Dark Season: The Complete Box Set

by Amy Cross

  "I'm so horny right now," Sophie's friend says.

  Dexter digs the tip of the knife slowly into my chest, not breaking the skin but clearly about to make the final lunge. The tip edges closer and closer to my heart.

  “You forgot something,” says a familiar voice from behind him. He turns and lets out a gasp, then he falls backward, with a smaller knife wedged into his chest. Sophie is standing before me, blood on her hand, with her friend next to her. I can hear her heartbeat, and I recognize it. I have heard it so many times, almost since the day I was born, reaching out to me. It took me so long to understand how I'd find her, but now she's here.

  As her friend unlocks the manacles, I stare at Sophie. Why has she done this? By saving me, she's dooming herself.

  “I'm not going to let you die like this,” she says. “I'm going to make you live. I'm going to make you show me where that baby is. I'm going to make you take me to her, so I can make sure she's okay. Then, maybe, you can die. When I say so”.

  There's a blur of action nearby, and I turn to see Dexter throwing himself at Sophie with the dagger drawn. I grab him, turn him around and slam him into the wall so hard I can feel the bones rattle in his body. He really is a weak, crippled fool. I should have killed him long ago, but I had to keep him alive. I needed him to kill me. Or at least, that's what I thought at the time. Still, I can't help but notice that more and more spiders are falling from the ceiling. Something's wrong. The prophecy should be back on track by now, but it's not. Something else still needs to happen.

  “You should be dead by now,” Dexter spits, before I throw him all the way across the room. He slams into the wall and falls to the floor in a crumpled heap, like the garbage that he's always been. I can't help it: I'm angry now. I'm angry at everyone and I'm ready to let the anger loose.

  “Patrick, we have to leave,” Sophie says, coming close and putting her hands on the sides of my face. “If you stay here, I'll stay here, and we'll both die. And our baby will be alone, and people like Dexter will pursue it forever. Do you understand?”

  “This isn't how it was supposed to end,” Dexter says, standing up and reaching into his pocket. “But I don't mind improvising. Some things, some weapons, are just too beautiful not to use”. And with that he opens his hand to reveal something glowing in his palm. I recognize it immediately: it's the weapon I used to end the vampire war, the weapon that changed everything. Dexter must have found it in the ruins of Gothos. He must have made it all the way there and back. I assumed it had been destroyed, but it's clear that a small fragment survived. And even a small fragment of something so powerful can cause major damage. Clearly, I under-estimated Dexter.

  I step toward him, but it's too late. He turns his hand over and lets the weapon fall, and in a flash of light he unleashes a great power that sends flames bursting across the chamber, knocking everyone to the ground and cracking the stone walls themselves. I look up to see the roof starting to buckle. This is the moment that should never have come to pass. The wheels of the universe are shifting. Chaos has broken out, but the prophecy is reasserting itself. We were all fools. No-one can stand in the way of the prophecy, and now we're powerless as it twists and contorts fate and reality, forcing us back into the positions we must assume in order for the prophecy to be fulfilled. And that can only mean one thing. There will be fire. There will be destruction, and death, and pain. But at the end of it all, the prophecy will be restored. It will not let any of us deny its path. However, it knows that I am the one who tried to deny its destiny. For me, it has reserved a special punishment.

  Sophie

  With smoke everywhere and the heat from the flames becoming unbearable, I crawl over to Patrick.

  “I figured it out,” I say, looking into his eyes, hoping to find some hint of understanding, “and I realized that there's only one way I'm ever going to see that baby, and that's if you take me to her. So I'm not going to let you die, do you understand?”

  He sits up, looking at me with a shocked expression on his face.

  “Do you really think that baby is going to be safer with you gone?” I ask him. “When they've finished with you, they'll still go after it, and you'll need to be around. If you really want to do all the heroic sacrificing yourself stuff, at least wait until it'll actually work. You have to be here for that baby. She needs you”. I look into Patrick's eyes, hoping to see that he understands. “Patrick? You understand, don't you?"

