by Amy Cross
I carry her home.
Again.
It feels strange to be saying farewell to Gothos. There is a chance that I will return one day with the child, but I imagine this is the end. The place has so many memories, and has been a part of my life for so many centuries. I knew for many years that I would have to go back one final time, and that Astley would be waiting for me. And I knew, also, that I would have to conceive a child within the walls of house. These things, which weighed on me for many years, have happened now. I can rest a little.
Sophie will be okay. She has lost a lot of blood, but the wound is already starting to close. Astley's bite was just a bite and there will be no long-term consequences. He was not a vampire, nor was he any kind of creature other than the ghost of the servant of a god. He was the lowest form of life in that house, yet through sheer willpower he was able to elevate himself through the ranks. He kept the ghosts of Gothos working, but now they can rest.
No strangers will ever go to Gothos again. They will never need to go there, and even if they are curious, I will make sure that they can never find it. Gothos is in the past now, as are the ghosts that dwell there. The final gods are dead, the vampires have no way back, and the werewolves have been driven out. If anyone rediscovered Gothos, they would see it as merely a relic of the past, an old house with crumbling walls and a strange atmosphere. I will not have to destroy the cursed place again. At least, I hope not.
There are other things to worry about now. Sophie and I have passed through to the next phase of our relationship. She will be confused, and angry, and ultimately she will suffer. I have no way to prevent any of this from happening, because my only concern is to ensure that there is no way for the old vampire hierarchy to ever return. Today, at Gothos, I sealed their fate.
I take Sophie to where she must be found. If there is a God, may he forgive me for what I have done to this girl. Her life without me would have been so much more peaceful, so much happier. Unfortunately, she has been chosen as the one who will fulfill the prophecy, and the road will be long. We have passed the first hurdle now, the journey to Gothos, but she is about to face her greatest challenge. Ultimately, I have absolute faith that she will deliver exactly what is required. I just wish that she, and I, could be around to witness it.
She is waking now. I kiss her forehead. By the time she opens her eyes, I will be gone.
Epilogue
We chased Astley across the French countryside, and after three days and three nights we caught up with him in the forest near a small river. Tired and hungry, he turned and begged us for mercy. He promised to give us anything we desired, but we told him that the only thing we wanted was to make his agony last for as long as possible. So he tried to run again, but he fell and soon we were upon him.
We devoured his flesh first, until he was a screaming body of muscle and fat. It is quite amazing what ghosts can do to one another. Finally, we removed his head and ate the skin and muscle, passing his skull around like a bowl at a feast. He was still screaming.
After nearly two days, we were so full that we felt we could eat no more. So we left his body in the woods and we walked away. It was, in many ways, the perfect revenge. And as we walked on, we saw that the war in Europe was coming to an end, at least for now.
Finally, we reached a small village where people were celebrating the cessation of hostilities. We caused much comment, having the outward appearance of a trinity of young female maids. But we were there for one purpose: to meet an old friend.
He was sitting in the corner of a small bar. The vampire, embroiled still in his own war with his own species, and barely aware of the wars fought among the humans, was deep in debate with a Scottish werewolf. We interrupted to thank the vampire, and to tell him that he had been the one who freed us. Of course, he did not know what we were talking about, not yet, but we were grateful anyway. After confirming our dedication to him, and after rebuffing the sexual advances of the werewolf, we bade farewell and left the bar.
Outside, it was a beautiful morning, the perfect time for three ghosts to evaporate into the ether. There would be more wars on this planet, more death, more pain. But we would not be part of it. The werewolves would be run from their home one day, and the vampires would be destroyed... all but one. And one day, a human would carry the child of the last vampire. But we would not see this, because by then we were gone on an autumn breeze.
Book 7
Testament
John Tarmey
I can see it in their eyes: they're all terrified of me. It takes six of them to pull me from the bed: two on each arm, two on each leg, one to keep my head steady and a sixth standing by with a tranquillizer in case I manage to get free. As they carry me to the wheelchair, I start to struggle. I know what they're going to do, and I have to stop them. They don't understand, they'll never understand, what it will be like for me if they take me through that door. I can never leave this room.
As they try to put me in the wheelchair, I manage to get an arm loose. I grab the head of one of the orderlies, pull him towards me, then slam his face down into the arm of the wheelchair, breaking his nose and probably a few other bones. He falls away, blood pouring out of his face, and I feel the familiar prick of a needle sliding into my shoulder from behind.
“Get him out of here!” shouts one of the orderlies, as the injured man is helped away.
The straps are tightened around my wrists and ankles. For a moment, just a moment, I feel the tranquillizer start to do its work, coursing through my veins. I'm supposed to sleep now, but it doesn't really work. They've tried everything, up to and including industrial elephant-grade drugs usually used by veterinarians to bring down large animals. It's cute, but they never really have any effect. If they want me to stop fighting, they'll have to kill me.
“We're going to take you to the observation room, John,” says one of the orderlies, leaning down to stare directly into my face. “Just for a short visit, do you understand? No-one's going to hurt you and it'll all be over in less than half an hour”
I turn and stare at the door, which they've left open. They don't understand what's happening here. They don't understand how important the lead walls of this room have become to me.
