Dark Season: The Complete Box Set

by Amy Cross

"There's a lot we still have to tell you about your father," Todd continues. "He's not like the rest of us. He's old. In fact, he's kind of ancient. He's from an old species that died off a long time ago, and now he's the last of his kind."

  My first instinct is to turn and run. These people sound crazy, but at the same time I feel as if something is starting to make sense. I hear that noise in my head again; the noise that used to drive me crazy, the sound of a powerful heartbeat that's stronger and wilder than anything I've ever heard anywhere else. "What is he?" I ask, feeling my hands start to tremble.

  "Come with me," Benjamin says, walking over to a door at the far end of the room. "You can see for yourself."

  "No, tell me," I say, refusing to go with him.

  "It's easier if you just see," he replies.

  "He's a vampire," Shelley says.

  I turn to her. "He's a what?"

  "He's a vampire," she says again. "He's the only vampire left in the whole world."

  "It's true," Todd says. "He doesn't turn into a bat. He doesn't live in a coffin. He doesn't come from Transylvania. He doesn't sparkle. But he's a vampire. A real, live vampire."

  I run my tongue against the two sharp teeth near the front of my mouth. "My father's a vampire?" I say, trying not to panic. "So what does that make me?"

  "We don't know yet," Benjamin says. "You're not a vampire, at least not in the conventional sense. But you're not completely human, either. You're somewhere in-between."

  I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. Is this why I've always felt so different and weird? Is this why people like Donna always used to pick on me? "I want to see him," I say, even though there's a part of me that just wants to turn and run away from this place and never stop.

  "I'll wait here," Shelley says, taking a step back.

  "No!" I say, turning to her. "You've got to come with me!"

  "Shelley should wait," Todd says.

  "If Shelley doesn't go through that door," I say firmly, "then I'm not going through either."

  "Shelley can come," Benjamin says. "That is, if Shelley wants to come."

  "Please," I say, turning to her. "I need you to be in there with me."

  "Okay," she replies, even though I can see that she really, really doesn't want to see my father again. I reach out and take her hand, and we walk together across the room until we're standing with Benjamin.

  "Todd," Shelley says, turning back to him, "are you coming?"

  He shakes his head. "I don't want to see him again."

  "This might be very difficult for you," Benjamin says to me. "Please remember that your father is a very strong individual. It takes great effort to keep him in a place like this, but we wouldn't restrain him if we didn't feel that it's absolutely necessary. We couldn't let him remain loose. He's too dangerous."

  "You make him sound bad," I reply, trying not to let them see how scared I am. "You make it sound like he's some kind of killer, or a monster."

  "He's just different," Benjamin continues. "The way he sees the world is different to the way I see the world, or the way any human sees the world. But... There's only one person left on the whole planet who might understand how Patrick thinks." He pauses. "That's you, Abigail. Your father is the last of his species, but you're his daughter so, in some ways, you're like him. Not the same, but very similar. Do you understand?"

  "Let me see him," I say. My heart is racing so fast, I feel like it might burst out of my chest at any moment.

  Benjamin reaches down and unlocks the door. "Don't be scared," he says. "There's no way he can hurt anyone. And this is as much for his own good as for ours."

  "Why would he want to hurt me?" I ask.

  "Not you," Shelley says. "The rest of us."

  I look into the dark room, but I can't see anything.

  "Go ahead," Benjamin says. I step past him, and I immediately feel as if I can sense a presence nearby. Somewhere in the dark, something is breathing slowly and harshly. It almost sounds as if there's a wounded animal in here. More powerful than the sound, though, is the sensation in my head. It's hard to describe what it's like, but it's as if I can feel his heartbeat in my own body, beating alongside my own; it's as if there's this extremely strong and forceful presence that's entering my soul, perhaps even becoming part of me. As I step further into the room, I feel as if - in some strange way - I actually belong here. It's the weirdest thing, but for the first time in my life, I feel like I'm where I should be, even if I'm terrified at the same time.

  "Where is he?" I ask.