  Slowly, he stands. He seems stronger now, as if his wounds have already begun to heal. He walks over to where Shelley is still keeping Dexter on the ground. Reaching down, Patrick pushes Shelley out of the way, then he leans in and bites Dexter's neck, ripping a chunk clean away. He bites again, and Dexter screams, and then a third bite severs Dexter's head, stops the scream and leaves Patrick covered in blood.

  Dexter's head drops to the floor, and blood flows from his stumpy neck.

  “That's pretty gross,” Shelley says, staring in shock.

  Patrick rips more flesh from Dexter's neck, chewing it and swallowing it. He has that look in his eyes, the look of a wild beast. I used to hate that look, but now I've come to appreciate it. It's part of him, it's part of who he is, and it's never going to go away.

  “And that's gross too,” Shelley says, looking at me as Patrick pulls a stringy bit of Dexter's body away from the bones and chews on it. “Dude, does he have to eat him?”

  I open my mouth to say something, but at that moment part of the ceiling collapses, covering us all in dust and sending me falling backward. As I get back up, I realize I can't see Patrick or Shelley, and the flames are getting stronger every second. At that moment, I feel a rush of cold air on my arm, and I turn to my left. In the distance there's a speck of light, and I realize that this is probably the only chance we have to get out of here.

  I stumble toward the light, looking around for Shelley and Patrick. The floor starts to give way, and I have to jump to one side as the stones I was standing on crumble into darkness. Looking down at my hands, I see that they're covered with small spiders, which are pouring into the chamber from above. Brushing them off, I look back and finally I spot Shelley and Patrick on the other side of the chamber, with Patrick covered in blood as he continues to devour what's left of Dexter.

  “This way!” I shout to them.

  Shelley grabs Patrick and tries to pull him away. Patrick lets go of Dexter's destroyed body, which falls into the dark hole in the floor.

  “Come on!” I hear Shelley shouting as she tries to tug Patrick toward me, but Patrick seems hesitant, as if there's something he still needs to do.

  In my heart, I get this sinking feeling. I know that Patrick could just come with us, but I also realize that nothing he does is ever simple. From the look on his face, I can tell he has something else planned. As he stands looking at me across the burning chamber, his bare torso still ripped and torn from Dexter's punishment, blood smeared around his mouth and all over his naked body, there's a strange expression in his eyes. I've often tried to read his expression, and I've rarely been successful, but this time I feel like I understand what he's saying: he's saying goodbye.

  “Come with me!” I shout at him.

  He stares at me, not responding.

  “Patrick!” I shout. “If you don't leave, I won't leave and we'll both die here!”

  He looks so sad as he turns toward the fire, and then he stops, looks at me again, and then goes back to Shelley. And then, as I watch, Patrick leans in to Shelley's ear and he whispers something to her, and as she listens, her face goes white with shock and her eyes and her mouth open wide.

  And then Patrick grabs Shelley by the waist, picks her up and carries her across the chamber and toward the distant light. I run after them, scrambling over broken stones, barely able to see, as the three of us head out and the chamber fills with fire and spiders. There's smoke everywhere, and the flames are spreading fast. Behind us, I can hear the sound of crumbling stone as the roof of the chamber continues to
fall in on itself.

  Finally, we emerge in the forest clearing, and Patrick puts Shelley onto the floor. He walks a few paces away, turns to me and gives me the faintest of smiles. It's a curious moment, unlike any I've ever shared with him, and for a moment I wonder what it means. Then there's a cracking sound, and a bizarre expression of peace crosses Patrick's face, and his skin starts to change. At first I can't work out what's happening to him, but then I see that his skin is turning gray and becoming rougher. I rush over to try to stop him, but it's too late. By the time I get to him, he has turned completely to stone.

  I look back at Shelley, who's still on the ground and is staring at me with a horrified expression. “What did he say to you?” I shout at her. “I saw him whispering to you! What did he say?”

  She doesn't say anything. She just stares at me and slowly shakes her head, as if she's in shock.

