by Amy Cross
"You want more?" asks a calm voice from behind him.
"No," Nimrod says. "No, please..."
There's a pause. "Do you remember what you told me?" the calm voice asks.
Nimrod nods.
"You told me that if you asked me to stop, I should carry on, and I should do it even harder."
Nimrod continues to nod until suddenly there's a sharp kick in the back of his head, sending him spinning across the room and into the hard metal wall.
There are rumors, unsubstantiated but believable, that suggest the Book of Gothos causes those around it to lose their minds. Those who are human, anyway. It's perfectly safe to hold the book for a brief period of time, but linger in its presence and eventually you will become insane. The book, according to legend, reaches out and unpicks the knots of sanity from your brain one by one, unleashing the madness that was already there from the moment of birth. Again, this is just a rumor No-one is entirely sure whether it's true.
As he gets to his feet, Charles Nimrod wipes blood from his chin. He's training for the moment when, one day, he'll have to fight Patrick. He knows he needs to be stronger and tougher than ever. He also knows that he has no chance of ever winning such a fight, but he wants to be able to withstand immense levels of pain. For that reason, he has enlisted the help of the only other person he's ever met who shares his hatred of the last vampire.
"You're getting better," says Martin Keller, a former US Marine who lost his mind years ago. After encountering Patrick, Keller became completely obsessed with him; obsessed to the point of suffering severe delusions. Keller believes, for example, that he has met and killed thousands of vampires. This is not true. Keller has killed hundreds of civilians in Vietnam, Iraq and other theaters of war, but he has never killed a vampire. Still, it suits his ego to believe that he has killed vampires, and his sanity has slipped so far that he now believes this to be true.
Keller is helping Nimrod for one reason, and one reason only: money. Keller knows that Nimrod stands no chance in a battle with Patrick. In Keller's mind, the only way to win such a battle is to grow so strong that it becomes possible to crush Patrick. Whereas Nimrod seeks to become less like Patrick, to come up with a plan that will destroy the last vampire, Keller aims to collect money so that he can have the surgery that he thinks will make him strong enough. He has already found a doctor who will perform the surgery, a man named Dr. Graves who is easily manipulated. Keller just needs the money, so he has agreed to help train Nimrod in exchange for a significant cash donation.
"I need to call Benjamin," Nimrod gasps, as the pain reverberates throughout his body. "I need to tell him that we'll soon be ready."
Sophie
Today.
When it's over, I'm left alone on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The pain from Patrick's fangs was intense and sharp, and I can still feel its echo. There was a moment where I felt like something was starting to change, as if I was actually starting to undergo a transformation, but then Patrick seemed to change his mind. As quickly as he pushed his fangs into my neck, he withdrew and there was a strange expression on his face. He seemed to lose interest in me at that point, as if something else had distracted him, and within a couple of minutes he'd climbed off me and got dressed. He looked troubled, as if something had just occurred to him. I don't want to start worrying again, but there's something in the back of my mind that's telling me something's wrong.
I stand up and walk over to my clothes, reaching down and pulling my phone from the pocket. It's been a few days since I tried to call Shelley, and while I was down in the tunnels I couldn't get any signal. But here, surprisingly, I've got a single bar showing, so I decide to give it a try. To my surprise, the phone rings a couple of times and suddenly she picks up.
"Sophie?!?" she shouts, sounding shocked. It's weird hearing her voice again after all this time. I've missed her.
"Hey," I say. "Where have you been?"
"Where have I been?" she shouts. "Where the fuck have you been?"
"Long story," I say, not wanting to get into all the details right now.
"I thought you were dead!" she shouts.
"I'm not!" I say. "And stop shouting."
"Fuck you," she replies, lowering her voice just a little. "You could have at least sent me a message to let me know you were okay. I thought you were dead. I really fucking thought you were dead."
"Well I'm not," I say, smiling. I want to tell her everything, to have her here with me. "Where are you?" I ask.
"New York," she says.
"What?" I reply. "Seriously?"
