by Amy Cross
He shakes his head. "Why should she have to do that?" he asks. "Why should she have to be terrified? Better if she just stays asleep and drifts off to the land of Nod. That's how I want to go too."
"Pathetic," I say.
"What?" he asks, staring at me with a look of shock on his face.
"Nothing," I reply, although the truth is that I find this man and his wife to be truly pathetic. Even if she's dying in agony, she should face her fate rather than trying to sleep her way into death. People like this give humanity a bad name, because they seem to glorify weakness and fragility. When the time comes for me to face my own death, I will ensure that I have my eyes wide open, rather than seeking to avoid the final moment. Human or vampire alike, one must always face death and treat that beast for what it really is.
"I should get back," the man says, clearly a little concerned. He obviously heard what I said, but he's too timid even to challenge me. The man is a fool. I hope his wife dies slowly and painfully, and I hope she's awake for every second of it.
I wander back up to find Sophie. When I reach the room where she was born, I see that her parents are both asleep. It takes me a few minutes to find the room where the new-born babies are kept, and I find myself standing in front of a large window with half a dozen babies on the other side. It's easy to spot Sophie; she seems different from the others somehow.
"Hello," I say, staring at her. I'm not quite sure what I should say. She won't remember this moment, of course, but I feel I should warn her that her life is not going to be easy. "You won't see me again for quite some time," I continue, "but my name is Charles Nimrod and I'm going to play a very important role in your -" I pause. This is ridiculous. Watching her little face, I see nothing but innocence. How can a child be destined from the moment of birth to die at the hands of an ancient beast such as Patrick? Surely Sophie should have the right to choose her fate, or at least to try to change it?
But no.
She's doomed. Even from this moment.
"I'm sorry," I say finally. "It shouldn't be like this. You should have your whole life ahead of you. You should succeed or fail based on your own actions, not some prophecy that was written hundreds of years before you were born." I pause. "But I don't write the rules."
Sophie stares at me. Although she's barely an hour old, she seems to understand that I'm important. Or am I just reading far too much into the actions of a child? The other children all have their eyes closed, but Sophie's eyes are open and she seems to be focused on me.
"I have a plan," I say to Sophie. "In just over twenty years, I'm going to have to do something very, very cruel to you. By the time you realize what it is, I'll be dead and I'll no longer be able to apologize to you, so I want to apologize now, even though you can't possibly hear me. I want to tell you that I'm sorry, and I wish there could be another way. Unfortunately, you've been born into something from which you can't escape. It's nothing personal. It's not your fault. It's just the way things are."
I take a deep breath as Sophie stares back at me. It's so tempting to think that somehow she understands, deep down, who I am and what I'm saying, but such notions are foolish. She doesn't know. She can't possibly know.
"The next time we meet," I say quietly, "will be under some very unusual circumstances." I smile at her, but she doesn't smile back. "The world is a cruel place," I continue, "and it will destroy you." I pause for a moment before turning and walking away. It was wrong to come here. I was being foolish and sentimental, but I won't make the same mistake again. The next time I see Sophie, I'll be ready to put my plan into action and crush Patrick forever. This is the beginning. The plan starts here and now.
Nimrod
Today.
It's finally over. After all this time, it's finally coming to an end and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. No more running. No more plotting. No more time spent trapped inside my own mind, obsessively going over every last possible detail. I've planned for this moment. I've waited for it. I've longed for it, and I've dreaded it. Sometimes I've wondered if maybe I should pull back, but I always knew I'd face Patrick in the end. I always knew I'd feel the need to punish him for what he did to me. And now I'll punish him by dying.
He's a monster, a beast; he's a creature that has long out-lived his useful existence. The vampire race died years ago, but still Patrick clings to his life. I know what he thinks: he thinks he's just staying alive so he can set in motion the events that will lead to the birth of a new group of vampires; he thinks that once he's done that job, he can finally allow himself to follow all the other vampires into death. But deep down, is that what he really thinks? Isn't he just delaying the inevitable? Isn't he just, like so many other creatures, delaying the moment when he has to face death? Perhaps, when it comes down to it, Patrick's just like the rest of us: he's terrified of dying.
