by Amy Cross
"Did you hear that?" he asks, turning to look over at the trees.
"Help!" I shout, my voice trembling with fear.
"Good," he continues. "Keep calling for help."
"Fuck!" I say, as I realize I've rubbed my wrists sore on the ropes. This is hopeless. There's no way to get loose.
"There!" says Dexter, more interested in some imagined noise in the trees as he spins around to face the forest. "Did you hear it?"
The trickle of blood reaches the corner of my mouth. Strangely, I suddenly feel much more calm, now that I know what I'm dealing with. I have two options. Either I find a way to get free, or I hope to God that Patrick is somewhere nearby. I just need to find a way to persuade Dexter to untie these ropes a little. The guy's insane, but maybe I can make that work to my advantage. There's no point just screaming and yelling for help. I need to be smarter.
"Okay, you must have heard that," Dexter says, turning back to me. "There's something out there! There's definitely something out there!", he shouts, and he seems excited, like a child.
It's probably that fucking deer, but I don't have the energy to argue with him. Just at that moment, however, I suddenly become aware of a large, dark shape in the corner of my right eye. Before I have time to turn, something springs past me and lands on Dexter, knocking him to the ground. I realize instantly who it is.
He's real! I was starting to doubt my own sanity, but he's real.
"Pleased to meet you," says Dexter, pinned beneath a stern-looking Patrick. "Dexter Logan, Dedston Gazette. I was hoping to get a few words with you."
Patrick hisses in his face, like an animal.
"You're angry about the girl?" Dexter asks. "Don't worry about her. Nothing a little concealer won't deal with. And frankly, I did warn you to -"
He doesn't get to finish his sentence. Patrick drags him to his feet and then lifts him up by the collar.
"Are you going to bite me?" Dexter asks, sounding as if he wants to feel Patrick's teeth in his neck.
"Untie me," I shout.
Patrick looks at me, but it seems like he doesn't really care. There's a blank expression in his eyes, as if his anger at Dexter has clouded his vision.
"Untie me!" I shout again, almost crying. "Please! Patrick, get me out of here!" I feel useless. In fact, I feel worse than useless. I'm tied to a tree like some kind of idiot, and I can't get free without a little help.
This time, Patrick seems to recognize that I'm hurt. He drops Dexter and comes over, and with one powerful swipe of his hand he pulls the ropes loose. I immediately touch my face, to feel the knife wound: it doesn't actually feel too deep, so hopefully there won't be a scar. I look up into Patrick's eyes and I'm shocked by what I see: a burning rage that was hidden last time I saw him, but now it's right there in his eyes. It scares me.
"Let's go," I say.
Patrick looks at me with this icy expression, and then he turns and walks over to Dexter, who's still struggling to get up off the floor.
"Don't hurt me," says Dexter weakly, but Patrick just stands over him, as if the only question is whether to kill him quickly or slowly. "This has all got a little out of control," Dexter continues. "I'm sorry I hurt your little girlfriend."
"Leave him alone," I say, worried about what Patrick might do next. "He just wanted to see you, Patrick. He's seen you now. Let's go."
Patrick reaches down and hauls Dexter to his feet.
"I'm honored," Dexter splutters. "I'm your biggest fan. I've been studying your species for so long. Tell me one thing: is it true you're the last of your kind?"
Patrick snarls.
"No!" I shout, running over and forcing Dexter out of Patrick's hands. "Whatever he is," I say, "you're not a killer. Leave him alone."
"Not a killer?" Dexter replies, grinning. "Are you serious? Do you not know anything about this guy?"
"Don't kill him," I say to Patrick. "Please don't kill him. I don't want to see that. Just let him go. Please. For me. Please, Patrick."
As he stares at me, Patrick's rage seems to die down a little.
Suddenly there's a blinding flash. I turn to see Dexter holding a small camera. "Front page," he says sheepishly. "If I ever get back to file the story, that is."