"I thought you were dead!" she says again. "And I kinda got hold of some money, and I figured there was nothing keeping me in Dedston, and that if I didn't make a move now, I never would. So... fuck it, I just jumped on a bus and the next thing you know, I'm in fucking New York. But I never would have moved if I'd known you were still about."
"No," I say. "It's good that you did. You needed to get out of here. This town was sucking you down."
"Where are you?" Shelley asks. "I tried to call you like a zillion times."
"I tried to call you too," I say. "I'm with Patrick."
There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Seriously?" she asks.
"It's okay," I reply. "He's... I'm trying to work out what he wants. We've got Abigail. He..." I pause. Do I really want to tell Shelley all about it over the phone? I reach up and touch the two little marks on my neck where Patrick's fangs went in. "It's complicated," I say. "I don't know what's happening."
"Are you safe?" she asks, with an obvious note of concern in her voice.
"Yeah," I say. "I think so. For now. I don't really know. Everything's weird. I just... Stuff's weird, you know?"
"You want to come to New York?" Shelley asks. "I've got an apartment. It's shitty and it stinks, I think the previous tenant was like flatulent or something. But it's cheap. And I've got a job. It's crappy and low-paid, but it pays just about enough, plus I do some modeling on the side. Nude modeling, and sometimes films. Nude films. Not the kind of thing you write home to your Grandma about. And I've met this guy. His name's Stephen, he's a bit of a bum, but -"
"I get the idea," I say. It sounds like Shelley's hitting New York in all the right ways. "Maybe I'll come see you soon. I just need some time here first. I thought..." I pause again. Something seems wrong. The way Patrick suddenly withdrew from me, it seemed like something happened. I felt for a moment that he was going to finally turn me into a vampire, but then he just seemed to stop. "Shelley," I say, "this might sound weird, but just tell me something, okay?" I take a deep breath. "If you'd been turned into a vampire, how would you know?"
"Are you serious?" she asks.
"Just answer the question."
She sighs. "You'd have fangs."
"No," I say.
"You'd be allergic to sunlight."
"Doesn't work like that."
"You'd be all moody and you'd never speak."
"That's just Patrick."
"I don't know," she says, "but I guess you'd have to ask the person who changed you." She pauses. "Did Patrick bite you?"
"Yeah," I say, "but I don't think..." I touch the wound on my neck again. "He put his fangs in me, and then just when I thought something was going to happen, he pulled out."
"Typical guy," Shelley replies.
"I'll talk to you later," I say.
"You'd better," she says. "And hey... don't go doing anything stupid, okay? I really thought you were dead. I don't want to have to think it again, or worse."
"I promise," I reply, cutting off the call. I get dressed, but I can't shake this feeling that as soon as I find Patrick, I'm going to discover that something's wrong. Stepping out into the main room, I find that he's not here. Suddenly it occurs to me that he might have stolen Abigail. I hurry across the room, pausing in the middle as a couple of spiders drop onto me. Brushing them off, I look up and see that there are loads more on the chandelier now, and on the ceiling as w
ell.
"Patrick?" I call out, rushing to the room where we left Abigail. To my relief, I see that both Patrick and Abigail are still here, but the relief is short-lived as I see a dark look on Patrick's face again. As he holds Abigail, he turns to me and in his eyes there's a look of unforgiving rage.
Sophie
Today.
"Patrick?" I ask again, stepping toward him. "What's wrong?"
He doesn't respond. He's just standing there, holding Abigail, staring at her with an expression of pure rage. A cold shiver runs up my spine as I start to fear that he might do something to her.
"Let me take her," I say.
Abigail isn't crying. She's just staring back at her father, as if she's mesmerized by him. That, in itself, is kind of disturbing. Wouldn't most babies, in the company of someone like Patrick, scream their lungs out? Yet she's just accepting his stare as if there's nothing to worry about. She looks different, somehow.
"Let me take her," I say again.
