating all of the spaghetti that she had been looking forward to. Tearing herself away from the dreadful darkness outside, she took the bowl from him.
He didn't seem to care anymore. He was too busy tracing the outlines of her doodle that had covered her least favorite chapter. She never liked to read about beasts, books were meant as an escape, not a reminder. Most of the time, anyway, of course, because there were some exceptions.
“Lenaaaaa,” Sam cooed, holding onto the last letter like his life depended on it.
“Are you ignoring me on purpose, or…?” he trailed off, looking at her expectantly.
“Yep. Now, please Sam, leave. I have an essay to write,” she pleaded.
“That school is going to kill you. Especially if you aren't sleeping, and with the funeral-”
He was cut off, much to her relief, by her ringing phone. Unfortunately, Sam beat her to picking it up. He shook his head.
“This guy? he's not-”
She took her phone from him, answering it faster than she could think. Unlike with Sam, she actually wanted to talk to Mac. Mac and Falena had been flirting for what seemed like an eternity until two weeks ago when he had finally asked her out. Sam objected from the moment he met Mac, claiming he had a bad feeling. That was his job as an overprotective friend bound by guilt though, annoying as it was. She would ignore him, however, because he was wrong.
Sam sighed, shoulders slumped. He watched her walk around the room, she could feel his eyes. Mac had called to tell her why he had to bail on their date they were meant to have for lunch the next day. Something about his brother. She wanted to listen, but his words went past her brain.
After maybe ten minutes on the phone, the line went dead. Mac never charged his phone, so she figured it had died. She sat next to Sam again, eyes locked on the book in his hands.
“Wait- did you steal that?” she stared daggers at him.
“The librarian is going to be pissed, you have, like, fifty stolen books,”
“Nah, Miss Lauren is a sweetheart. I would never get in trouble with her.” he said with full confidence.
“Because she doesn't know?” she guessed, not sparing any ounce of annoyance that might have lurked in the statement. He nodded, in time with a clap of thunder. She flinched. His face fell, and she prayed he wouldn't ask her if she was ok. But of course, he would. He always did. She waited, but it didn't come. They sat in the sound of the rain against the walls of the archaic apartment building. He bounced his leg like the conversation was bursting from him.
“...it's family dinner night. You should come,” he said finally.
“It’s nine o’clock, Sam. And your sister doesn't like me. I'll just eat spaghetti, ”
“By yourself, in a dark, almost empty apartment,” he chuckled to himself before patting her shoulder and gathering his bag, taking the book with him. He paused at the door and turned back to face her.
“If you need us…we’re there for you, ok? I know you miss them,”
He didn't have to add the last part. He didn't need to say it.
“Bye, Sam.”
Her words were laced with grief and anger and guilt and utter loneliness. She wanted so badly to just be home again. She did miss them, her mother, and more so, her sister. They were both gone now though, so it didn't matter.
The storm had picked up, just after Sam had left, leaving her alone in sound she so desperately tried to cover with the television. She hated most shows, so she just flipped through channels. She tried to call Mac but he didn't answer. She called her sister, too, out of habit. She would feel dumb for that forever, especially when the sight of the corpse was so burnt into her brain. Still, she let it ring. And ring. And ring. Until somebody answered.
Somebody answered?
“Hello?” the crackly voice on the other end asked, a man, from the sound of it. She set her phone down on the coffee table in front of her. This surely wasn't real. sucking in a deep breath, she picked it back up.
“Who the hell are you?”