Patrick immediately lunges at Dexter, grabs the camera and throws it with such force that it smashes as it hits a nearby rock. Then, he grabs Dexter by the collar and for the first time I see something new in Patrick, a kind of rage that I've never seen in anyone before. I run over and I'm shocked as I get closer. Patrick looks less like a man, and more like a wild beast. It's almost as if the pupils of his eyes have become white, and he's snarling with his mouth open, exposing two large white fangs. Dexter looks terrified, and I take a step back as my mind races. What the hell is Patrick?
"Stop!" I shout, but I'm sure Patrick isn't listening. I don't think for one second that he can hear me. All his energy is focused on his rage and hatred for Dexter.
"Stop!" I shout again, but there's still no response, so I grab Patrick by the shoulders and then I push Dexter from his grasp. As Dexter falls to the ground, Patrick turns to me and lets out a kind of snarl, fixing me with the same intense white stare with which he'd previously been glaring at Dexter. I step back, terrified by what appears to be a kind of wild animal staring at me.
"You can't kill him," I manage to say weakly, but before I can say anything else Dexter makes a run for it and Patrick runs after him, pulling him to the ground and letting out a deep, heavy snarl. I run over. "Stop!" I shout again, and I grab Patrick and pull him off.
As we fall to the ground, Patrick manages to roll on top of me and, with his face up against mine, he lets out the loudest snarl yet, his eyes filled with the most intense hatred I can imagine.
I try to fight back, but he has me pinned down. I look over at Dexter, who's trying to get to his feet and looks completely shocked. Suddenly I realize I don't know who's more dangerous: Dexter with his hunting knife, or Patrick with this animal rage in his soul.
"Please," I say to Patrick. "Don't hurt me."
I feel his grip on me loosen slightly, and color seems to be coming back to his eyes, which are slowly fading from stark white back to their original blue-green. His face seems less harsh now, as if a memory of me is washing over him. He stares at me, keeping his face close to mine, and the way he looks at me it's as if he's able to listen to every thought that has ever passed through my mind. No-one has ever looked at me like this before. Not ever.
"Are you okay?" asks Dexter.
Patrick turns to him and hisses.
Dexter steps back.
I reach up and put a hand on Patrick's arm, and he turns to look at me again. I'm terrified, but I feel as if I know how to keep him calm.
Dexter starts to speak. "No hard feelings or -"
"Go!" I shout.
Seemingly shocked, he half-trips as he steps backward and then turns, running off into the forest.
I stare at Patrick. "He made a mistake. You can't kill him. Anyway, it's my fault. I led him here."
Patrick looks at me.
"I'm sorry," I say. "I put you in danger."
Still, he just looks at me.
"Aren't you ever going to say something?" I ask.
No response.
This is getting frustrating. I have no idea what he's thinking, or what he wants. All I have is the fact that he's still here, still staring down at me, which must mean something. I touch the wound on my face, wiping off a spot of blood. I feel as if Patrick and I are frozen in this moment in time, with neither of us knowing what the other is going to do next.
Patrick
I was there when you were born, you know. Outside the window, looking in. It was a stormy night and everyone was so busy looking after you, they didn't notice me. When you came out, you weren't crying. They had to make your heart start, and then they had to make you breathe. They almost gave up, but I knew you'd pull through.
I had to be there. I'd sensed you before you were even bo
rn. Seeing you for the first time, I knew you the one Vincent had spoken of so many times. I also knew I'd have to protect you, and part of me is surprised that they left you alone for twenty-one years. It's clear now that they know you, and the time has come for me to play the part in your life that the prophecy foretold. It's a little sooner than I'd expected, but that can't be helped.
I admit I have my doubts about what happens next. Fears, too. Knowing what's to come, I wonder if I shouldn't just let you run. Do I have the right to do this to you, Sophie? Perhaps I can find some other way out. But I've known this was coming since I first met you; since that day twenty-one years ago when I first saw your face. All that watching, all that waiting, and now the time is here. Hundreds of years in the making.
