by Amy Cross
"Are you going to be tender?" I ask as blood pours from my shoulder. "Or are you going to make it hurt?"
He grabs me by the neck and lifts me up until my feet aren't even touching the ground. He stares at me, clearly deciding when to make the final move. I'm moments from death and all I can think about is what Patrick will do when he understands the true nature of my plan. Right now, he thinks he's defeating me, but only later will he realize that by killing me he's giving me a complete and final victory.
I suddenly feel peaceful, and calm. For so many years, I've lived with anger and rage in my soul. Even when I tried to suppress it, it was there, but now it's gone. Suddenly I'm at peace. I know I'm going to die, so I don't need to worry about that. I can leave this earthly body and perhaps I can be with David again. All my planning and scheming comes down to this moment, the moment of death. I'm not scared. I'm calm, and I'm a little curious.
"More," I say, my voice almost gone. I can barely even see now, and my mind is becoming muddled. "More blood. Just once more..." I plead, desperate to taste him again.
Everything seems so calm and silent, but slowly I feel Patrick pick me up. I take one final deep breath as he tightens his grip on my neck and legs, and I finally understand how he's going to kill me. I force myself to open my eyes, and I look down at him, and then at my own body. With a sudden forceful roar, he rips me in half, tearing my torso from my legs. I feel the pain, but it's not really pain any more. Watching my blood and bones rain down on Patrick, I feel the life force leaving my body as my severed spine dangles down.
Things seem to go in slow motion as Patrick lets go of me. I fall to the ground, but the fall seems to last forever as Patrick begins to walk away in pursuit of Sophie once more. He's not even going to stay and gloat over my corpse, but then I never expected he would.
This is it.
This is the end.
My body keeps falling and falling, getting closer and closer to the ground and finally landing, but I don't feel anything at all. Not this time. Everything just starts to fade away.
I die laughing.
Epilogue
I keep running. And running. And running and running and running. With Abigail in my arms, I desperately search for a way out of this maze of tunnels. Nimrod said there'd be a door, an exit, and someone waiting for me, but I can't find anything. I'm pretty sure I'm starting to go around in circles, but I can't work out what to do. Every tunnel looks the same, and it's starting to seem impossible that I'll ever get out of here. Somehow I've become trapped. I don't remember exactly what Nimrod told me, but I've got so lost that it doesn't matter anyway.
I'm failing.
I'm failing Abigail.
I stop to catch my breath. Looking down at her face, I realize that Abigail needs me to be strong. She needs her mother to be smart, to find a way to get us out of this mess. If Patrick catches up to us... I can't even begin to imagine what Abigail's life will be like if Patrick takes her away. I've come so close to getting us both free from him, I can't give up now. I can't let Patrick win.
"I'm going to save us," I whisper to Abigail, trying not to cry. "I don't know how, but I'm going to get us away from him." A tear falls from my face onto hers. "I'm so sorry," I whisper, wiping my eyes. "This shouldn't be happening to you. This shouldn't be how your life works. You should never have been -."..
I stare at her. Was I really just about to tell her that she should never have been born? That's such a horrible thing to say, such a horrible thing to think.
She just stares up at me. She doesn't seem upset, or scared, or worried. She just seems to find me interesting. She has no idea what's happening, or how important she is. She doesn't realize that people are fighting over her. I guess she doesn't even realize who I am. I've not been around her, I've not fed her or changed her; damn it, I haven't had a chance to bond with her at all. How could she possibly know who or what I am?
"I'm your mother," I say. The words sound so strange coming from my mouth. "I'm your mother and you're my daughter," I continue. "I'm going to get us out of here and I'm going to prove to you that I can keep you safe, okay?"
She reaches up to me, and for a moment I hold her hand in mine.
"I promise," I say.