He walks toward me, slowly emerging from the shadows. The look in his eyes is monstrous, almost burning with intensity. He knows what day it is, and he knows that the prophecy must be fulfilled. He has spent so long trying to put this day off, trying to find another way, trying to find some way - any way - to avoid having to do what he must do. It hasn't worked, of course, and now he has steeled himself for the moment of truth. The weight of all those centuries of life is visible in his eyes right now. I've seen him angry before, and sad, but I've never seen him like this. It's as if he's determined to stay strong, determined not to show how scared he really is.
But he is scared. I know it. I can feel it.
"Stop!" I shout, determined to have this final confrontation. I won't allow him to just walk past me, to ignore me like I'm some insignificant shadow in the corner of his eye.
He stops, just a few meters from me.
"Good," I say. "You know your place." It's strange, but when I imagined this moment, I always assumed I'd be calm and in control, but right now I feel a fury burning through my body that I have not felt in many years. It's the same fury that used to help me kill those girls; the same fury that I thought made me like Patrick; the same fury that I ultimately had to bury so that I could move away from him. "You're in no hurry," I say. "You know she's just going to run along endless corridors until you catch up to her. She's not going anywhere; I've made sure of that."
He stares at me. That's all he ever does. He never speaks. He can speak, but he's scared. He believes that if he speaks, he will break the seal that keeps the rest of the vampires dead. He fears that he could accidentally bring them back to life, returning their war to this planet. That's Patrick's big secret: he fought in that war and he never, ever wants it to come back. He was at every major point in the vampire civil war: he saw the fall of the nightmare hive; he was lost in the Castle of Eyes; he journeyed for many years, lost and alone across the Death Zone; he parlayed peace with the Forbidders; he took Cassandra's heart from her body and left her to keep living without it; and he entered the Cave of a Thousand Deaths, becoming the only sentient creature to ever emerge from that place. No wonder he's lost his mind. Patrick, the last vampire: an insane relic of a dead age. Of all the people who should die, he's the one whose death would be celebrated by the greatest number of ghosts. When he eventually dies, there will be great parties in the Underworld, deep beneath the unknowing surface of this miserable planet.
"You owe me something," I say, standing my ground, determined not to let him see that I'm scared.
He stares at me, his face showing no hint of an expression. He clearly thinks I'm just some inconvenience, a pitiful human ready to be swatted aside. How he must wish he'd killed me when he had the chance, but I feel certain that in some way he understands that I'm an important part of the prophecy.
"Why didn't you take me?" I ask. "When I was young, it seemed as if you were ready to take me and turn me into a vampire. It seemed as if you'd chosen me to be the one who'd start a new vampire race, who'd allow you to die in peace. And then you just turned and left me. Why? What was wrong with me?"
No answer. He star
es at me blankly, almost as if I'm a stranger.
"Why go to all this trouble?" I continue. "Why chase after Abigail when I was right there for you all along? I showed you I can do it. I can be like you, if you just give me a chance, but instead you rejected me over and over again, even though I tried to show you." I bare my fangs, which I carved from my own teeth many years ago, using just a razor blade. "Don't you see how great I could have been? But instead you -" I pause, suddenly realizing that I'm rambling. I'm getting breathless, losing control of my words. I need to remain more in control, more calm and collected.
Patrick steps forward, as if he wants to move around me, but I block his way.
"It's too late for us," I say, almost spitting in his face. The venom is rising in my soul. I want to hurt him, the way he hurt me. "We're opposites now," I continue. "I've worked hard to focus my mind on logic and intellectualism, things that you don't even understand."