  “What did he say?” I scream. I grab her and pull her toward me. “What did he say to you?” I shout into her face. “I'm not going to ask you again, Shelley! What did he say?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes almost glazed over with shock. “I can't tell you,” she says. “Please don't ask me”.

  “Tell me,” I say, searching her eyes for some kind of sign. “Tell me what he said. You're my friend! You're my best friend! You have to tell me!"

  “I can't,” she says, breaking free from my grip. “Don't ask me, because I can't. I can't ever tell you”.

  I turn to Patrick, who is just stood there, made of stone. I hurry over to him and run my hands over his stone body. “You're in there!” I shout at him. “You're hiding!” I look at his stone face. “Get out of there! Come back!”

  Looking up at him, I see his stone face staring into the distance. In some ways, it's not that much of a change: he's always been pretty impassive. But the crazy thing is, now he's made of stone, I almost feel like I can read his face better. It's as if he's... I'm not sure, but it looks like he's... happy.

  “Come back!” I shout again. I shake him, and he starts to tilt, and he's too heavy for me to hold up so I fall back and he lands with a crash next to me, and there's a loud cracking sound and I see with horror that his left arm has broken off and has landed away from the rest of him, and it's clear that he's stone all the way through. No flesh. No blood. Just stone.

  “What happened to him?” Shelley asks, staring.

  “What did he tell you?” I ask her. “Was it about this? Did he tell you why he turned to stone?”

  “No,” she says. “It was nothing to do with this. It was... It wasn't about any of this”.

  “Then what was it about?”

  She shakes her head. “Please, Sophie, don't...”

  I stare at her for a moment, then I go over and grab her by the collar, pulling her close to me. “Tell me,” I say. “Tell me what he said to you or I swear to God I will kill you right here and now”.

  “Don't,” she replies. "Please, try to understand."

  “If you're my friend,” I say, “you'll tell me”.

  She stares back at me. “If you're my friend,” she replies, “you'll never ask”.

  “Tell me!” I say firmly, shaking her by the shoulders.

  There are tears in Shelley's eyes as she shakes her head, her lip trembling. “Don't you think I would if I could?” she sobs. “Don't you think I'd tell you everything he said if...” She puts her arms around me. “I can't ever tell you what he said to me,” she cries. “Not if you ask me ten million times. I can't ever tell you. Please, you have to accept that”.

  I push her away, and then I turn to look at the broken stone statue. “Is he dead?” I ask her. “Is this it? Is he gone forever?”

  “I don't know,” she says. “I'm so sorry, Sophie. I don't know. He didn't tell me about that. He just told me about...” She pauses.

  I turn to her. “You know something,” I say. “He told you something. Please, Shelley, if you're my friend, you have to tell me what he said”. I pause for a moment. "Was it about her? Was it about Abigail?"

  Still sobbing, she shakes her head. “I can't. Please try to understand. I can't tell you, I...” She looks at the forest around us, as if she's scared. “I'm sorry, Sophie, I have to get out of here,” she says, and with that she turns and she runs.

  I start to run after her, but I stop. I turn back to the stone statue of Patrick. Why did he do that? Why did he turn to stone? Why, after everything that we went through, did he feel he could talk to Shelley but not to me? And why can't she tell me what he said?

  I take a deep breath. I thought I'd finally got through to Patrick. I thought he was finally going to help me, to share things with me, to show me his world. Instead, he opened his mouth and spoke to someone else, and then he literally turned to stone before my eyes. Is he dead? Somehow I feel he's still alive, but looking at the statue, I can't see how he could have survived. But why does he look so happy?

  I walk over to the statue, and I pick up the broken arm, and then I drop it and it smashes into small pieces, and a gentle breeze blows the dust away, as if it was never there in the first place and will never be there again.

  Epilogue

  Neratovice, Eastern Europe – Two thousand years ago

  One day, shortly before his sixteenth birthday, the boy went down to the river. His father had given him plenty of jobs to do, but the boy was strong and had completed all his tasks by early afternoon. Whenever he had time to spare, he always headed to the river, to watch the water flow past and to think about all the places that the river would go. He planned to one day follow the river, to be its companion, to walk and walk until he reached the end of the world; and then, depending on how things seemed, he would either turn back or keep walking.

