Dark Season: The Complete Box Set

by Amy Cross

  After cleaning myself up, I switch on the light by the bed and survey the bloody scene. I sit in the chair by the window and wait. Almost an hour later, I hear a noise on the balcony. The door, which I left unlocked, slides open, and Patrick enters the room. He stops as soon as he sees the bloody mess on the bed. For what feels like an eternity, he stares at David's body. It's as if he can't quite believe that his carefully-laid plan has been so cruelly interrupted.

  Finally, he turns and heads out the door.

  "Wait!" I shout. "Look!" I bare my fangs.

  He doesn't look back. He simply walks to the edge of the balcony and starts to climb over.

  "Look at me!" I shout at him. "Take me with you! I'm the one! I'm yours!"

  Still, he doesn't look back. He doesn't even pause. He just lets himself fall. I rush over and look down, but he's gone, vanished into the dark of the night. How could he just leave like that? Couldn't he see what I had become? Didn't he understand that it was almost I, not David, who should go with him? I turn and look at my brother's body. How could Patrick ever have planned to take such a weak and naive creature with him? I was supposed to be the one. It was always going to be me. Why has Patrick betrayed me like this? Why has the vampire rejected me?

  Sophie

  Dedston - Today.

  In pitch darkness, Shelley and I make our way to the cave where Patrick and Vincent used to live. We have a torch, which helps us find the right route, but it's still spooky being out here. For one thing, I've encountered enough strange creatures in these woods - Sentinels, werewolves and more - to know that it's not entirely safe; for another, there's the question of Patrick and any allies he might have. Finally, however, we reach a clearing near the cave, but I suddenly stop, shining the torch on the forest floor.

  "Look," I say as the beam of light dances across the grass and soil.

  "What?" Shelley says.

  "There's nothing there," I reply. I turn to her. "Patrick's gone."

  Shelley pauses. "You think he's alive?"

  "Or someone took him," I say.

  We move on, and soon we're walking down the tunnel to the cave. Much of the ceiling has caved in, but we manage to make our way to the cavernous space where Patrick and Vincent's house used to stand. There's nothing left of the building now except a few burnt beams of wood. All Vincent's books have been destroyed, and Vincent's body too. It's strange, but that time - when I'd come down here and spend time with them both - seems so long ago now. It feels like another world entirely.

  "What time is it?" I ask.

  "Five minutes to go," Shelley says.

  I shine the light across the cave walls, and I spot something high up. It takes me a moment to realize what it is, and I shudder as I stare. "There are bats here," I say.

  "Nice," Shelley says. "Fucking vermin."

  I turn as I hear a noise from somewhere else in the cavern. In the gloom, a dark figure is walking toward us. For a moment, my heart skips a beat as I consider it might be Patrick, but I shine the torch across and immediately see that it's Nimrod.

  "You're early," Shelley says, sounding a little contemptuous.

  "So are you," Nimrod replies, shielding his eyes from the torch, which I lower.

  "Where's Abigail," I say.

  "She's coming," he replies. "She's just minutes away, I promise." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small packet, which he hands to me. "It's not much," he says, "but it's all I could manage."

  I open the packet and find it's stuffed with money. There must be more than ten thousand dollars in here. There's also a small notebook, which is full of names, addresses, phone numbers and email addresses.

  "Those names are people who can help you," Nimrod says. "Watchers, stationed all over the world. They'll shelter you for as long as you need, but don't stay anywhere for too long. If you do, he'll find you." There's a pause. "Are you sure you're ready for this, Sophie? You'll have to run, every day of your life. You'll never, ever be able to relax. And one day, you'll -"

  "I'm sure," I say.

  "Me too," Shelley says.

  Nimrod looks at her. "Are you going with her?"

  "She is," I say.

  "Good," he replies. "I wish I could come as well, but I'm going to stay in Dedston and try to slow Patrick down. I'll try to give you a head start. I'll also try to stop him permanently, but I don't think I stand much of a chance."

  I put the packet of money and the notebook in my pocket. "How are you going to do that?" I ask.

