by Amy Cross
"We can't go up there," Constance hisses at me. "You heard that noise!"
"You're welcome to wait here," I tell her, before starting to follow Patrick up to the next floor. "Whatever we find, I'm ready for it. Trust me".
"There's something alive up there!" she says, panicking. "Come on, let's just get out of here, get in touch with Benjamin and get reinforcements! We can be back here in a couple of hours, with a full tactical team to take this fucking place apart room by room!"
"It's okay," I insist. "I'm trained for situations like this, and I trust him!"
"You trust him?" she asks incredulously, looking up at Patrick as he reaches the top of the stairs. "He killed your sister!"
"I know how his mind works," I tell her. "He's not leading us up here to put us in danger. He wants to show us something. I promise you, this is going to be okay. Just stay calm and don't panic. The worst thing you can do is lose control". Without waiting for her to reply, I turn and follow Patrick up the stairs. By the time I get to the top, Constance has decided to join me, and we walk along to a doorway where Patrick is waiting.
Inside the next room, there's another mummified body, but I realize with horror that this one is alive. It's clearly no threat, since it can do little more than scrabble about on the floor, its long finger-nails scratching the wood. A large black manacle is wrapped around one of its legs, chaining it to the wall. Hearing us, the creature looks straight in our direction but its eye sockets are hollow. Slowly, it opens its mouth, but no sound comes out.
"What happened here?" I ask, turning to Patrick. "Why are you showing us this? I don't get it".
He stares straight at me, as if he expects me to magically understand what's going on.
"Give me a clue!" I continue, looking back at the pitiful creature as it slows tries to crawl toward us. "Did you do this to these people? Is this your work?"
"For fuck's sake!" Constance says angrily, pushing me aside and walking into the room. Before I can stop her, she fires a gunshot directly into the creature's face. With blood pouring from the wound, the creature stops moving and appears to finally be dead. "You can't leave something like that alive," Constance says, turning to me. "It's inhumane. It's just like torturing someone".
"We could have helped it," I say.
"No," she replies, "we couldn't. There was nothing in that thing's future other than pain and misery. I couldn't watch it suffer".
I step toward the dead creature, making sure to keep a safe distance just in case it has any last surprises. Whatever happened to this person, it's clear that their final moments were a horrific nightmare. Someone has been carrying out experiments here, and it's obvious that Patrick isn't responsible. Then again, why has he brought us here? If it were just about revenge, or about stopping this stuff from happening, I'm quite sure he could have done all of that by himself. Apparently, though, he wants us to do something, but I'm at a loss to work out what.
"Where do you think you're going?" Constance says behind me. I turn to see that she's aimed her gun at Patrick, who has walked over to the door.
"Put that down," I say to her. "It won't achieve anything".
Although her hands are shaking, she keeps the gun pointed straight at Patrick. "This sick bastard brought us here to gloat with him," she says. "He probably thinks it's funny to tear people up and then turn them into these things. This is probably the funniest thing he's ever seen". She rests her finger against the trigger. "Life isn't something to be played with. Life is precious".
"Calm down," I say.
"No!" she shouts at me. "You calm down! I've had enough of this! We came out here to find him, and we've found him. Now we're taking him back with us, and he has two choices. Either he comes with us willingly, or we make him come". She pauses for a moment. "Which is it going to be?" she asks, facing Patrick. "Are you going to make this harder than it has to be?"
"What do you think you're going to do?" I ask. "Shoot a vampire? You need to calm down".
"Stop saying that!" she replies. "Stop telling me to calm down!"
"You can't shoot him!" I tell her. "Do you really think that's going to work?"
"He's weak," she replies. "You said it yourself. I can't kill him, but maybe I can incapacitate him". With no warning, she first straight at Patrick, hitting him square in the chest. He falls backward, steadying himself against the door-frame. Quickly firing again, she hits him in the shoulder and he drops to the ground. Finally, she shoots him three more times.
"That's enough!" I shout, grabbing the gun. "Okay! You've done it! Now calm down!"
"How long will he be down?" she asks.
"Normally, about twenty seconds," I reply, reloading the gun from my own supply of ammunition. "In this state, considerably longer". I turn to her. "You didn't have to do that".
"We came to get him," she says firmly. "We got him. Now we send a digital flare signal and get back-up here".
"You have a flare?" I ask.
"Benjamin gave it to me," she says, pulling a small device from her pocket. "He said to use it if we find Patrick. He said..." She pauses. "Never mind".
"What did he say?" I ask. Something's not right here.
"He said I might not be able to trust you," she says, walking over to the top of the stairs. "He said you might double-cross us and try to take Patrick with you".
I sigh. Benjamin's always been an astute old buzzard, but I thought he genuinely trusted me. Now it seems he's got his suspicions about my motives. I guess maybe he's right.
"You can trust me," I say, walking toward Constance.
"Stop!" he shouts, pulling the spare gun from her belt. "I have authorization to shoot you if necessary".
"Me?" I ask, shocked. I can see from the look in her eyes that she's highly-strung, and I can't trust that she'll necessarily make the right decisions. She's not someone who usually operates in pressure situations, which makes it doubly strange that Benjamin even sent her with me in the first place. There's still something I don't quite understand about what's happening. "You're not going to shoot me, Constance," I say.