  Today, though, something felt different. The boy was used to sensing that his experiences were not the same as those of other boys. He'd never managed to fit in, and had learned to stop trying. But even by these standards, today felt odd. He felt as if he was in the middle of the most astonishing change, as if he might suddenly sprout five extra heads or might turn into a dragon. Unable to ask his father for advice, and unable to turn to anyone else, the boy could only wait nervously to see what would happen.

  Sometimes, as was happening right now, the boy heard another heartbeat. Just for a moment, it would drift into his mind. It was a normal heartbeat, but distinctive, and the boy had begun to understand that he must find the person to whom it belonged. After listening to the hearts of everyone he met while he was growing up, he had come to the conclusion that finding the owner of this heartbeat was going to be harder than he imagined. So he simply dreamed of the day when he would be free to follow the river and one day find the source of this heartbeat, no matter how long it took. Already, he was falling in love with the owner of that heartbeat, even if he could tell that it came from far away, not only geographically but also, perhaps, in time. It seemed impossible, but still he heard that heartbeat and felt it calling to him.

  After a while, the boy became aware that he was not alone at the river. A woman was coming along the path, smiling as she saw him. The boy thought of turning away, but he figured he might as well just wait for the woman to pass. The worst that would happen would be that he might have to say hello to her, but he was willing to put up with that. Besides, the woman looks friendly and obviously posed no danger. In fact, the boy perceived danger less and less these days; sometimes, he felt as if nothing could hurt him.

  “Are you all alone?” the woman asked. There was something familiar about her, although the boy couldn't work out where he'd seen her before.

  The boy nodded. He had no desire to speak to anyone, and he had learned that people usually just left him alone if he was quiet.

  However, the woman stopped and watched the river with him for a moment. “Your father is a good man and he has taught you a lot,” she said, glancing down at the boy. “However, there are some things he can't teach you. Things no-one can teach you. You'll need to be strong”.

&nb
sp; The boy stared straight ahead, hoping that the woman would go away.

  “You don't remember me, do you?” she asked.

  The boy looked over at her. He didn't recognize her at all, although there was definitely something vaguely familiar about her.

  “You're about to become something,” the woman said. “Something new. Something that will resonate through the rest of time. Something that will be feared and loved in equal measure. You will be the first, but you will create others like you, and then you will regret those actions and you will destroy them all. And then...” She smiled. “You will lead an interesting life, and you will find true love one day”.

  The boy studied the woman's face for a moment. He had no idea if he could trust her, but her words rang true somehow. He felt some kind of change occurring inside him, accelerating, and he sensed it was nothing that anyone else had ever experienced before. It was new. He, soon, would be new, and he was scared and excited in equal measure.

  “Good luck, Patrick,” the woman said finally, resting a hand on his shoulder for a moment before walking on along the river.

  The boy watched her go, and he was filled with a sensation that he had never experienced before. It felt as if his blood was rushing, as if his body was starting to burn from the inside. After a moment, the boy dropped to his knees. He couldn't tell if he was dying, or if this was just the change that he had been expecting, but slowly he began to feel something happening all through his body. Holding his hands up, he looked at them and believed for a moment that he could see them changing, as if something was altering every aspect of his physical form. He was starting to feel stronger and stronger with each passing second, and finally the pain subsided and he was left kneeling by the river, knowing instinctively that he could never, ever go home.

  Getting to his feet, the boy took a deep breath and wondered if he should perhaps go and find Hanmar, and say goodbye. But Hanmar would never understand, and the boy realized that he should just start walking. The sound of the mysterious heartbeat flitted through his mind for a moment, stronger than ever before. Feeling drawn to start his journey, the boy made his way along the riverbank, noticing after a while that although he could see far into the distance, he could no longer see the woman ahead of him.