Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (104 page)

Shelley

Dedston, Today.

It's getting late, and I should be going back to the facility so I can see how Abby's doing. She's going through a lot, and she must have so many questions. Still, I guess I can always talk to her tomorrow, and right now she can spend some time with 'uncle' Todd. Tonight, I really need a drink, so I'm sitting here in a bar in downtown Dedston, staring into a pint of beer and drowning my sorrows. There's a part of me that wants to just get the hell out of this place and forget all about the past, but I know I have to stay. I have to help Abby, and I will. I promise. I'll start tomorrow.

"Why not today?" I imagine Sophie saying. All day, I've been having imaginary conversations with her in my head.

"She's fine," I imagine myself replying.

"She's not fine," she replies. "You can't trust those people. You've seen what they're doing to Patrick. They'll do the same thing to Abby."

"They won't," I imagine myself saying. "It's different. You know what Patrick's like. They can't trust him. You trusted him, and look how that worked out."

"Patrick would never hurt Abby," she continues. "He'd hurt everyone else, but never her."

"I'm not so sure," I reply. "Maybe Benjamin's right when he says that Patrick's out of control. Maybe Patrick's lost his mind." I sigh. "Maybe
I've
lost my mind. After all, you're not really here, are you? You're just part of my imagination."

Suddenly I smell something really foul, and I feel someone bump into my shoulder.

"Hey, good looking," says an old drunk guy. "You want some company?"

I shake my head.

He stares at me for a moment. "I remember you," he says eventually. "You used to hang out here as a kid."

"That's right," I say with a heavy heart.

"What was your name again? We used to call you Jackson."

"Lovely."

"You know why we called you that?" He laughs. "It was 'cause you'd do anything for a twenty dollar bill." He leans in closer, and I'm almost overcome by the stench of alcohol, cigarettes and body odor. "I don't suppose you're still in the same business, are you?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some notes. "I've got two tens."

"No thanks," I say, almost gagging as I get a whiff of his gross breath. "I've retired."

"Come on," he continues, clearly not getting the message. "One for the road?"

"Leave her alone," says another voice. A familiar voice. The drunk guy turns and shuffles away, and as I stare at my glass, I hear someone else sitting next to me. I turn and smile as I see Dave.

"Was that guy bothering you?" he asks.

"I didn't think you'd show up," I reply.

"Of course I showed up," he says. It's been sixteen years since the last time I saw him, and he's aged more than I expected. He looks like an old, tatty man now, with most of the hair gone from his head. He's only got a few teeth left and he looks ill, with several layers of bags under his eyes, and wrinkly, slightly yellow skin. I can't help wondering if he's got some form of liver disease. "I got your message," he continues. "Why wouldn't I come?"

"You want a drink?" I signal for the barman to bring us two more beers.

"So how've you been?" he says. "You look good."

"I'm fine," I say. "I mean, I've been in New York, sort of working in design and fashion. Nothing major, but enough to pay the rent." I smile. "It's pretty cool there, you know?"

He starts to laugh, but ends up coughing. "Actually, I
don't
know," he says eventually. "I've never fucking left Dedston in my life."

"Well there's your first mistake," I say as the beers are brought over. I hand the barman some cash. "You've got to get out and see the world, Dave. There's more to life than this stinking old place. Have you seriously just spent the last sixteen years hanging out in this shit-hole?"

He shrugs. "It's not so bad."

"You could have done more," I say. "What happened to that band you were in?"

"Too late now," he replies. "I'm an old man." He smiles, flashing me his gap-toothed grin. "I've got..." He pauses for a moment. "I've got lung cancer anyway, so I can't really go too far, you know?"

I take a sip of my beer, making sure to show no sign of emotion. "How long?" I ask.

"How long have I had it?" He smiles. "Found out about a year ago."

"And how long have you got left?"

"No idea. I take it as it comes. I was getting treatment, but I couldn't really afford the good stuff and it was just making me feel worse, so I decided to come off and let God decide my fate."