  "Never mind," he replies. There's a kind of sadness in his eyes. "I know I don't look it, but I'm quite an old man. I've lived a long life, and I'm tired. I -"

  "You don't need to sacrifice yourself," I say.

  He smiles. "Maybe I do. But I promise you one thing. I'll damn well make sure I slow him down in the process. Who knows? Maybe I'll even be able to take a sizable chunk of him with me."

  I sigh. Perhaps Nimrod isn't so bad after all. He seems determined to try to protect Abigail, and he seems to know a lot about Patrick. Just as I have my own story with Patrick, I feel as if Nimrod has his own, and his is coming to an end. There's a part of me that wants to know more about him, to know how he came to be so involved in the battle against Patrick, but at the same time I know I don't have time to stick around asking questions.

  "Thank you," I say.

  "Thank me by getting that child away from Patrick," he replies. "Thank me by making sure he doesn't get his hands on her." He turns to Shelley. "And by surviving. Both of you. Don't let him win. It won't do him any good, anyway. He thinks Abigail will be the perfect successor to his own life, but he's wrong. A lot of lives have already been destroyed because of his mistakes. You have no idea how many times he's tried to raise a successor."

  Shelley coughs. "Not to interrupt a nice moment," she says, "but where's the baby? We need to get going."

  "She's coming," Nimrod says. He looks over at the exit. "She's probably outside now." He heads to the exit, and the three of us walk back up to the forest. When we get there, it doesn't seem as if anyone's there, but suddenly I notice a shape on the ground. I rush over and find an old woman's dead body.

  "It's her," Nimrod says, sounding worried.

  "Who?" I ask, looking down at the old woman's glassy, dead eyes. I turn to Nimrod. "Where's Abigail?"

  "This is the woman who was bringing her," Nimrod says. "Someone must have... Patrick must have intercepted her."

  "You said she'd be safe," I say, trying not to panic.

  "I swear, I thought he'd remain stone for longer. I was sure his heart couldn't heal so fast." He looks out at the dark forest. "He can't have got far," he says. "We can still catch him and -"

  "And do what?" Shelley asks. "Ask him nicely to give Abigail back?"

  "This is your fault!" I say to Nimrod. "You said she'd be safe. You said she'd be okay. And now he's got her!"

  "There's still time," Nimrod says. "If we can find him."

  I look down and see blood on the grass. "He's hurt her," I say.

  Nimrod reaches down, rips up some of the grass and smells it. "It's not hers," he says. "It's Patrick's."

  We follow the blood trail, eventually reaching the small river that runs through the forest. Shining the torch across to the other bank, I try to find any sign of Patrick, but there's nothing. He could be miles away by now.

  "He's injured," Nimrod says, "and he's still recovering from being turned to stone. He'll be slow and we have a chance of stopping him."

  "He's too strong," I say.

  "No!" Nimrod shouts at me. "He's not! He's weak! You've seen the blood. The woman was able to hurt him. We have to strike now while he's wounded." He stares at me, with a slightly manic look in his eyes. "Don't you get it?" he shouts. "This is our chance! If we wait, he'll get stronger, but if we strike now we can get him out of all of our lives. We can finish him! We can kill him!"

  I stare back at Nimrod. "I don't want to kill him," I say, shocked that Nimrod's rage against Patrick could
be so strong. "I just want to get away from him. I just want to get Abigail and take her away."

  "You can't do that while he's still alive," Nimrod says. "While he draws breath, he'll be hunting you. You don't understand. I've been waiting for this opportunity for years. To kill Patrick, to strike down the last vampire and finally end his miserable existence. This might be the only chance I get, and I'm not going to let you stop me."

  "There!" Shelley shouts.

  It takes me a moment to work out what she's seen, but finally I make out the faint figure of a man wading away from us along the dark, moonlit river. The water is up to his chest, and he seems to be struggling.

  The three of us run down to the river bank, and when we get closer I see that it's definitely Patrick. He's walking slowly, as if he's badly hurt, and he glances back at us. There's no sign of Abigail with him, and as his eyes meet mine I realize that he looks totally lost. He's not the fearsome beast that Nimrod described; he's scared and hurt.