Again, he tries to walk around me, but again I get in his way. I'm determined not to let him simply move away from me. He's going to have to go through me if he wants to get anywhere. The whole plan depends upon him killing me. I can't be alive when he finds out the truth; if I'm still breathing, he'll come back and force the truth out of me. I'm strong, but not strong enough to withstand the kind of torture he can create. No, I have to make him kill me in a fury, so that later he realizes what a terrible mistake he made. Then, finally, my revenge will be complete.
"Where are you going?" I ask, still standing in his way. I'm not certain, but I think I can detect a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He's getting annoyed now. He's tiring of me. My plan is working, albeit slowly.
"All you do," I continue, "is smash your way into every situation. You never think ahead. You never devise intricate, careful plans to get what you want. You just rely on your ability to get your own way using brute force. But maybe this time you've made things worse. Ten thousand times worse."
He suddenly reaches out and pushes me against the wall, which gives him the chance to get past me.
"You're no better than a beast," I say, watching as he slowly walks away. "A dumb, lumbering beast." No response. He just keeps walking. He's totally focused on Sophie and Abigail. "I could have saved her," I say finally.
He stops.
"I could have saved Sophie," I continue. "I could have found a way to fulfill the prophecy without her having to die. But you couldn't. Thanks to your stupidity, she has to die. Doesn't that hurt? The great tragedy is that her death could have been averted. Someone needed to die, but it didn't have to be her. It's too late now, though. Her fate was sealed when you showed up at the hospital when she was born."
Slowly, he turns to me. Finally, I've got his undivided attention.
"Don't you care that she has to die a horrible, painful death?" I say. "Don't you care that because of your stupidity, and your mistakes, Sophie Hart can't ever be happy?"
He stares at me. The plan is working, but I need to push him a little further over the edge. I need to make him lose control, to make him lash out at me.
"That little girl," I say slowly, "Abigail... When she finds out what happened to her mother, she's going to hate you. She's going to do everything in her power to become the very opposite of you." I pause. "She's going to become more like me than she'll ever be like you."
It works. He steps toward me, and I can see the violence in his eyes. He's falling right into my trap.
"Everything bad that has ever happened to Sophie," I say as he reaches me, "is all your fault."
Nimrod
2011.
I wait in the shadows. I know exactly where he'll be. The traffic in this part of Los Angeles is terrible, and he'll eventually ditch his car and make his way on foot. Anthony Hart is a chaotic man, driven by a desire to please everyone at once. He makes promises he'll never be able to keep, even if he desperately tries to do the right thing. Tonight, he's supposed to phone his children in Dedston, and he's supposed to phone a colleague to set up a deal, and he's supposed to go to dinner with his girlfriend. That's why he's running late, and that's why he's going to try to walk the last leg of the journey to the restaurant.
Eventually I hear footsteps. I'm waiting in an alley near 5th and Charles St, a place that even the vagrants avoid. There are no restaurant bins down here. It's a barren concrete corridor between tall buildings, but it offers a short cut that Anthony Hart is going to try to use tonight. I wait until he walks right past me, and then I step out behind him. He stops, clearly lost, and then he turns and sees me. He tries to walk past me, but I reach out and grab his arm.
"Is this a mugging?" he asks, sighing. He pulls out his wallet and pushes it into my hand. "Here," he says. "You're welcome." Such a fatalistic approach, but the man has too much money to really care about anything else. He's terrified of ever standing up for himself, so he just surrenders to what he thinks is a common robbery.
"What do you want?" he asks, sounding impatient. "I don't have a car. If I had a car, do you think I'd be walking down here right now?"
I stare at him, the knife ready in my hand. Part of me wants to talk to him, to tell him who I am. I want to introduce myself and explain why I, Charles Nimrod, have come to kill him, but there's another part of me that wants to remain quiet.
Just like Patrick.