We start moving again. I have no idea how we're going to get out of here, but sitting still isn't going to work. Eventually we have to find a way out, even if it's just by pure luck. There's got to be something we can do, somewhere we can go, somewhere we can hide. Then again, I know Patrick: he never gives up. Even if it takes him a thousand years, he'll stay on our trail. I can run for the rest of my life, but I'm only human and one day I'm going to die. Abigail will be left alone, and...
I pause. My mind races. Somehow, from all the chaos, a plan starts to form. There might be one way I can defeat Patrick. There might be just one way I can stop running and face him instead. If I could somehow get him to turn me into a vampire, then I could be as strong as he is. It sounds insane, and I have no idea how I'd trick him into doing something like that, but if I can think of a way...
It's not much of a chance, but it's a chance. I just have to come up with a solution.
Suddenly Abigail starts to cry. I look along the tunnel, half expecting to see that Patrick has caught up with us. There's no sign of him yet, but I have to find a way to stop Abigail from crying, because if she keeps this up, Patrick will find us easily.
"Be quiet," I say, rocking her gently. Tears are streaming down her face. I need to be able to think, I need time to come up with a plan, to find a way to trick Patrick. "Please, Abigail. Be quiet."
She keeps crying, her voice echoing along the tunnel.
"Please stop," I say, desperately trying to think of a way to get her to be quiet. I just need a moment to think, to come up with a way to trick Patrick. If I can do that, maybe Abigail and I both have a chance of getting out of this alive. I need him to change me into a vampire. I don't even know if that's possible, but it's the only idea I've got right now. If I don't come up with a plan, I'm going to die and Abigail's going to face a fate even worse than death.
"Please," I whisper, pressing my head against hers, with tears on my face, "stop crying."
Book Eight
The Death of Sophie Hart
Prologue
One year ago.
As I enter the room, Vincent is working on one of his manuscripts. He doesn't look up, doesn't even acknowledge that I'm here. This is how things are with my father. His priority is his work, and I come a distant second. Perhaps I was once frustrated by this, but lately I have come to understand that it is simply how things must be. My father is a scholar, first and foremost, and he is working to understand the messages hidden in the ancient texts of the vampire race. I have read these texts, of course, and I know them word for word, but their meaning is elusive. Only my father can hope to determine what the texts say about the future.
"This book is old," he says suddenly, not looking up. This, in itself, is strange. My father usually starts speaking to me only when he has finished with a text, only after closing the book. This time, it's as if he has something important to say, something connected directly with the book he's reading. "Very old," he continues. "Four or five hundred years. Do you know what it is?"
I stare at him. I don't like playing games. He knows full well that I don't know which book he's reading, yet he wants me to guess.
Finally, he looks up at me. "It's the Book of Gothos," he says. "The final book of prophecies written by the vampire race. The book that takes us up to..." He pauses. "Well, the book that takes us up to the point at which there is no more need for prophecies." He takes a deep breath. "You've read the book, haven't you, Patrick?"
I nod slowly.
"Then you know what it says," he continues. "You know what it says about Sophie."
I close my eyes. This is the conversation that I knew was coming from the moment I rescued Sophie that night in Dedston. Opening my eyes again, I find my father is staring at me
.
"You know what it says, Patrick," he says firmly. "You know that she has to die." He stares at me, as if he's trying to read something from my eyes. "Can you do that? Can you put her to death? Or will you try to save her?"
I don't reply. I just stand there, waiting for him to continue speaking. There's no point trying to argue with him. He has his beliefs, and I have mine.
Getting to his feet, my father picks up the book and carries it over to me. I already know the book; I've looked at it many times and I understand what it says, but my father seems determined to make a point, and he holds the book before me. "You know what this is," he says, staring at me. "You know who wrote it. You know why and how he wrote it. You know that every single thing written in this book has come true. So what makes you think that you can change how it ends?"
I stare at the book. My father is right that it has, so far, proven to be correct in every respect. It predicted the final war, it predicted the Fall of the Axiom, it predicted the spiders, it predicted everything; but that doesn't mean we should simply bow down to its words. I do not believe there is any force in existence that cannot be defeated, and I believe that I have the strength to ensure that I choose my own fate. The book says I will kill Sophie, but the book cannot make me kill her. I still have free will, I still have a choice. The book cannot take my hands and wrap them around her throat.