  "I'll turn on the light," Benjamin says. Moments later, a fluorescent light flickers on.

  "Oh shit," Shelley says behind me.

  "It's not as bad as it looks," Benjamin continues. "Just remember that, and stay calm"

  I stare, unable to comprehend quite what I'm seeing. In the middle of the large room, there's a huge metal dome on the floor, and sticking out from the dome there's a big metal spike. The spike runs straight up to the far wall, where there's a man hanging from metal handcuffs. He looks to be barely conscious, and his face seems old and young at the same time; he's wearing dark clothes, but the large spike is running straight through his chest and pinning him to the wall.

  "What have you done to him?" Shelley asks.

  "When Patrick is injured," Benjamin explains, "he has the ability to heal his body, but this healing process requires time and energy. The only way we can keep him here is to ensure that he's constantly hurt, so that all his energy is continually directed toward the healing process. In that way, he doesn't have the strength to break his shackles and escape. The spear retracts and re-pierces him every six hours."

  I walk across the room, until I'm just a few paces from him. "Dad?" I say, my voice sounding so small in this large room. I stare up at him, and it's hard to believe that someone could still be alive after this was done to them. Blood is dripping from the wound in his chest, and he looks so pale.

  "He won't be able to hear you," Benjamin says. "He's not strong enough to remain conscious while he's healing like this."

  Slowly, however, he starts to open his eyes slightly, and he stares straight at me. I feel a cold shiver run through my body as I realize that I'm finally face to face with my father. My real father. Patrick.

  Book 2

  Quisling

  Prologue

  Near Dedston, 16 years ago.

  The old woman carries a pot of hot water across from the fire, setting it down next to the girl. It's dark in the cave, and there's a blizzard blowing outside, but at least the fire is keeping them a little warm. After dipping the cloth into the water, the old woman wrings it out and then applies it to the girl's forehead. The birth is clearly going to be difficult, and the old woman worries that the mother might not survive. She knows, though, that the child is the priority. If she has to make a choice between mother and child, she must choose to save the child.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she sees her master standing nearby, lurking in the shadows. He refuses to come close, yet at the same time he insists on being here. His presence makes the old woman a little nervous, and she'd much prefer it if he would just go away and let her get on with her work. Still, she understands his determination to make sure that everything is okay. After all, he's spent so long preparing for this moment. After years and years of putting the pieces in place, Patrick is about to get the child he always wanted. It's just a shame it had to happen this way.

  Suddenly, with no warning, the girl starts to moan. She's been in labor for almost a day now, struggling to get the child out of her body. In a modern hospital, she would long ago have been given a C-Section, but out here in the wilderness there's no option but to wait and hope. The old woman has told Patrick, over and over again, that he should allow Sophie to be seen by a proper doctor, but Patrick is notoriously stubborn and he believes - rightly or wrongly - that ultimately the child must be born normally.

  "It'll be over soon," the old woman says, removing the towel from Sophie's forehe
ad. "Just wait," she continues. "You'll be fine."

  Sophie starts to strain once again. Four or five times in the past twenty-four hours, it has seemed that she's ready to give birth; each time, however, it turns out to be a false alarm. It's almost as if the child has no desire to ever come out into the real world, preferring instead to remain inside Sophie and feed off her body like a parasite. In a way, this is unsurprising: mother and child are too different for this to be an easy birth. If the situation isn't remedied soon, Sophie will die and the child's life will be in even greater danger. The old woman knows, too, that she will face Patrick's wrath if the birthing goes wrong. The lives of many people are on the line tonight.

  Finally, however, the child seems to be moving further along the birthing canal. The old woman, who has delivered many children in the past, tells Sophie to push. As Sophie screams, the child's head emerges. The old woman gently turns the child, hoping to ensure a smoother delivery. Within a few minutes the shoulders, too, are out, and the child begins to cry. The old woman tells Sophie to push one final time, and finally the child slips out, still attached to its mother via the umbilical cord. Grabbing a pair of scissors, the old woman carefully cuts the cord before using a clamp to seal it shut. She carried the screaming infant over to a prepared towel.