  "Where's Abigail?" I shout.

  "Stand back!" Nimrod says, stepping into the water. "He's as much animal as man." He pulls a dagger from around his waist and wades out toward Patrick. I don't know if Patrick can't or won't try to escape, but he just turns to face Nimrod. Clutching what appears to be a badly injured arm, and soaking wet, Patrick looks like a pathetic, weak figure.

  "Where's Abigail!" I shout again.

  Patrick looks over at me and stares with those deep, dark eyes of his.

  "This is the end!" Nimrod says, wielding the dagger and approaching Patrick. "I've waited for this moment!"

  Patrick turns to watch as Nimrod advances on him. It's as if Patrick has no will or strength to fight for his life, as if he's going to just stand there and let Nimrod carve him up. He seems to be little more than mildly curious about Nimrod.

  "Where is she?" I shout. I climb down into the river and start wading toward them.

  "Keep back," Nimrod says, reaching Patrick. He lunges forward with the knife, sliding it straight into Patrick's chest. Patrick winces and steps back, and blood pours from the wound as Nimrod pulls the knife out. "You're dying," Nimrod says. "After all these years, your long, miserable life is coming to an end. And do you know the best thing? I'm the one who's going to finish you off. How ironic is that? Not Benjamin. Not the beasts of Gothos. Me. And there'll be no more vampires. That little girl won't be like you. You'll never get a chance to change her." He stabs Patrick again, this time in the shoulder. Patrick pulls back, clearly in pain. "How does it really feel?" Nimrod asks. "How does it feel to know that after all this time, you've lost?"

  "Stop!" I shout, grabbing Nimrod's arm as he's about to stab Patrick again. We wrestle for the knife and I'm able to knock it out of his hand. The blade drops into the river and sinks to the depths. As I look down, Nimrod pushes me away and I land backward in the water. As I stand up again, I see Nimrod advancing on Patrick again.

  "I'll do it with my bare hands," Nimrod says. "I'll squeeze the life out of you."

  Patrick turns away, as if he's just going to let it happen, but at the last moment he turns and bares his fangs at Nimrod, and hisses. Nimrod reaches out to grab him, but Patrick swats his arm away and grabs Nimrod, slamming him against the river bank. Nimrod slips under the waterline and doesn't come back up.

  "You killed him," I say to Patrick.

  He stares back at me, with a wounded look in his eyes.

  "Where's Abigail?" I ask.

  He turns to walk away.

  "Where is she?" I shout.

  He stops and turns back to me.

  "Sophie!" Shelley shouts from the riverbank. "Don't get too close!"

  "It's okay," I say, wading toward Patrick. "He's not going to hurt me. Are you?"

  Patrick stares at me. I can see from the look in his eyes that he's in agony, and there's blood pouring from his wounds.

  "It doesn't have to be like this," I say. "Tell me where she is, and we can... we can work something out. You don't have to steal her. We can raise her. We can give her a good life. We can even..." I pause. "We can be together," I say finally. "We can try to work out what's going on here." I wade closer and closer to him. "I can help you heal, and you can help me, and together we can make this work."

  He just stares at me.

  "What did you say to Shelley?" I ask. "What did you tell her that you can't tell me?"

  He looks away for a moment.

  "You have to tell me where to find Abigail," I continue. "She's the only one that matters right now. Please, Patrick. If you love her, tell me where to find her."

  "Get back!" shouts a voice from behind. I turn to see that Nimrod has emerged from the water. He's clinging to the river bank, clearly injured. "He'll kill you!"

  "No he won't," I say. "He's going to see that I'm right. He's going to see that we can all be happy here. He's going to see that he doesn't need to steal Abigail. I'll give Abigail to him, but he has to give her to me as well." I smile at Patrick. "We can share her. Tell me where she is."

  Patrick stares at me. I can see that he's thinking, but I can also see that he's wounded and confused. He's like a cornered animal, alone and scared. He used to have Vincent to calm his temper, but now he has to work things out for himself and he's not used to the freedom. He's making bad - no, terrible - choices, and he thinks he has to use violence and force to get what he wants when he could just ask.

