by Amy Cross
So I'm Charles Nimrod now.
Before, I was Charles Nimrod Jr., the son of Charles Nimrod. But with Charles Nimrod dead, I assume his name. That's how things work in my family. My father is now Charles Nimrod Snr., just as I shall be one day - after I have died, and assuming I have children of my own.
My mother is distraught. She's focusing her emotions on my little brother David. She cradles him, walking around the house with him cradled in her arms. She seems quite mad, but I suppose she has always been that way. My father's death merely gives her idiocy and emotional incontinence some degree of context. Suddenly her behavior seems mildly appropriate. She flails and wails, and I ignore her. She really is a terrible, terrible person. The worst possible example of humanity.
They say the war will be over soon. If that's true, it's a shame. I shall miss it. My way of life is intricately connected to the idea of our nation being at war. If we are suddenly living in peaceful times, I shall not know how to survive. I have only known a world at war. War is good. No matter how chaotic things might seem, I can always find a through-line that binds the trauma together. It's so easy to find patterns. I'm terrified of peace; it seems so alien.
With my father gone, I am now the man of the house. My brother David, and my mother, will be relying upon me. Although I despise my mother, I have strong feelings for my brother. He is just a child, but when I look into his eyes, I see the same confusion and pain that I experience myself. He and I are the same. When he is old enough, he will be a formidable ally. We will be stronger together.
Another good thing to come out of my father's death is that the mysterious stranger has stopped visiting my mother. Perhaps he has simply lost interest in her, now that she is a widow? Whatever the reason, he seems to be gone and I am glad of it. Perhaps one day I shall ask my mother who he was, and what he wanted, but for now I shall simply get on with the task of becoming the dominant male in the household. My mother can't stop me. She's too weak and stupid. Unfortunately, we need her for a few more years, but when she has passed the point of usefulness - when David is eight or nine years old, say - it might be possible to get rid of her.
Three days after my father's funeral, I leave the house late at night. My mother would never before have allowed me to do such a thing, but now she has little choice. I love walking the streets at night. During the day, I feel odd and out of place, but at night everyone seems to have secrets and I feel more normal. I just walk and walk, enjoying the atmosphere. It is as if I become more of a man with every step.
Finally I decide to go home. It must be past midnight, and I'm tired. As I reach the back door to our house, however, I'm struck by the feeling that someone is watching me, close by. I turn to look, but it's so dark, I can't see anyone. Suddenly there's a sound above me. I look up, but all I can see is the dark night sky dotted with tiny, bright stars.
"Hello?" I say.
I wait.
"If there's anyone there," I continue, looking around the yard, "you'd better get away." I swallow hard, suddenly aware that I'm still quite short and weak. "Don't make me come at you with a lead pipe." I reach around in the darkness, hoping to find a convenient weapon to use, but there's nothing. I'm defenseless and alone out here.
I wait.
Nothing.
I relax. There's no-one there.
I turn back to the door, and I immediately see him, glowering down at me. Shocked, I take a step back. I was so sure he was gone, yet now here he is, confronting me. All my confidence seems to drain away and I feel like a child once again.
I wait for him to speak. Surely now, finally, he'll tell me what he wants. He wouldn't have come to me in this way if he didn't want something specific from me. As he stares down at me, however, I'm overwhelmed by a feeling that he carries pure evil in his heart. It's intoxicating.
"What do you want?" I ask.
He pauses, staring at me. And then, just when I think he's going to leave me alone, he lunges at me. I turn away, but it's too late and I feel the terrible sensation of two sharp teeth slicing deep into my neck. I fall back, but he remains attached to me as I land on the cold stone ground, I feel him tighten his grip, with those teeth still buried in my jugular. Helpless to resist, I remain on the ground, staring up at the stars and watching as, one by one, they seem to vanish. Finally, trying to push him away from me, I reach my hands up, but he's too strong, and instead I find my hands resting on his back, as if we're in some kind of embrace. I try again to get him away from me, but eventually I realize there's no way I can stop him. I just stay where I am, feeling his fangs buried deep in my neck, wondering how long it will be before he kills me.