"This book," my father says slowly, "is more powerful than you realize, Patrick. It's the one thing that has dominion over even you, and you would be wise to respect it. If you try to cross it, the book will strike back at you with great anger. I don't know exactly how it will reassert its will, but you can be certain that it won't rest until the fates in its pages have come true. There will be -"
I've heard enough. I reach out and grab the book from my father, and I tear out several of the final pages. Angrily, my father grabs the book and the pages from me and returns them to his desk. "You're a fool," he says, obviously struggling to keep his anger at bay. "You're a bigger fool than I ever thought you could be. Do you really think violence is the answer?" He smooths out the ripped pages before turning to me. "This book is powerful, Patrick. You don't like what it says, and how do you react? By trying to rip it to pieces. Sometimes you're no better than an animal." He places the ripped pages carefully on his desk. "I could put these pages back in," he says, "but I won't. You'll have to do it. When you finally understand, you can show it by replacing the pages. Until then, they'll remain here as a reminder of your constant immaturity and foolishness."
I turn and walk away. My father is a wise man, but he's wrong about this matter. He believes that the Book of Gothos is all-powerful, that it cannot be broken. He is a superstitious old fool. There is no force in the universe that can force me to kill Sophie. Instead, I will prove my father wrong. I will make sure that everything with Sophie goes perfectly. I will make her love me, and I will get her to willingly give me what I want. I have the power to do this. I will prove to my father that I can change the course of fate itself.
Sophie
Today.
He's here.
I can hear him in the distance.
Clutching Abigail in my arms, I stand in the long stone tunnel, listening to his footsteps. I can't see him, not yet, but he's getting closer by the second. The really terrifying thing is that he's not even hurrying. He's just walking along at a normal pace, as if he has all the time in the world and as if he knows that I can't escape. He could chase me down and catch me within seconds, but instead he chooses to take things slowly. He seems absolute certain that I have no chance of escape, that there's nothing for me to do except surrender to him. I'm like an animal trapped in a maze, and he's waiting for me to run so far that I get tired and can't run any further.
I'm going to prove him wrong.
I have no idea how, but I'm going to do it.
In my arms, Abigail gurgles. She's asleep. She has no idea that her mother and father are engaged in a game of cat and mouse. Fortunately, the fact that she's so young means - I hope - that she won't remember any of this. If I can just get her away from Patrick, I can make sure she grows up as a normal little girl. But the flip-side of this is that if Patrick gets hold of her, she probably won't ever remember me. I can't let her be raised by Patrick. I have to find a way to get both of us out of here. I have to survive, for her sake.
With Patrick's footsteps getting too close for comfort, I quietly hurry along the tunnel a little further. I'm lost, of course, and I know I've been down this tunnel before but I can't remember where it leads. I should be trying to remember the way each time, but it's hard to focus. At the moment, all I can do is try to stay a few minutes ahead of Patrick each time, and try to come up with a plan. My only idea is to try to trick him into turning me into a vampire. Surely that would be a good way to make sure he doesn't kill me? Vampires can live forever, so I'd be able to stay with Abigail and protect her for her whole life.
Patrick bit me once before, but nothing changed. I didn't suddenly grow fangs and start drinking blood. Vincent told me that just because a vampire bites someone, they don't automatically become a vampire. It's not enough to get Patrick to bite me; I have to get him to want to change me, and that's the difficult part. I can't think of a way to trick him, but I have to try somehow. It's my only hope.
I hurry down another tunnel, but suddenly I stop. There's something on the ground ahead of me. Deep down, I immediately recognize what it is, but my conscious mind refuses to accept it. I step closer, desperately hoping that I'm wrong, but I quickly see that my worst fears have come true. It's Nimrod's body. There's blood everywhere, and his body has been ripped into several pieces. His dead eyes stare up at the ceiling of the tunnel, and there's a curious smile on his face.