"Are you serious?" I ask, shocked that he's just sitting here, waiting to die. "How much is the treatment?"

"A lot more than my insurance could ever cover," he says. "Don't worry. I'm fine. I'm not scared. If this is how it's gonna be, then this is how it's gonna be. I don't wanna spend my last years hooked up to machines. I'd rather have a good final year, rather than five years of feeling like shit."

"But you've never -" I pause for a moment. The truth is, his life has been terrible. He's never left this crumby town, and he's never really done anything of note. When he dies, no-one's gonna really care too much and it'll be like he was never here. A whole life, lived in such a way as to make it completely pointless. "Fuck," I say under my breath. "You never even smoked."

He smiles, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. "I started after I was diagnosed. I figured, fuck it, I might as well have some fun, you know?"

I reach into my pocket and pull out my last packet. There's no way I can carry on smoking now, so I slide them over to him. "Enjoy," I say.

"You want to finish me off?" he asks as he takes them and puts them in his pocket. He smiles. "So why'd you stay away so long, Shelley? I kept thinking you'd show up, but you never did."

"I wanted to get away from Dedston," I tell him. "I didn't want to be around here."

"I figured," he says, taking a sip from his beer. "I heard about your friend Sophie. It was in the paper years ago. Did they ever catch the guy who killed her?"

"Not really," I say, figuring it'd be too complicated to explain the vampire nailed to a wall a few miles out of town.

"Fucking tragedy," he replies. "She was a nice girl. I remember when I used to see you and her playing in the park when you were kids. You were, like, best friends."

I smile, remembering what it was like when Sophie and I were children. We were inseparable, spending all day together. Later, there were times when we didn't see each other so much and we drifted apart, but in high school we came back together and we were a good fit. If she'd lived, we'd have been friends forever, I'm certain of that. We were a great team, and I miss her every single day.

"You got a man in your life?" he asks, interrupting my train of thought.

"No chance," I say with a smile. "I mean, there have been men, but nothing..." My voice trails off. "Nothing serious, you know?"

"Kids?"

I shake my head.

"Never wanted any?"

I take a deep breath. "Couldn't have them, actually," I say. Damn it, why am I telling him this stuff? I hate getting personal with people. "I got pregnant a few times," I continue, "but it always self-destructed. I had tests. The chances of me ever having kids are small. Something about a misaligned womb or some medical bullshit I didn't really understand." I think about Abby, and I realize it's probably a very good thing that I never managed to have children of my own. I'd be a terrible parent. Not as bad as Patrick, maybe, but still terrible. Sophie would have been a good mother if she'd lived, though. Damn it, she'd have been brilliant. "I've got to go," I say suddenly, realizing that I have to check on Abby. Besides, these friendly, heart-to-heart conversations have never really been my kind of thing, especially not with Dave.

"You off so soon?" he asks.

"Sorry," I say, standing up. I push my half-empty beer over to him. "I'm a busy girl these days, Dad. You can have the rest of this if you want."

He nods. "Got a hug for the old man before you go?"

I pause for a moment. I don't want to hug him. To be honest, he disgusts me and I'd rather not touch him at all, but I figure I owe him something, so I give him a quick hug.

"Look after yourself," he says.

"You too, Dad," I tell him.

I turn to walk away, but he grabs my arm. "You not gonna ask about your Mom?" he says.

I take a deep breath. "No," I reply, pulling my arm free.

"Your uncle Joseph died," he says.

I feel my chest tighten, as if someone just whacked me with a hammer. "Good," I say.

He smiles. "I figured you'd say that. Shelley -"

"Seeya around," I say, interrupting him. With that, I walk out of the bar, out into the cool night air. It's weird, but when I was a kid I felt like I belonged in seedy bars like this, and I thought I'd still feel at home here after all these years. But something's changed in me. Looking over at the curb, I imagine Sophie standing there.