And why? Why me?
Sophie
Dedston - Today.
The valley is bathed in the amber light of sunset. As far as the eye can see, there's nothing but grass and trees. At the very bottom of the valley, there's a lone apple tree, and next to the apple tree there's a figure. I walk cautiously toward him, and as I get closer, he turns and smiles. It's Patrick. I walk close to him, looking into his eyes, trying to work out what he's thinking. At first, I'm careful to make sure I don't get too close to him. Gradually, however, I move closer and closer, until finally I'm within touching distance. Still, I search his eyes for any sign of expression, for any sign of a message.
"Are you dead?" I ask.
At first, he doesn't respond. Typical Patrick. Then he leans toward me, and for a moment I think he's going to kiss me, but then he opens his mouth, breathes gently on my lips and -
I wake up, gasping for air. Sitting up, I take big gulps, my heart racing. No matter how deep I breathe, it feels like I'll never get enough air into my lungs. Finally, I look around and see Shelley sitting on the ground next to me, and Nimrod standing a little further away. Shelley has a look in her eyes as if something terrible has just happened, while Nimrod looks supremely confident as always.
"What happened?" I ask breathlessly, taking huge gulps of air but still desperately short of breath.
"I'm sorry," Shelley says, tears still in her eyes. She can barely bring herself to look at me.
"About what?" I ask. I stare at her. "You told him?" I ask. I look over at Nimrod, then back at Shelley. "Did you tell him?"
Shelley stares at me, and then slowly she shakes her head. "I'm really sorry, Sophie."
"Shelley -"
"I didn't tell him," she says, looking down at the ground.
"Your friend is tougher than she seems," Nimrod says. "She refused to tell me Patrick's last words. She was even willing to let you die rather than reveal her little secret." He smiles. "Fortunately, I'm a little more generous and I decided to give you both a second chance. You see, I have a problem. I need you alive, Sophie." He sighs. "There, I've said it. My weakness. My Achilles Heel. I can do pretty much anything, but I can't kill you. I have to admit, it's more than a little frustrating." He turns to Shelley. "I can't kill you, either, can I? Because you're the only one who knows the truth. If I kill either of you, I'm back where I started, with no hope of stopping Patrick."
I look at Shelley. "Why didn't you tell him?" I ask.
She looks away. "I can't," she says. "Please just believe me. I can't."
"Whatever this secret is," Nimrod says, seeming a little amused by the situation, "your friend was willing to let you die. Think about that, Sophie. She considered the secret to be more important than your life. I have to say, I'm slightly impressed by her tenacity. But..." He pauses. "It's okay. I think I've guessed what he said anyway."
Shelley looks over at him, alarmed.
He smiles. "Well, there's only one thing he could possibly have told you, that you'd truly know you can't reveal. Isn't there? Only one thing so important?" He stares at her. "I'm right, aren't I? It's what I think it is. It's about the child."
"What about her?" I ask.
Nimrod smiles at me. "You'll find out."
"I have to get out of here," I say, turning and hurrying back toward town. I've no idea where I'm su
pposed to go, but I feel like I just have to get away from both of them.
"What about Abigail, Sophie?" Nimrod calls after me.
"I'll find her myself," I say, not looking back.
"Impossible."
I stop and turn back to him. "Who the hell are you, anyway?" I shout. "Where did you come from? How do you know Patrick? How do you know me?"
He smiles. "I'm just someone who wants to make sure that Patrick never hurts another child. I've seen what he can do, and I want it to end forever. I thought maybe I'd help you and you'd help me, but I guess I'll have to do things on my own."
"Where's Abigail?" I ask.