  "Let me see her!" Sophie calls out, exhausted.

  The old woman ignores her, as Patrick comes over to look at the child.

  "It's a girl," the old woman says. She starts cleaning the baby, and after a few minutes she wraps it in a blanket. "She should be with her mother," she says as the child wriggles. "It's not right to separate them." Turning, she carries the baby over to Sophie, carefully placing her in her mother's arms. "You don't have long," she whispers. "He'll take her soon."

  "He won't," Sophie says, still out of breath. "I won't let him."

  "If you fight him, he'll kill you," the old woman replies.

  "He can't have her," Sophie insists, holding the child tight.

  "Name her," the old woman says. "Before he takes her, give her a name."

  Sophie looks down at her daughter's face. "Abigail," she says after a moment. "It was my grandmother's name."

  "It's nice," the old woman says. As she looks at the child's tiny, scrunched-up face, she becomes aware of Patrick coming closer. Turning, she sees him waiting. "You can give her a few more minutes, can't you?" she says. "Give the girl a chance to be with her mother."

  "You're not taking her," Sophie says defiantly.

  "Don't fight him," the old woman says, stepping out of the way. She knows that the situation is futile. Patrick always gets what he wants.

  "Fuck you!" Sophie shouts at Patrick as he reaches out to take Abigail. "No!" She tries to get away, but Patrick is able to force Abigail out of her arms. "Give her back to me!" Sophie shouts, but she's too weak to do anything. "Please!" she says, tears streaming down her face. "I just want to hold her!"

  Slowly, Patrick carries Abigail over to the mouth of the cave.

  "You can't take her out there!" Sophie shouts. "It's freezing! You'll kill her!"

  "He knows what he's doing," the old woman says, trying to calm her. "She'll come to no harm."

  "Bring her back!" Sophie shouts as Patrick disappears into the blizzard. After a moment, he can no longer be seen. "Come back!" Sophie screams.

  "It's okay," the old woman says, giving Sophie a cup of liquid. "Drink this, and you'll feel better."

  Sophie drinks from the cup, but after a moment she becomes suspicious. "What is this?" she asks.

  "You won't remember anything that has happened to you since you left Gothos," the old woman tells her. "In a few minutes, you'll pass out. I'll patch you up and make sure you're okay, and then I'll have you delivered back to the world. You'll never even remember that Abigail was born, but at least you won't live with the memory of having lost her."

  With tears still streaming down her cheeks, Sophie shakes her head. "It won't work," she says firmly. "You can't make me forget her. I don't care what's in here, I'll never forget her!" She throws the cup, which smashes against the wall.

  "It's for the best," the old woman says, taking a seat so she can wait until Sophie succumbs to the potion. "Would you rather live the rest of your life in sorrow, mourning the loss of your child? Patrick will look after her."

  Sophie tries to get up, but she's starting to feel weak. "I've got to go after him," she says, her words starting to become slurred. She reaches out to grab the old woman, but suddenly she finds it hard to move her body. "You don't - " she starts to say, but finally she collapses.

  "Everything will be okay," the old woman says calmly, standing up and walking over to the bench in the corner. She picks out a needle, some medical thread and a suture kit, before heading back over to Sophie. "Patrick won't let anything happen to her," she continues as she attaches the thread to the needle. She reaches between Sophie's legs and carefully slips the needle into her, to sew up the torn skin from the birth. "You'll see," she adds with a curious smile. "Just wait and see."

  Abigail

  Dedston, Today.

  When the others are around, he pretends to be unconscious. But when it's just me and him...

  My father is chained to the wall, pinned into place by a huge metal stake that runs across the room and pierces his chest. The Watchers have done this to him, because they believe it would be too dangerous to have him let loose. That's what they tell me, anyway: my father is too powerful, too much of a monster. In order to keep him subdued, they use the stake to constantly inflict new wounds to his body, which means he's too weak to break free. In theory, he should be unconscious during all of this, but every time the Watchers leave the room, he opens his eyes and looks at me. He doesn't say anything; he just stares, and I stare back at him, and I try to listen to the silence between us in case I get a hint of what he's thinking. Sometimes, just for a moment, I think I hear him screaming.