Patrick doesn't respond. His eyes are fixed on Abigail, as if he hasn't even noticed that I'm here. He seems to be studying her, almost as if he can see things in her that I can't. I've always felt that Patrick is able to see inside a person, to understand how their soul works, and now it feels like he's doing the same thing to Abigail. The only difference is that somehow she seems to be feeling it. I guess that makes sense: she's his daughter, and she has his blood inside her as well as mine. There's some kind of link between them, maybe, that binds them together and gives them some kind of mutual understanding. If that's the case, it's a link I can never hope to understand, or to share.
Suddenly Patrick puts Abigail down in her crib and walks out. I take a close look at her face, checking to make sure she's okay. She seems fine, although she's obviously a little disturbed by what just happened. She stares at me with a kind of intelligence and thoughtfulness that I've never seen in a baby before.
"He's your father," I say, trying to make everything okay. I know she doesn't understand me, but I feel like I have to try to talk to her. "He's a bit weird," I add. "You'll get used to it."
I turn to look over at the door. My hands are shaking. I was so scared of Patrick before, and then there was that brief moment when we made love just now, when I felt like everything was going to be okay. Now, suddenly, something's clearly wrong and I'm worried that Abigail and I will have to run again. Then again, I shouldn't be too cautious. I have to go and speak to Patrick, to find out what's happening.
"Wait here," I say to Abigail. "I promise everything's going to be okay."
I kiss her on the forehead and then I head back out to the main room. Patrick is over by the desk, frantically leafing through the pages of the book. He seems desperate, as if something's terribly wrong. As I walk over to join him, I find that there are now even more spiders up on the ceiling, and more of them have fallen to the floor. There's something ominous about seeing them up there, as if they're gathering for a reason.
"What's wrong?" I ask as I reach Patrick. Part of me wants to grab Abigail and run, but I know that would never work. I have to find another way out of this situation. I need Patrick's help. Reaching up to my neck, I touch the wound from where Patrick bit me. I still feel... normal. I'm pretty sure he didn't do anything to change me. "Patrick," I say, "you have to give me some kind of clue here."
I reach out and touch his arm, but he continues to ignore me. Looking over his shoulder, I look down at the pages of the book. Before, the writing seemed impossible to read, but now it's clearer and I can make it out. "On the final day," I read aloud slowly, "the truth shall be revealed twice." I pause. "What does that mean? How can the truth be revealed twice?" I look at Patrick. "If the truth is revealed once, how can it be revealed again, unless..." I try to understand what the book means. "Unless the first truth wasn't the truth after all," I say eventually. "Patrick, what's going on?"
He still doesn't respond, so I grab his arm and force him to turn and face me.
"What's happening?" I ask, staring up into his eyes. "I can help, but you have to let me in."
He stares at me for a moment, and then he pushes me away with such force that I trip and fall back, landing against a pile of bones. Getting to my feet, I find myself covered in dust from the bones, some of which were so old that they shattered when I hit them. I brush myself down and watch as Patrick stalks determinedly away across the room, heading to the entrance we used when we emerged from the tunnels.
I turn to look at the book again. Not much of it makes sense, but when I turn to the final page I see one passage that ends with a single phrase repeated over and over again. "When all is settled," I read aloud, "it shall be known. It is not her." I pause, looking over at Patrick and watching as he disappears back into the tunnels. "It is not her," I say, glancing back over at the door to the room where Abigail's waiting.
Starting to panic, I rush over after Patrick and follow him into the tunnels. He's moving fast, and it's a struggle to keep up, but eventually we emerge back in the sewers. I run to keep up with Patrick, and eventually he stops as he reaches Nimrod's dead body.
"Patrick, you have to talk to me!" I say. "What does it mean?"
Patrick reaches down and picks up Nimrod's head. It's a gory sight, the bloodied head separated from the rest of the body, with blood still dripping from the wound. Nimrod's eyes are wide open and there's still that curious smile on his face. I can't help but look at his lips and wonder why he would have been smiling while he died. I know he was kind of insane, but the agony must have been intense. How could anyone find pleasure in their own death, unless... unless they knew that something was going to happen later that would give them some kind of victory?
"He's dead," I say to Patrick. "He can't tell you anything."