"I need you to go and make sure Abby's okay," she says.

Without saying anything, I turn and starting walking back to the facility. I can't spend all my time wallowing in self-pity and avoiding responsibility. Abby needs me, and I have to make sure I'm there for her. It's what Sophie would have wanted, and there's no way I'm going to let her down.

Abigail

Dedston, Today.

Once I've gone to bed, I stay awake until well past midnight. The facility is mostly silent, except for the hum of the air conditioning system. There's another sound, though: off in the distance, there's the sound of Patrick's pain. I can't explain how I feel it, but it's in me and it's palpable. As I start drifting off to sleep, my mind is filled with another strange image: I'm standing in what looks to be an old hospital; it's late at night, and I get a sudden sensation of someone standing behind me; turning around, I see a man covered from head to toe in horrific burns. Sitting up, the image fades and I realize I'm still in bed, but I'm filled with a sense of Patrick's fear. I can't handle this any longer: I have to help him.

I get out of bed and step out into the corridor. There doesn't seem to be anyone about; I figure a place like this will have staff working around the clock, but the night crew is probably smaller so this is going to be my best - perhaps my only - shot at getting Patrick out of here. I still don't really have a plan, but I figure all I need to do is get that thing out of his chest; if I understand the situation correctly, he'll be able to start healing and hopefully he'll be strong enough to break free. I guess I'll need to barricade the door to the control room and hope that I can keep the others out until Patrick's strong enough. It's not the best plan in the world, but right now it's all I've got.

When I get through to the control room, I find that there's just one technician on duty. He looks over at me as I enter, but he doesn't immediately say anything. I wander over to the door that leads into Patrick's chamber. So far, this all seems kind of easy. Too easy, in fact, and I have a strange feeling that maybe I'm walking into some kind of trap. Still, I can't give up now.

"Can I go in?" I ask, turning to the technician.

"Sure," he replies. I guess he doesn't think I'm any kind of threat... or he's been told to let me in. I fumble for the light switch for a moment, before the bulb flickers on and I'm faced, once again, with Patrick hanging on the opposite wall. The huge spike is still piercing his chest, with blood still dripping down onto the floor. I feel a cold shiver run through my body as I see what they're doing to him. I don't care what he's done: no-one deserves to be continually tortured like this. It's inhumane.

"Hey," I say as I approach him. "It's me." I look up at his face, but this time he doesn't open his eyes. "I need your help," I tell him. "I want to get you out of here."

No response. My first thought is that maybe he's asleep, or that he's too weak to respond. Blood is slowly dripping from his ever-healing chest wound.

"I'm gonna find a way to move this machine," I say. "Just hold tight. If I can get it out of your chest, can you do the rest yourself?" I wait for an answer, but he doesn't say anything.

I walk over to the dome in the middle of the room, from which the spike is protruding. Glancing around, I don't see any cameras but I'm sure there must be a few. A place like this is probably heavily guarded, so I've probably only got one chance to free Patrick. The problem is, I have no idea where to start. With no other options, I decide to try using brute force to move the spike. I figure there's a chance that maybe I've got some new strength thanks to my vampire side, but unfortunately I can't get the machinery to budge. I guess I must take after my mother more, and my -

I wince as, suddenly, the second heartbeat returns. I can hear it, hammering in my head, as if Patrick's heart is calling out to me. I want to turn to him, to tell him to stop it, but I can't help wondering if this is his way of trying to help me. It's like we have some kind of connection, as if this is his only way of communicating with me. I hold my head in my hands, trying to force the sound to go away. It's so loud, I can't even think properly, and it's starting to hurt.

"You can't help him," says Benjamin.

I turn and see that he's standing in the doorway. Slowly, the second heartbeat starts to die away. "What do you mean?" I ask, trying to play innocent.