"Let's hope not," she replies firmly, "but if you come any closer, I'll drop you. I won't aim to kill, but I'll drop you in your tracks". Keeping the gun trained on me, she starts fumbling to activate the digital flare.
I look down at Patrick. He's healing slowly, but he's still too weak to get up. We make eye contact for a moment, and I see the pain in his eyes. I don't feel sorry for him, though. No matter how much this hurts, it's nothing compared to the pain Sophie must have felt when this monster killed her. I can't imagine how many people he's probably killed in his lifetime, but it's kind of appropriate that he should suffer real pain toward the end.
"Do you know how to activate these things?" Constance asks, still fiddling with the flare.
"Give it to me," I say, looking over at her.
"No chance," she replies. "Don't worry, I think I've got it".
"It should have a -" I start to say, before noticing that the flare isn't actually a flare at all. "Constance," I say, feeling a sense of absolute horror growing in my gut, "that's not a flare. Don't -"
It's too late. She manages to activate it. There's a brief pause, and then it happens: a massive explosion blows out this entire side of the house. I turn and try to shield my face as the blast smashes me straight through the wall and everything goes black. My last thought is: I can't die yet; I have to see Sophie one more time first.
Chapter Four
Denver, Colorado - Six years ago.
The Seagram Institute is located just outside Denver, close to the airport, and it's by no means an easy place to get to. No buses run close by, and the taxi drivers all seem a little reluctant to head out that way. Eventually I find one guy who says he'll take me if I pay double-fare, and even then he seems kind of nervous. I figure I have no choice, so I take him up on his offer and we set off on the short drive. He barely says a word to me all the way, as we drive beyond the city limits. It's almost as if he's scare
d.
Eventually a large industrial complex appears on the horizon, and the taxi driver pulls up next to a gate. He tells me this is as far as he's willing to go, and that I'll have to walk the last couple of miles. Reluctantly paying him for this rather incomplete service, I get out of the taxi and watch as he drives away. As I turn and head through the gate, I notice a small camera turning to track my every move.
Strangely, though, there seems to be very little obvious security around this place. I'm not stopped once on the road that leads to the main building, and no-one challenges me as I walk through the door. I go to the reception desk and explain why I'm here, and I'm directed to sit over by the window and wait for someone to come and meet me. A few minutes later, as I'm staring out at the view, I hear footsteps coming closer and I turn to see an elderly man limping in my direction. It takes me a moment to realize that I've seen him before, and a moment longer to realize that he's the man who spoke to me at Sophie's funeral.
"Todd Hart?" he asks, smiling as he reaches out a hand for me to shake. "It's been a while, but I'm glad you were finally able to make it".
"Hi," I say, standing up. "I... Benjamin, right?"
"I'm flattered you remember me," he says. "It's been a long time since your sister's unfortunate passing".
"Almost ten years," I reply.
"Such a tragedy," he continues. "Whenever a young life is snuffed out, I feel as if the natural order has been overturned".
I smile meekly, unsure what to say.
"Please," Benjamin says, apparently sensing my discomfort, "come with me and I'll show you the facility". He leads me across the large, open foyer, toward a set of elevators. "I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place," he continues. "I'm afraid some of the locals can be rather superstitious about coming out here. I suppose it's understandable, in a way. They don't understand what we do, and what little they hear..." He hits the Call button, and the elevator doors open. "To the closed mind, advanced technology can appear to be magic," he says as we step into the chamber and the doors close. As the elevator starts going down, he turns to me. "You must have a lot of questions".
"Just a few," I say cautiously, feeling overwhelmed by the opulence of this place. It's like a huge, high-tech palace filled with the latest technology. "The scholarship -"
"Forget the scholarship," Benjamin replies. "It's nothing. It's just a few bits of paper designed to get you out here. I've been keeping an eye on you ever since your sister's unfortunate death, and now I'm going to show you what I have to offer in return for your assistance".
"My assistance?"
The elevator comes to a halt, and the doors open to reveal a long, brightly-lit corridor. "Welcome to Seagram," Benjamin says as we step out of the elevator chamber. "Well, that's not entirely accurate. Seagram is a smokescreen. It's a real company, doing real work in the field of atomic micro-processors, but it's designed merely to distract people from the real work that goes on here. As you'll soon understand, we need to stay below the radar. Allow me to show you what we do down here". He leads me along the corridor. "The Watchers have come a long way since the early days. It's hard to believe that once, we were considered a group of cranks. That was before my time, of course. We're currently the world's leading organization in the field of crypto-scientific research".
"Crypto-scientific?" I ask. It's not a term I've heard before.
"We cover areas that are traditionally ignored by the mainstream," he continues. "We look at events and realities that others would dismiss as hokum. In many cases, they're absolutely correct, but in a tiny minority, we discover things that make all our work worthwhile".
"You sent me a photo," I say.
"We did," he replies. "A photo of Patrick, I believe. I imagine that must have caught your attention. Not many people know about Patrick, and photographs of him are extremely rare". We reach a side-door, which he opens with a key-card. "Step inside, please".