  "Your father is extremely powerful," Benjamin says as he enters the room and comes to stand next to me. "It took us a long time to work out how to subdue him, but this turned out to be the best option."

  I watch Patrick's face carefully. He looks to be unconscious, but I know he's listening to us talk. I can sense his mind; I can feel him in the room.

  "I know this must look unnecessarily cruel," Benjamin continues, "but I want you to know that it's the only solution. We tried so many other options first. We attempted to communicate with him, to persuade him to listen to us, but ultimately he left us no choice. It's not his fault. He's simply unable to control the darker, more violent side of his personality." He turns to me. "I know he looks like a man, but he's really a beast. Don't let your eyes play tricks on you, Abigail. There's not a hint of humanity in his body."

  "So what would he do if you let him loose?" I ask, keeping my eyes firmly trained on Patrick's face. I still don't like my voice; I sound a little too high-pitched.

  "It's hard to say for certain," Benjamin continues. "Certainly, he'd kill me, and probably everyone else here. He has a particular taste for vengeance. Todd, Shelley, the technicians... he'd most likely kill them as well. The only one he'd leave alive would be you, Abigail. For obvious reasons."

  I take a deep breath. "To be honest," I say after a moment, "I think I'd kill you too, if you'd staked me to a wall like this."

  "We're working on a plan," he replies. "We don't intend to keep him like this forever, but we need to be very careful about how and when we turn him loose. The most important thing is that he must have time to teach you the things you need to know before it's too late."

  "Why would it be too late?" I ask.

  He pauses for a moment. "Because he's dying. It's nothing to do with us. A few months ago, he initiated an innate biological process that has begun to break down his body. All vampires have this ability to start the process at a time of their choosing. It's irreversible. He's decided it's his time, and now he has five, maybe six months left." He takes a deep breath. "It's my opinion that he ma
de this decision because he knew you'd soon reach the point at which you're ready to mature and replace him."

  "He's killing himself?" I say, shocked at the thought that I might lose my father so soon after I've found him.

  "It's his time," Benjamin says. "In fact, it was probably his time many years ago, but he held on because he needed to have a child. There was a prophecy that had to be fulfilled. That prophecy is now over, and we're all in a transition phase. The Age of Chaos is coming, and none of us can be sure what will happen next, but Patrick most certainly will be gone."

  "Sir," says a voice from the door, as a technician enters. "One of the sensors is showing unusual levels."

  "I'll be back," Benjamin says, patting me on the shoulder - like I'm a child - as he heads out with the technician.

  I walk across the room, approaching Patrick. He looks so weak and helpless right now, with a steady stream of blood constantly dripping from the wound where the stake enters his chest. To be honest, I feel like I'm still in a state of shock. Any moment, the realization of what's going on here will hit me, and I fully expect to burst into tears and have some kind of breakdown. Either that, or I'll wake up in my bed back in Callerton and I'll realize that this was all a dream. For now, though, I seem to be finding some kind of inner strength from a part of me that I didn't know existed. It almost feels as if there's some new part of my soul, slowly waking up inside my body after a long, deep sleep. I feel different somehow.

  "It's me," I whisper.

  Slowly, Patrick opens his eyes and stares at me. I've been told that he never speaks, which I guess is gonna make our conversation a little difficult.

  "Is it true?" I ask. "Just nod if it's true, and shake your head if it's not. Are you really dying?"

  He doesn't respond. He just keeps staring at me.

  "Why would you do that?" I ask. "Why would you choose to start dying, when you hadn't even met me? Didn't you want to..." I pause for a moment. The last thing I want to do is come across as some angsty teenager. Fighting back the tears, I force myself to maintain a blank expression. "I mean, I'm in danger of getting some serious abandonment issues here," I continue, hoping that he might show some kind of response. I stare at him. "Can you even hear me? Are you listening to what I'm saying?"