I wish I could say all of this to you properly, but that's never going to be possible. I'm just going to have to hope that you understand.
Sophie
We walk silently down the tunnel, heading toward his home. I don't know what to say, so I focus on being more aware of everything around me. It's dark, but I can see that the rocky walls have wooden struts buried deep within, as if we're now in part of some old mine. That would explain what seem to be piles of debris strewn across the floor: glass, wood, plastic, tools and so on. I vaguely remember hearing something once about Dedston having been a mining town once. I wonder how long Patrick and Vincent have been living down here?
It crosses my mind that I'm putting a lot of trust in Patrick. He could be taking me down here to kill me. He could be planning to suck the blood from my neck and turn me into a vampire. Or he could just be taking me here to kill me for sport: to rip the flesh from my bones with his bare hands while I scream for mercy. I don't know him at all. Most of what I think I know is just in my head. Still, I'm starting to feel more and more that I'm supposed to be doing this. I've never been someone who believes in destiny, but this feels right. As we reach the large chamber and make our way to the house, I feel as if I belong here. Am I just fooling myself?
"I thought we might see you again," Vincent says as he steps out of the house.
"Hi," I say politely. In truth, I was kind of hoping to be alone with Patrick. I want to see if there's some way to get him talking, so I can finally understand what's really happening.
"I understand you had some trouble up there," Vincent says amiably.
"A little bit," I say. "Just this guy, he got carried away. He wanted to see Patrick."
Vincent stops me and looks carefully at the cut on my face. "More than carried away," he says, seeming concerned. "No-one should do this."
"It's fine," I say, wanting to seem strong in front of Patrick. "It's just a small cut, really. He was desperate."
"We're all desperate from time to time," says Vincent, "but we don't all do things like this. Be careful if you see him again. Who was it?"
"Just this newspaper guy -"
"Dexter Logan." Vincent looks concerned. "Yes, he's been poking around for a while now. Be very careful with him. I'm not convinced he's what he seems to be. I need to go and check something."
He walks off, leaving Patrick and me beside the house. Patrick goes inside, so I follow. Glancing out the window, I see Vincent walking further and further away. Perhaps he sensed something; perhaps he realized he should leave us alone for a while. I'm grateful, and Patrick leads me through room after room until finally we're at the foot of a set of stairs.
"I'm sorry about the other day," I say.
Patrick turns to me. He looks surprised, almost friendly.
"In my bedroom," I say, making sure I'm standing close enough for him to reach out and grab me when he's ready. "It's like you were there one minute, and then you were gone."
He stares at me.
"Can you talk at all?" I ask. I feel as if I'm talking to a monster. A calm monster, but still a monster. When he was confronting Dexter Logan, there was a new side of Patrick that I hadn't seen before.
I take a step closer. I know it's crazy, but there's a part of me that wants to kiss Patrick, and for a moment it's almost as if he feels the same way. He certainly doesn't pull back as I lean a little closer to his face, but just as I think it's going to happen, he turns and looks over at the door, as if something has startled him.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He doesn't respond. I swear, he doesn't even blink!
"What is it?" I ask again, trying not to sound annoyed even though I am. If he's a vampire, if he's lived for however many hundreds of years, shouldn't he understand when to kiss someone?
"Is it me?" I ask. I don't understand why Patrick seems to want to be close to me, but at the same time he wants to leave a little distance. I guess I was crazy to think I could kiss him. He probably just sees me as some kind of annoying idiot who needs rescuing a lot.
"I can go," I say eventually. "I guess you've got things to do, right?" I wait for him to do or say something that'll get me to stay, but he just stares at me. All I need is one sign that he wants me here, but it's as if he doesn't care what I do. "I'll go," I say after a moment. "If you want to talk some time, though, you know where to find me, right?"
Nothing. He just stares at me.
"Dexter Logan said you've been watching me," I continue. "Is that right? Was it just a coincidence that you found me that night by the ATM?"
He narrows his eyes a little.