"I have a wife," he says, his voice suddenly filled with panic. He's lying, of course. He's divorced, but he has a girlfriend. "And two kids," he adds. "Okay? Please don't hurt me." Typical. He's gone from trying to pay me off, to begging for his life. It never occurs to him to fight, to try to take me on. "You can just let go and I'll be off, okay?" he says, but I can tell from the tone of his voice that he doesn't really believe I'll let him go so easily.
Suddenly he lashes out, punching me in the head. It's a weak punch and it doesn't really connect very well, and I barely even loosen my grip on his arm. Nice try, Mr. Hart. I pull him closer, reach around and stick the knife straight into his back, feeling it scratch against his spine. I pull the knife out and let him drop to his knees, and then I kick him in the stomach to knock him over. I kneel down and stab him several more times, and then I roll him onto his back. He stares up at me, and then his eyes turn away, looking at the night sky. What's he thinking about? His girlfriend? His children? Is he thinking about poor little Sophie and Todd, about to lose their father?
I wait until he's dead, and then I cut his neck and drink his blood. The blood makes me feel stronger, and younger. Finally I leave the body and walk the short distance to the restaurant a couple of blocks away. I see Anthony's girlfriend Sharon, waiting angrily at a table. She's used to him being late, but soon enough she'll discover what's really happened.
The next day, I listen to Sharon's conversations via a small bug I planted in the home she shares with Anthony. I listen as the police break the news to her about Anthony's death, and I listen as she phones various friends and relatives. She's an emotional wreck, completely unable to handle the news at all. Her brother comes over to comfort her, and eventually she decides she has to phone Dedston and inform Anthony's 'old' family.
"Hi," I hear her say on the phone, her voice trembling. "Is that Sophie?"
Sophie. On the other end of the phone, about to be told that her father is dead. Soon it'll be time for me to go to Dedston, to see Sophie again after all these years. The plan is coming together. In less than a year, Patrick will be defeated and I will have finally achieved peace.
Nimrod
Today.
Patrick slams my face against the brick wall, immediately shattering the front of my skull. He turns me around, staring into my eyes. The pain is indescribable, but I also feel a strange kind of elation. This is the Patrick I've been waiting to see, the Patrick who solves every problem using violence. This is the Patrick who sees violence as the only way to stop anyone. He recognizes me as a threat, and his only response is to kill me. It never occurs to him that he should be smarter, that he should find some other way to deal with me. He'll
never learn. Not until it's too late, anyway.
"What's this?" I ask, barely able to talk with my jaw broken. Blood is pouring from my mouth, but I must speak to him; I have to make sure that he kills me. "Are you using me as practice? Is this what you're going to do to Sophie?"
He steps toward me again, but I launch myself at him. Opening my mouth, I sink my fangs into his neck, and for the first time I feel his blood flood into my mouth. I've tasted the blood of many humans, but never a vampire before. His blood is so much warmer than normal blood, and richer. I feel for a moment as if I'm suspended in time, frozen in place as Patrick's blood gushes into my mouth and onto my tongue. I want this to last forever. If only he could have given me this at the start. If only life could have been like this. If only -
He flings me against the opposite wall, my head smashing into the bricks. As I drop to the ground, I feel my left heel snap. There's blood pouring from my face, but no matter how much it hurts, I can't stop yet. I can take anything he throws at me, because I know that the more violence he unleashes, the more it'll hurt him later when he realizes what I've done. As I start laughing, I can feel the broken segments of my skull as they grind together.
"How are you going to kill her?" I ask, trying and failing to get to my feet. I manage to prop myself against the wall and, with a huge amount of effort, I get into a semi-standing position. I'm out of breath, and I've lost so much blood that I'm starting to feel extremely weak. "Are you going to... smash her head open?" I ask, smiling. I can still taste his blood in my mouth. I want more.
He grabs me and throws me with full force against the opposite wall, and then he slams me down into the shallow river that runs along the center of the tunnel. It takes me a moment to understand what's happened, but then I realize he's ripped my left arm completely away.