Patrick, though, seems determined to find some clue in the severed head. He stares deep into Nimrod's eyes, and Nimrod's dead eyes stare back at him. For a moment, I start to wonder if Patrick might be able to gain something from this, even to reawaken Nimrod and somehow get an answer. Finally, though, Patrick seems to reach a point at which his anger can no longer be contained; he turns and throws the head against the wall with such force that it shatters, the skull breaking open and Nimrod's brain falling out. The broken head hits the floor as Patrick picks up Nimrod's torso and rips it apart.
I step back a little, shocked by the intensity of Patrick's rage. He's literally tearing Nimrod's corpse up into tiny pieces, pulling him apart piece by piece until, after a few minutes, there's nothing left but a huge pile of blood and bone and muscle. I've seen Patrick lose control before, but never to this extent. Even now that the body is destroyed, Patrick continues to try to tear it apart. Covered in blood, he seems to be building to a crescendo of anger until, finally, he looks up and lets out a bone-shattering snarl of frustration, his two fangs visible in the low light of the tunnel.
Without saying a word, I turn and run. My plans abandoned, I'm filled with an instinctive drive to simply get hold of Abigail and run. I feel like the time for planning is over. I have to get us as far away from Patrick as possible. For a while back there, I thought I might be able to tame him, to get him to change, but now I see that the anger and fury remain just as much a part of him as ever. As I get to the hole in the wall that leads back to Abigail, I turn and look back. Patrick isn't following me. I can hear him, though, still destroying Nimrod's body and still snarling. It's as if the rage has overtaken him completely, and he's become some kind of wild animal.
I hurry back through to the large chamber, and I head straight over to the room where Abigail is still resting in her crib. She still looks calm, as if that moment with Patrick has had some kind of permanent effect.
"We have to go," I say, gathering her up into my arms. My only hope right now is that Patrick, now he has lost control, won't remember to come after us until it's too late.
Suddenly Abigail opens her mouth and lets out a hiss. I freeze, staring at her, trying to work out what the hell just happened. She's
staring at me with a strange look of determination in her eyes.
"Abigail," I say slowly, "are you okay?"
She stares at me. It's as if she's thinking. And then, slowly, she smiles. "It's not me," she says in a quiet, happy voice. "It's not me. It's not me. It's not me. It's not me. It's not -"
I drop her back into the crib. She looks back up at me. "It's not me," she says again. "It's not me. It's not me."
I want to run, to leave her here and just run. "What did he do to you?" I ask.
"It's not me," she repeats. "It's not me." She gets to her feet, tottering to the edge of the crib and trying to climb out. "It's not me," she keeps saying over and over again.
I step toward her. No matter what's happening, I can't believe that Abigail - my child - could ever do anything to hurt me. "It's going to be okay," I say, kneeling in front of her as she climbs up to get out of the crib. "I'm going to make sure everything's okay." My voice is trembling. Something is deeply, deeply wrong here. I feel like I should turn and run, but this is my daughter. I can't abandon her.
"It's not me," she says, fixing me with a smiling stare. "It's not me. It's not me. It's not me."
"What's not you?" I shout at her. "Are you -" I pause, trying to understand, trying not to acknowledge the dark fear that's rising through my body. "You're not Abigail," I say finally. "You're not her, are you?" I try to remember what Nimrod said when Abigail was returned to me. Suddenly I realize why Patrick showed such fury when he ripped Nimrod's body apart. He must have realized that Nimrod tricked us both. The baby he gave me wasn't Abigail, which means the real Abigail is somewhere else, somewhere hidden. And now that Nimrod's dead, how are we ever going to find her?
"I'm so sorry," I say, staring at the baby as it reaches the top of the crib. There are tears in my eyes now. "I thought you were..." I look into her eyes. How could I ever have been tricked like this? How could I be fooled into thinking that this was my baby? What kind of mother can't even tell when someone gives her the wrong baby? Surely I should have sensed it? Surely I should have known somehow, instinctively, that this wasn't Abigail?