“John, we have to take you to the observation room,” the orderly continues, speaking carefully and clearly, speaking close up into my ear this time. “There's really nothing to be scared of. Just relax and we'll be back in your room in no time, okay?”
The wheelchair is turned to face the door. I'm calm, but there's a reason for this: I'm gathering my strength, every ounce of my power, because one thing is very clear. There is no fucking way I am ever leaving this room.
“Okay, John,” says another orderly. “Calm down and enjoy the trip”. He starts to wheel me toward the door. At first, I don't do anything. I'm waiting until I have as much strength as possible. Finally, as we're about to leave the room, I break free of the restraints, get to my feet, pick up the wheelchair and smash it into the faces of two of the orderlies. They crumple to the floor,.
I feel three or four little needles slide into my back, and I turn to face the final orderly, who has stabbed me with the last remaining syringes.
“Don't hurt me,” he begs. “Please don't hurt me!”
At this point, I make a mistake. I pause for a moment and regard him with something approaching compassion. I could snap his neck, or rip his head from his shoulders, but for just a split second I consider letting him live. And those few seconds are all he needs to run toward me, pushing me back and out through the door. By the time I hit the ground, the ringing has started in my head and the agony is so intense that I have to scream.
“Come on -” says the orderly, who has followed me out and is now sitting on top of me, “Don't be such a fucking baby”. He thinks he's going to drag me down the corridor. He thinks he's going to be the one who, after years and years, finally succeeds in getting me away from the room. Instead, I throw him into the wall and manage t
o crawl back through the door. I pull the door shut. The ringing has stopped now, and the only sound is the moaning of a few injured orderlies who I should have killed anyway. I crawl over to the darkest corner of the room. I need to rest. I need to recover my strength. When will these people learn? I must never leave this room. Not ever. All our lives depend on this. If I leave the room, he will finally sense that I'm still alive.
Sophie
“Vampires are not real. Vampires are a fictional creation with their roots in 17th century medieval European mythology, updated periodically to reflect the fears of new generations. They exist only in books and films such as Dracula and Twilight, or in subcultures where people appropriate the identity of the vampire in order to modify their own sense of self. Do you agree or disagree with this statement?”
I stare at Dr. Penfold for a moment. He's a thin, old man with white hair and a kind but professional face.
“Profoundly disagree,” I say eventually.
“Okay, Sophie,” he says, ticking a box on his form. “Next question. Belief in the paranormal, or supernatural, is a kind of emotional comfort blanket. It keeps us from facing the truth about existence beyond our mortal lives, which is that there is nothing else. Vampires and suchlike are in fact a secular substitution for the gods of old. Do you agree or disagree with this statement?”
I stare at him. In fact, I've been staring at him for half an hour now, and he still doesn't understand. “Profoundly disagree,” I say carefully, slowly, in the hope that he finally understands me.
He ticks another box. He opens his mouth to ask another question, but then he seems to have a different idea. “Sophie, I'm wondering if you understand the terminology that I'm using. Perhaps the concepts I'm introducing are a little above your level of education...”
“Profoundly disagree,” I say. “And I find your argument patronizing, to say the least”.
He sighs. I feel like sighing, too. This is the third day in a row that I've had to sit here while Dr. Penfold reads out his lists of statements, most of which I disagree with. How much more of this am I supposed to take? It's as if he wants to drive me mad.
“Sophie, let me be clear about this,” Dr. Penfold says. “You won't leave this facility until you admit that your delusions about vampires are all in your head. I'm very serious on this point. Your parents were very clear on this -”
“My mother,” I say interrupting. “Not my parents. My mother. My father's dead”.
Dr. Penfold nods. “I'm sorry. Your mother was very clear, she's worried about you after what happened on Monday and she believes you need some time to readjust to reality”.
“What happened on Monday?” I ask.
He seems hesitant. “What happened on Monday doesn't matter. What matters is what happens today, and tomorrow”.
“I'm serious,” I say. My memory is kind of hazy. “What happened on Monday?”
More hesitation. “Sophie, it's important that you consider the difference between reality and fantasy. What is happening to you now is real. The stories you tell about vampires are not real”.
“Vampire,” I say. “One vampire. Not vampires plural”.
“One vampire is no more real than a thousand vampires,” he says icily. He looks at his papers. “You were mugged last year, I see”.
I nod.
“Was it traumatic?”
I think about it for a moment. The mugging was the incident that led to me meeting Patrick for the first time. If I hadn't been mugged, maybe none of this would have happened. Then again, I kind of get the feeling that Patrick was going to come into my life somehow, sooner or later. He seems to have been constantly loitering on the edges, waiting for the right moment to approach me. “It was very traumatic,” I say eventually. “It hurt a lot”.
“Yet you seem to have no major injuries”.
“It was a long time ago,” I say. “The only reason I reported it was because I lost my wallet and I wanted to see if it had been handed in”.
“Was it sexual?” he asks.
“No," I say firmly. "Patrick saved me before anything like that happened”.