"Coming," he says. "And..." He pauses. "I've been thinking about what I said earlier. It was wrong of me to hold her to ransom like that." He pauses, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. Finally, he sighs. "When she arrives, I'll give her to you. No strings attached, no catches. I'll just hand her over and you can take her away with you." He turns to Shelley. "And you can keep your little secret. I think I know what it is, anyway, so there's no point forcing you to reveal it."
"You'll give her to me?" I ask.
He nods. "Freely and with good grace," he says.
I pause, worried that he's trying to trick me. "When will she be here?" I ask.
"Soon," he replies. "You can meet me at midnight, down in Patrick and Vincent's old home. We'll be safe down there. It's not as if Patrick ever goes there these days. I'll deliver Abigail to you, and you can walk away with her. I won't do anything to stop you." He smiles. "She's a beautiful child, with the most stunning eyes. She's strong, too, but she needs her mother."
"I'll be there," I say, still not convinced I can trust him but certain that I have no other choice right now.
"Please forgive me," he says, and for the first time I see his emotional mask slip a little. It's as if he's been pretending to be confident all this time, but now I can see that he harbors some doubts and fears. "I was wrong to treat you like this. Both of you. Sometimes my anger just takes over and I lose control." He takes a deep breath. "I've seen what happens to children who are targeted by Patrick. I've seen it happen to my own family, and to many others. I don't want to see it happen to Abigail as well."
"Neither do I," I say.
He smiles. "You don't know the truth about Patrick, Sophie. You don't know what he is. You don't know the things he's done. He committed genocide. His entire species, wiped out. He killed them, with no mercy. If you don't believe me, think about what he did to you. He took your body and used it to create a baby, and then he ripped a hole in your memory and he stole the child. Do these sound like the actions of a good man? Do they sound like the actions of a man who has a moral core? Or do they sound like the actions of a desperate scavenger who'll stop at nothing to get what he wants?"
"I don't want him to get hold of Abigail," I say. It's so strange having these strong feelings for a little girl I've never really met, but I feel like there's a connection between us. It's as if nothing else matters. Patrick, Shelley... screw them. All I care about is Abigail.
"He had her before, but I was able to double-cross him," says Nimrod. "As I explained before, Abigail is being brought here at the moment. When she arrives, you can take her. You'll have to run faster than you've ever run before, and you'll never be able to relax again, ever. You'll both live your lives in fear, constantly looking over your shoulder in case he finds you, but at least you'll have each other."
"So Patrick's not dead?" I ask. "He's not still made of stone?"
"The stone will pass," Nimrod says. "He'll return, and we don't have much time. The sooner you start to run, the further you can get. If you get far enough away before he returns, you have a good chance of hiding. There are people around the world who can help to hide you. I have contacts, I can put you in touch with the Watchers; I'll do whatever I can. It won't be easy, and there's always a chance that one day you'll look up and he'll be there, but I'll try to hold him off for as long as possible. Think of me as the Van Helsing to his Dracula."
I turn to Shelley. "You have to come with me," I say.
"No way," she replies, as if she's been expecting me to ask.
"I mean it. I need you. Come with me. Help me."
"I can't," she insists. "Please don't ask me."
I pause. "Then help me get away. I need money. I need... I need somewhere to go. I've got a baby to look after."
Shelley nods. "That's something I can help you with," she says.
"Me too," Nimrod adds. "I have some money. I'll gather it together and bring it with me tonight." He smiles. "You have a chance, Sophie. Not the greatest chance in the world, but a chance. You and Abigail might be able to escape."
"What about the prophecy?" I ask. "Vincent said Patrick's going to kill me one day."
"Prophecies can be broken," Nimrod says. "Vincent was always rather stuck in his ways. Things can be changed, even when they seem to be set in stone." He pauses. "We'll try. We'll do everything we can. I only hope you can forgive my earlier actions and accept that I genuinely want to help you. Sometimes, the anger just becomes too much and I become desperate to stop him."
"It's okay," I say, although in truth I'm still very wary of Nimrod. Perhaps it's true that he's just trying to save other people from being hurt by Patrick, but I still have to be cautious.