"Okay," I say, sighing. "I get it. You don't want to talk. That's fine, but I guess... I guess I should go, if there's nothing else you want with me. Thanks for helping me again, I'll try not to -"
Suddenly, there's a muffled shout from somewhere outside the house. Patrick immediately bolts past me. He gets to the door leading out of the house, but as he does so, he lets out a deafening cry and lurches forward, and then crashes to the ground. I go after him and I'm shocked when he rolls onto his back, his face tortured with agony, his hands clutching a massive bloody wound in his chest. When I look over, I see Vincent's body collapsed on the ground nearby, with blood on the side of his head. And that's when I realize that someone is standing behind me.
Patrick
It's beginning. I can feel it. I always wondered what it would be like. I wish I could tell her why it has to happen like this. I wish I could show her. But I know how these things work. Everything has to happen in its right place. Everything has to happen in the right order. Death requires dignity... demands it... I know what's about to happen. I don't know how it's going to take place, or why it has to be this way, but I know what she's about to do for me. It will bind us together forever.
Sophie
Vampires can't die, right? They're immortal. They live on and on. Right?
I kneel beside Patrick and look at his wound. Dark blood gushes from his chest, running down onto the rock. He has his hands over it, in a vain attempt to hold it all in. For a moment, I'm convinced that he'll be okay. After all, he's a vampire. He's hundreds if not thousands of years old. He can't get hurt, it's impossible. But from the look in his eyes, I know something's seriously wrong. There's blood flowing from the wound and he looks like he's trying to say something.
I lean in closer. "What?" I ask. "What is it?"
He looks at me, and for a moment I think he's trying to say something. He opens his mouth.
"What?" I ask urgently.
"Fucking hilarious," says Dexter Logan. He's standing a few meters away, sniffing with laughter. "Funny how long I spent planning this. And it was pathetically easy in the end." He smiles at me. "Thank you, Sophie," he says. "I really couldn't have done it without you."
I consider attacking him. I could reach him in a couple of seconds, but in his hand there's a gun. And I know he could fire a couple of shots before I got close enough. I look back at Patrick. "You can't die," I say. "It's impossible."
"Depends on the bullet," says Dexter. "A normal bullet, sure, wouldn't even make him flinch. But a bullet dipped in holy water from the well at Gothos? Different thing entirely."
I look at Patrick's wound. It's no
t just a wound; it's fizzling and hissing, as if it's full some kind of acid.
"Sorry about your face," says Dexter. "All part of the illusion. I've been waiting too long for this to fuck it up now. I think I'm going to call you Face Ache from now on."
Patrick slowly tries to get up, but he can't: he's in too much pain, but it seems to be more than pain; the wound is still sizzling, like meat on a barbecue. He grunts as he tries to get up again and again, each time failing, slipping and sliding in his own blood. I try to calm him, but it's as if he's not even aware of me. He's like an animal that knows it's dying but refuses to give up without a fight. He's trying to inch himself toward Dexter, as if he thinks he has some chance of fighting back.
"Come on," says Dexter. "Come and get me." He undoes the buttons of his shirt, exposing his neck. "Come and bite me, Batman." He crouches down as Patrick tries to crawl over to him. "You're dying," he says blankly. "You have two choices. One, die and let the vampire species die with you. Sad. Pathetic. All that history, all that honor, gone. Option two, pass it on. Bite me. You'll still die, but at least the vampire race will live on. And that's what you want, isn't it? That's what we all want? You'll be free of this curse, and someone else gets to carry the vampire breed onward."
Patrick reaches out to Dexter weakly, but Dexter swats his hand away.
"No?" Dexter asks. "Fine. I'll get what I want when you're dead. You think you're the last vampire? Think again. I'll just haul your corpse over to our mutual friend Benjamin. Once we've extracted your venom and killed you, I'll infect myself and I'll be the last vampire. But not for long. I'm not greedy. I'll share the fun. There'll be a whole new race of vampires, a whole new civilization. Isn't that better than doing things your way and letting the vampire race die out?"