  "Please," I say again. "You have to trust me. You have to do what's right for Abigail."

  He narrows his eyes, and then he opens his mouth. For a moment, I think he's going to say something, but then his entire body seems to go limp and he collapses, disappearing under the surface of the water.

  "No!" I shout, wading forward and reaching underwater to try to find him. I search and search, but there's no sign of him. He's gone.

  Nimrod

  London - 1985.

  Midnight. The woman steps out of the shop, lighting up a cigarette. She inhales deeply, and then she breathes out a cloud of smoke. She looks tired, and her clothes are shabby. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieves a few coins and counts them. However long that paltry sum of money is supposed to last, it almost certainly won't be enough. Thin and under-nourished, the woman coughs heavily as she huddles up against the cold night and walks along the street, passing into the shadows.

  I follow her.

  A lone ghost follows me. David.

  These nights of hunting are sublime. I am able to switch off all my worries, all my concerns, and concentrate purely on my physical needs. I am driven by a need to experience the sensation of warm blood flooding into my throat. I cannot go long without the thrill of holding a living human as it struggles and dies. I feel a huge, overwhelming sense of power and control. All I have to do is select a target, trail her and finally make the kill.

  Some targets are harder than others, but this woman is easy. She quickly walks toward a fairly dark and isolated street. There are plenty of shadows, and the rough neighborhood means people around here will be used to the sound of women screaming and will almost certainly refuse to come and help. Only tomorrow morning, when the cold dawn reaches its light across the woman's ravaged corpse, will some of the residents realize they could have done more to help. By then, it will be too late. I'll be long gone.

  I speed up, catching the woman quickly. She seems not to have noticed me, which is good. Women like her are often drunk, or high on drugs, or both. While I appreciate the challenge of a difficult kill, I also appreciate the ease and pleasure of a simple strike. Some nights, it's the pure taste of blood - anyone's blood - that I desire. I just want to strike, take what I want, and move on. Tonight is one of those nights.

  The woman only seems to notice my presence when I'm within a few feet of her. She turns and stares at me with drunk, uncomprehending eyes. It's clear she can barely focus at all.

  "You want something?" she asks with a strong south London accent.

  "Yes," I say, and I grab her shoulders, pulling her toward me
and sinking my fangs into her neck. She screams, but I quickly rip out enough of the flesh and muscle to silence her. The blood pours onto my face; I try to swallow all of it, but there's too much and some of it flows down the side of my mouth and onto my neck. The woman struggles silently now, but I hold her tight. Biting harder, I rip out more of the spongy muscle from her neck, swallowing it whole as I continue to drink down the blood. Eventually I feel her body go limp, and I hold her up a moment longer so that I can drink more, before finally letting her fall lifeless to the ground.

  I stare down at her for a moment, and then I kneel at her side and pull a purse from her pocket. Opening it, I find that it's mostly empty, although there's a library card marked with a name: Gladys Hoult. I smile. A stupid, empty name; the kind of name one gives to a child with no thought of ambition. Although it is a harsh thing to think, I genuinely believe that Gladys Hoult would have simply lived a meaningless, painful life with no positive impact for other people. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's a good thing she's dead, but I doubt many people will miss her. Sometimes the weak must die in order to sustain the powerful.

  I stand up. Already, I feel energized. Her blood is in my body now, and my feeding ritual is complete. All that's left is for me to get home and wash myself. As much as I enjoy consuming blood, I do not like having it dried on my skin and clothes. As I turn to walk away, however, I find my way blocked by Patrick.

  "You came back," I say, ecstatic to see him. "I'm like you now! Don't you see? I'm like you! I can be your successor!" Patrick just stares at me, as if he doesn't recognize my achievements. I thought he'd be happy to see me like this, to see me becoming like him. "What's wrong?" I ask. "I've done everything you could possibly want me to do. I've copied you. I've changed myself to be like you. Don't you see everything that I've done?"

  For a moment, Patrick seems poised to speak, but then he turns and walks away.

  "Come back!" I shout. I refuse to run after him. That kind of humiliation would be beneath me. "I demand you come back!" I scream.