I walk through the door and find myself in a huge room, lined with row upon row of shelving. It seems to be some kind of warehouse. "What is this place?" I ask, turning to Benjamin. "Where -" Suddenly there's a heavy rumble above us; I look up at the ceiling, and after a few seconds the sound passes away. "What was that?"
"I'm sorry about the noise," he replies. "I'm afraid we're directly beneath the main runway at the international airport. I've tried everything over the years to insulate us from that sound, but I just can't come up with a solution. Perhaps you'll be able to think of something". He walks over to the nearest shelf, pulls out a plastic box and hands it to me. "Take a look in there," he says, smiling. "Tell me what you think you're looking at".
The box contains what appears to be a collection of small black pebbles. "Rocks," I say cautiously. "They're black, so... I guess they might be volcanic in origin?"
"Good answer," he says. "Completely wrong, of course, but then you're working with a very limited set of references. You'll soon learn". He takes the box back from me. "These are Tenderling stones, extracted from the bodies of Tenderlings we've been able to capture over the years". Putting the box away, he smiles. "The shelves of this facility are filled with things you can't possibly imagine, and yet they're real. I run this place based on one very simple fact, which I believe underpins all human endeavor. This fact is simply that every event, every creature, every thing in the world can be explained by science. Even if God Himself descended upon the world at this very moment, I would be absolutely confident that he could be picked apart and understood".
"What's a Tenderling?" I say.
"You'll see," he replies. "We have several dead specimens in storage, plus some live creatures in a special holding unit. I think you'll find them to be most interesting".
"Is that why I'm here?" I ask. "Just so you can show me around?"
"You're here because I need you," Benjamin says, leading me through into a small side-room. Switching on the light, he walks to a cabinet on the opposite wall and opens it to reveal what appears to be a small white shawl. He carries the shawl to a nearby table and lays it out carefully for me to see. "Do you know what this is?" he asks.
"It looks like a shawl," I say. "Is it for a baby?"
"It most certainly is," he replies. "Not just any baby, either. This is the shawl in which Abigail Hart was wrapped when she was found in New York. This shawl was used to protect your niece from the elements".
"I don't have a niece," I tell him.
"You most certainly do have a niece," he says. "She recently passed her tenth birthday. She lives down in New Mexico, of all places, with a childless couple who were kind enough to foster her. She knows nothing of her past, and at the moment she has no reason to be suspicious. For the most part, she appears to be a perfectly normal young girl, but that's all going to change. When she turns sixteen, she's going to start changing. It's going to be a terrifying time for her, and it's at that point that I'm going to need you, so I decided to bring you here well in advance. I'm offering to train you up".
"As what?" I ask, struggling to take in everything he's telling me.
"As a Watcher. As a member of this organization. We're one of the world's most technologically advanced groups. We have things here that the FBI would dismiss as fantasy. In terms of resources and access to expert minds, there's nothing I can't give you. If you're willing to help me look after Abigail when she turns sixteen, I'll promise in return to support any work you wish to carry out for the rest of your life. I'll put our whole facility at your disposal. Our library, our equipment, our people. I'll help you change the world, if you'll agree to help me save one girl".
I pause for a moment. This all seems far too good to be true, but I can't argue with the evidence that's all around me. Benjamin comes across as being completely insane, but he's in charge of a stunning facility.
"Haven't you always felt that you have unfinished business when it comes to your sister?" he continues. "If you accept my offer, you can help protect her legacy by making sure her daughter is sa
fe. Without you, we might not be able to keep her out of Patrick's hands. Do you really want your niece to be raised by a monster?"
"I'm still not convinced that I have a niece," I tell him.
"Give me one week to demonstrate the truth to you," he replies. "Give me just one week, and I'll show you everything we have here. I'll show you what the Watchers can do, and what we're working on. I'll show you creatures, alive and dead, that will challenge your understanding of the world. I'll prove to you that Patrick and your sister had a child, and that this child is going to need a great deal of help when she gets older. Give me just one week, and you'll see that everything I'm telling you is true. You are, of course, free to walk away at any time".
"I'm happy to stay for a week," I tell him, though to be honest I'm still not sure what to expect.
"Excellent," he replies, as a woman walks past the door. "Constance!" he calls out, and the woman turns and looks back into the room. "Will you come here for a moment?" he says. "There's someone I'd like you to meet".
The woman, an attractive girl who looks to be a year or two older than me, enters the room and smiles as she shakes my hand.
"This is Constance, one of our trainee researchers," Benjamin says. "Constance, this is Todd Hart".
"The Todd Hart?" Constance says with a smile. "I've heard a lot about you".
"I'm not sure if that's a good thing," I reply.
"It's fine," she replies. "I've read your file, that's all".
"I have a file?"
"Everyone associated with Sophie Hart has a file here," she says. "Benjamin has taught us all to be extremely thorough".
"Constance will show you the other material we have that's related to Patrick and your sister," Benjamin says, walking to the door. "I'm afraid I have to do the rounds of some of the earthier departments, make sure they're behaving themselves and so on, but don't worry. You're in very good hands".