"Your father is here for a reason," he replies, stepping into the room. "Forgive me, but I knew you'd try to set him free. It's a perfectly natural response for a girl who has just met her birth father for the first time, especially if she's being nudged along. Believe me, if I didn't want you to get this far, you'd have been stopped before you even got out of your room." He pauses for a moment. "I must admit, though, I thought you'd have a better plan."

"You can't leave him like this," I say. "Look what you're doing to him!"

"And how would you rather see him?" he replies. "Tearing his way through the facility, killing everyone in his path? You look at him and you see a man, but he's really just a beast. When he's under pressure, his violent side emerges and people get hurt. Innocent people, sometimes. I'm sure that's not how you'd like to see your father, is it?"

"He's not a monster," I say. The truth, though, is that I have no direct experience of my father at all. I want him to not be a monster, but how do I know? He might be a horrific creature. Looking at the huge spike that pierces his chest, I find myself wondering whether I was naive to try to let him go. Maybe this is the best place for him, after all. Even Shelley, the only one of these people I actually trust, seems to be cautious around Patrick, as if she's scared of him.

"He's a killer," Benjamin continues. "I've lost track of the number of people who've died by his hand, including some of my own men. When he's backed into a corner, he lashes out."

"Then don't back him into a corner," I say.

"It's not as easy as that," he replies. "Patrick is volatile, and he makes bad decisions. He can't be trusted. Believe me, I've watched him closely for many years. I've seen the things he's done."

"Then why did you bring me here?" I ask. "Why did you bring me all the way to this town, just to coop me up underground, and then you introduce me to my father and tell me all I can do is look at him?"

"You're here because it's not safe for you to be anywhere else," he says. "You saw those Tenderlings at the diner. They were just the beginning. You have no idea of the creatures that will be looking for you. Creatures from your worst nightmares, roaming the streets because they want to sink their teeth into the daughter of the last vampire. I appreciate that this must be a frustrating experience, but please have a little patience. When the time is right, Patrick will be released and you'll be able to speak to him, to learn from him before it's too late." He pauses for a moment. "You must trust me, Abby. Even if you don't like me, even if you think I'm too harsh, you must trust me. Don't act entirely on instinct. I've got you this far, but your journey is far from over."

"Is that what Patrick would do?" I ask. "Act on instinct?"

"You're not like him," he says. "You have a human mother. It makes you different."

I stare at him. I want to believe him, and I want to trust him, but there's something not right about Benjamin; I just have this feeling that I need to be careful around him. Deep inside, I can feel that second heartbeat again; it's dull this time, but it's definitely there, as if Patrick is transmitting it to me. "Who put you in control?" I ask eventually. "Who let you choose what happens to people?"

"For better or worse," he continues, "I'm in charge of the Watchers. I make decisions based on information and experience, not based on emotion or on what I'd like to happen. If Patrick were set loose right now, there would be chaos. He's your father, but you don't know everything about him. Please, be logical about this."

"He's in pain," I say.

He shakes his head. "As far as our scans show, he's unconscious and he doesn't feel -"

"He's in pain," I say firmly. "Trust me. I can feel it. I can hear it. He's in agony up there and it's not right. You might be able to persuade the others that this is justified, but..." I sigh, realizing that there's no way I can win this argument. Benjamin has all the power, and as far as he's concerned I'm just a helpless teenage girl. I might not like what's happening here, but I can't do a damn thing to stop it. I wish Shelley was around, so I could talk to her. She seems different to the others, and she's the only one who might know what to do.

"I understand your concern," Benjamin says, "but please recognize that the Watchers have far more experience when it comes to these things. You must trust us." He walks over to Patrick and looks up at his face. "I've spent almost my entire life watching him. Studying him. I know so much about him. Sometimes, I feel as if I can even hear his thoughts." He turns to me. "Now that he has chosen to die, I have to make sure that he's kept under control, but I promise you that his death will not be painful, nor will it be in vain. You'll have the contact with him that you crave, but not yet. He must sleep like this, just a little longer."