"I only wish I could do more," he says. "Patrick is a terrible creature. He can appear charming at first, but once you see his real darkness, it's impossible to see him as anything but a monster." He steps toward me. "We have to make sure he never gets his hands on your daughter again."
"I'll meet you at midnight," I say. I suddenly realize that I'm going to have to go and say goodbye to my mother, to my brother... I'm going to have to completely throw off my old life, cut all connections, and run out into the world. It seems so daunting, but at the same time I recognize that I have no choice. For Abigail's sake, I have to make sure she doesn't fall into Patrick's hands again. I turn to walk away, but then I pause and turn back to Nimrod. "What did he do to you? What happened between you and him?"
He smiles weakly. "Let's just say that I would give my life to ensure that he is never again able to hurt someone the way that he hurt my family. No-one should have to suffer such tragedy."
Nimrod
London - 1947.
I look down at my mother's dead body. The undertaker did a magnificent job, but he was not able to remove the look of sheer terror from her face. He told me that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her eyes and mouth to close. He even considered gluing them shut, but he felt this would be a little disrespectful; he asked me what I thought should be done. I told him I don't give a damn.
Turning away from the coffin, I walk over to David. He's just five years old now. I had been hoping that our mother might remain alive for a few more years, to continue looking after my brother. That, after all, is what she was useful for. Unfortunately, she became far too infuriating and it was no longer possible to live with her. So now we are orphans, David and I, and we must make our own way in the world. As I lead him to the front of the funeral home, I reflect on the fact that he is now totally dependent upon me. He lives and dies according to my actions.
I must protect him.
I must ensure that he remains safe, and strong. Although he can never share my experiences entirely, he will be a useful companion. And everything I do must be focused on ensuring his safety.
"Where are your parents?" asks a voice nearby.
I turn to see a young man, probably in his 20s, standing by the doorway. He has a curious look on his face, as if he has just asked a question to which he already knows the answer.
"Dead," I reply. I turn to lead David away.
"Convenient," the man says.
I pause and look back at him. Since we were orphaned, I have experienced many reactions from strangers, but none have said that it is convenient. "Yes," I say finally.
"That your little brother, is it?" the man asks, looking a
t David.
"None of your business," I say.
"True," the man says. He smiles. "But it matters a great deal to Patrick, doesn't it?"
"Patrick?" I ask.
The man steps over to us. "Did you not even know his name? Well, I suppose that makes sense. He doesn't talk much, does he? He's not big on introductions. He just sort of... appears in the lives of other people. And I don't suppose he'd consent to wear a little name-badge."
"Who are you?" I ask, stepping in front of David. I feel a sense of shock at the idea that this man knows anything about my secret life. Since my mother died, I assumed that David and I were the only ones who knew anything about the mysterious visitor. But now this man has arrived, and he has put a name to the visitor: Patrick.
"My name is Vincent," the man says. "We have a lot in common, you and I. Perhaps we should talk." He reaches out a hand and shifts my shirt collar down a little, no doubt to look at the fang marks on my neck that refuse to heal properly.
"No," I say, pulling away. "We're quite alright, thank you."
"You don't have any questions?" Vincent asks. "You don't want to know who Patrick is, or where he came from? Or what he wants with you?" He smiles. "What, do you think he goes around biting children randomly?"
"I'm not a child," I say.
"You're fourteen years old," Vincent says. "You're a child."
I turn and lead David out and across the street, but this Vincent fellow follows us. "We don't need your help," I say, "or your pity."
"I have very little pity to give," Vincent replies, keeping pace with us, "and I'm certainly not going to waste any of it on you. You're an orphan, and so am I. You'll just have to live with it. However, there's one thing you should know."
"What's that?" I ask, hoping to shake this fool off.
"It's not you he wants."
I carefully avoid looking back at him as I walk away. "What do you mean?"
"Patrick doesn't want you," Vincent continues. "He's after David. He's just using you to get to your little brother, and when the time comes -"