With Abigail in my arms, I can't break down and cry. Instead, I enter a kind of cold shock. There'll be time later - if I survive - to mourn Nimrod, but for now I have to hold myself together. He knew there was a good chance he'd die, in fact I think in some ways he even welcomed it. But he was my best chance to get out of here, and I'd been quietly hoping that maybe somehow he'd survived. There's no doubt that he's dead, though, and that he died violently. Staring at his shredded body, I feel a cold shiver run up my spine. Why does Patrick have to do things like this? Why does he have to kill and destroy? Did Nimrod really deserve such an agonizing end?
Suddenly I notice that Abigail is awake, and she's looking down at Nimrod's body. I immediately turn her face away. She's so young; she can't be allowed to see something so horrific. I look into her eyes, desperately searching for any sign that she's been damaged by the experience, but she looks the same as before. Still, I have to be more careful. Things she sees at such a young age could still affect her as she gets older. I have to protect her mind as well as her body.
I step over Nimrod's body and keep moving. I know that makes me sound dispassionate and uncaring, but the truth is simple: I'm in survival mode. My mind is focused on one thing, and one thing only: getting Abigail away from Patrick. There'll be time to think about Nimrod later, but right now I have to keep thinking about how to get out of here. Reaching the end of this section of tunnel, I pause and look back. I can still see Nimrod's body on the ground.
"Sorry," I say to him before turning and heading off down the next tunnel.
Suddenly I see something ahead of me. At first I'm not sure what it is, but then I realize that it's a door. I hurry on, desperately hoping that it might be a way out of here. I've been wandering around in these tunnels for at least an hour, and I must have simply never come along this section before. Part of me insists that it must be an optical illusion, that there's no way there's something so wonderfully simple and helpful as a door, but as I get closer to it, I see that it really is a door, and - to make matters even better - there's a large 'Exit' sign in big letters.
I reach out to turn the handle, and then I pause. What if it's locked? I can almost feel my heartbeat as my hand hovers over the handle. This moment of ho
pe could be able to turn into a crushing moment of disappointment. Then again, Nimrod promised that there would be a way out, and he said someone would be waiting for me, someone who could help me. Suddenly all the fears of the past few minutes seem to lift. If this handle turns, and if the door opens, I could be about to find a way out.
Hearing a noise behind me, I turn and see Patrick at the far end of the tunnel. He's walking toward me, but he's still at least fifty meters away. I stare at him for a moment, almost mesmerized by his presence. Then, taking a deep breath, I grab the handle.
It turns.
The door opens.
Without a moment's thought, I step into the darkness and push the door shut behind us. Amazingly, I find what seems to be a dead-bolt on the inside of the door. Sliding it across, I realize that I've locked Patrick out. My heart lifts, and I start to think that I might have actually found a way for us to get out from here. Fumbling about in the dark, I manage to find a light-switch, but when I flick it on I have to wait a few seconds as a single little neon light on the ceiling flickers and finally lights up the room.
My heart sinks.
Abigail and I are in a small room. It appears to be some kind of storage area, lined with shelves containing various pieces of equipment. There's no other way out, though. We're trapped in here. It occurs to me that there might still be a chance to get back out the door and run, but suddenly I hear something touching the door. The handle turns, but the dead-bolt keeps it locked shut. Patrick's right outside, and there's nowhere left to run.
The Book of Gothos
Many years ago.
Tired now after writing for so long, the old man closes the book. His hands are shaking, and his eyesight is fading. Many, many times he came close to abandoning his work. There were many people who came to him and begged him to stop, trying to warn him of the immeasurable damage he would be causing. They told him to think of the people who would burn in centuries to come, and the fear and agony that would be inflicted by the book, but the old man knew that no matter how bad things might be as a result of the book's existence, they would be ten times worse if the book did not exist at all. So despite the protestations of those around him, he carried on and now, finally, the book is complete.