"What if he's
not
asleep?" I reply.

"He is," Benjamin says. "Our scans prove it, and I can sense it." Smiling, he walks to the corner and grabs a set of steps, dragging them back over to Patrick. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a syringe; removing the cap, he climbs the steps. "Trust in my experience."

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Taking a blood sample," he replies. I watch as he sticks the needle into the side of Patrick's neck. He slowly pulls the plunger back, and the syringe fills with blood. "We have to monitor him closely," he explains as he removes the needle and replaces the cap, before climbing back down the steps. "Vampires aren't myths. They're not ghosts or fairytale characters. They're flesh and blood, and there's a science behind them. If you cut him open, you can see how he works. We're slowly starting to understand that science. Patrick is the first vampire we've ever been able to study so closely. You have no idea how our understanding of his species is advancing every day."

I swallow hard. It's not difficult to imagine that the day will come when Benjamin will want to 'study' me as well. Is that the real reason he's brought me here? Am I going to end up hanging from a wall with a giant spike through my chest? I look up at my father and feel, more than ever, that I have to get us both out of here. Despite everything that Benjamin says, I can still feel Patrick's mind reaching out to me. "Is that what you're going to do to him when he's dead?" I ask eventually. "Cut him open?"

"Wouldn't -" he starts to say, but then he pauses. "This isn't the right time for such a discussion, Abigail. You must be tired. Go to bed."

"And what about
me
?" I say. "Do you want to cut me open as well?"

He shakes his head. "I want to observe you. I want to help you. This is going to be an unprecedented scientific opportunity. I truly believe that as you grow older, and as you continue to develop through puberty, your true nature will become more apparent. When you were a child, you were able to pass for human. Perhaps you sensed you were different, but you were at least able to maintain the illusion. Now, though, things are changing. Tell me something, Abigail. Where you bullied at school?"

"Maybe," I say.

"The other children could smell the difference," he continues. "They didn't know what was wrong with you, of course. It was an instinctive reaction, but they sensed a quisling in their midst. They were afraid of you, so they reacted with hatred. I imagine some of the bullying was probably very brutal, perhaps even physical. You're lucky that we came and saved you. If you'd stayed in Callerton, there's a strong chance that one of your bullies would have overstepped the mark and killed you before you become strong enough to fight back. The human reaction to difference can be shockingly violent at times." He turns and walks to the door. "Don't worry, Abigail," he says as he leaves, "we'll get to the bottom of it soon. We'll find out what you are, and we'll work out what's best for you."

As soon as he's left the room, I walk over to Patrick and look up at his face. "Why do you let them do this to you?" I ask. I know he's awake, and I get the feeling he's stronger than Benjamin and the others realize. It's as if he's willing to let himself be held here, even though he's in such excruciating agony. How can he hide all that pain? "I tried to set you free," I tell him, "but you've got to do it yourself. I'm not strong enough. Not yet, anyway. But I need you. I need to know what I am."

He doesn't respond. He doesn't even look at me. I turn and walk away, finding that Benjamin is in the next room, adding Patrick's blood to a glass vial. He smiles as he sees me. "Can I show you something, Abigail?" Without waiting for a response, he walks over to the far corner of the room and removes the cover from a small box. "Come and see," he says.

Cautiously, I walk over and look into the box. I see a group of chicks, and I watch as Benjamin takes some meat from a nearby container, chews it for a moment, and then spits it out for the chicks to swallow.

"Nice," I say, wondering why he's showing me something so disgusting.

"This is life," he replies, turning to another box. He takes out another chick, one that looks different to the others. It's slightly larger, its head is a different shape, and it has a different type of beak. "This one was born with certain abnormalities," he says. "I've kept it separate from the others, but now I think it's time to let nature take its course." He carefully sets the chick in with the others. "Let this be a valuable lesson, Abigail," he says. "People are picked on for being different. They get hurt, or thrown out of the community, or worse."