“Patrick is the vampire?”
I nod. “Yes, he is”.
“And he lives in an underground cave, correct?”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I can tell he doesn't believe me and, to be honest, saying these things out loud is a little strange. “Correct,” I say.
“And he drinks blood, this vampire?”
“Not often,” I say.
“Does he turn into a bat?”
I shake my head. “He's not a cartoon character”.
“And are there other vampires?”
“There were,” I say. “But now he's the only one”.
Dr. Penfold nods, lost in thought. “And on the night of the mugging you were walking home alone, and it was past midnight when this happened?” I nod. “Sophie, doesn't that strike you as self-destructive behavior? A pretty young woman such as yourself walking home alone in a city, so late at night. Don't you think we're seeing a pattern of behavior that is quite troubling? Do you make a habit of doing such unwise things?”
I shake my head.
"Do you, in fact, continually put yourself in dangerous situations because you want to be hurt?"
I hear the door open behind me. Turning, I see one of the orderlies waiting to escort me from the office. I guess the session must be over for now.
“What happened to your nose?” I ask the orderly, staring at the big bandage in the center of his face.
“Our next session will be on Friday,” says Dr. Penfold. “Before then, I'd like you to think about what we talked about today, and perhaps try to come up with a list of reasons why we don't seem to have made very much progress. Perhaps try to work out what it is about your attitude that is maybe blocking us from reaching a point where we can find some common ground”.
I take a deep breath, and then I sigh. “Isn't there anything I can do to prove this to you?”
Dr. Penfold looks around the room. “Is he here now?”
I shake my head. “He's not invisible,” I say. “And I can't just call him. He... He comes when he wants to come”.
“Perhaps he'll come to visit you this afternoon,” Dr. Penfold says, smiling. He clearly thinks that the whole thing is made up.
I stand up and head to the door. “There's no need for anyone to come and visit me. How long until I get out of here?” I ask, turning to face him.
He smiles, but it's a sad smile, one that seems to suggest he's not happy about the situation at all. I guess he's frustrated that I haven't started to break yet. I won't, either. Not ever. “You'll be allowed to go home when you've shown progress,” he says vaguely.
“Which means?” I ask.
He sighs. “You'll have to admit that the whole vampire story was made up, before I can consider letting you return to the outside world. You'll have to come to me and tell me, directly and clearly, that the whole vampire story is something you made up”.
“I'll never say that,” I tell him. “Because it's not true”.
“We'll see,” he replies.
I pause for a moment. I'm ready to go back to the ward anyway. These meetings with Dr. Penfold are boring and tiring at the same time. Not a fun combination. But before I go, I have one more thing to say to him. I look at him and smile. “If you don't believe me, all you have to do is give me a pregnancy test. I think he got me pregnant”.
He stares at me. “Okay,” he says finally. “I'll arrange it”.
Dr. Penfold
After lunch, I head down to the basement. After the events of yesterday, which resulted in five orderlies needing medical treatment for a variety of injuries, I feel it's time to check on Mr. Tarmey myself. Of course, this is the same ritual we go through every month: I order Tarmey to be removed from his room, he attacks and fights off my orderlies, and I end up coming down to try to persuade him to cooperate. I imagine he's expecting me right about now.
&nbs
p; I knock on his door before opening it. I've learned to give him a moment to prepare for visitors. You never know what he's doing in there, hidden away in his little lead-walled room. He seems perfectly happy, reading and meditating and working out. In fact, were it not for the fact that he pointedly refuses to leave the room, I'd say John Tarmey is more or less perfectly normal.
“Come in,” he says.
I open the door and find that he's sitting on the edge of his bed. It's very obvious that he was doing something else when I arrived, but whatever it was, he's tidied things away and is now waiting for me to enter.
“Do you know why I'm here, John?”
He sighs. “Because I broke the noses of half a dozen of your employees yesterday?”
“Actually, only two of them suffered broken noses,” I say. “The others suffered a range of injuries including a fractured cheek, two fractured eye sockets, several missing teeth, two broken arms and one lost earlobe. I think that's a record. You must be very proud”.
“You're the one who should be proud,” he says. “You're the one who keeps sending them in here”.
“So it's my fault?”
He shrugs. “We both know what happens when you try. You're the one who insists on pushing things”.
I walk over to his desk and look at the pile of books. Some Kafka, some George Bernard Shaw, and the complete Harry Potter series. He certainly has eclectic tastes. “Do you think I should give up?” I ask, picking up the books to take a look at them. “Should I let you rot down here alone?”
“Yes please,” he says.
I look at the papers on his desk. He's been writing again. I would dearly like to read his work, but I know that he would not allow that.
“Tell me,” he says. “You're in here alone with me. The walls are made of lead. No-one can hear a thing from outside. You've seen what I do to your men. Aren't you scared?”
I turn to him. “Scared of you?”
He nods and stands up. He's a tall man, with thick black curly hair and dark, menacing eyes. “Don't you worry that I'll turn on you? After all, this is a psychiatric hospital. Don't you worry that your patients are a little unstable?”
