by Amy Cross
"I don't think that would be a good idea," Constance replies.
I shake my head. "It's as if he's daring us." I stare at the body on the ground. "That's definitely not Abby. Something about this whole situation seems completely wrong. He clearly doesn't want to kill us, or even get away from us."
"Maybe he's trying to distract us," Constance says. "Maybe he's trying to make us focus on him, so that we miss something more important."
"That's not it," I say. "He knows there are hundreds of Watchers on the move. Sure, he can distract the two of us, but why just us? I've scanned this area over and over again. There's nothing alive out here except us and him."
"Whatever he wants, he's creeping me out," she replies. "The way he's looking at us... It's like he's a predator, and we're the prey."
I smile. "You say that like you've only just realized it's true. He's -" At that moment, Patrick turns and starts slowly walking away. "This is new," I say. "Come on." I lead Constance forward, always being careful to maintain a safe distance from Patrick - not that there's really any distance that can be considered safe. Soon we've reached the body on the ground. I kneel down and roll it over, finding that it's just a set of bones with a few mangled pieces of flesh hanging in shreds.
"Why would he do that to someone?" Constance asks, looking away. "Is he hungry?"
"He didn't do this," I reply. "This is an old body. It's been dead for years, but I think maybe he dragged it to this spot fairly recently." I look up and see that Patrick is rapidly disappearing into the distance. "We have to go with him," I say, getting to my feet and hurrying through the swamp. "Something's not right here."
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Constance asks as she struggles to keep up with me. "Do we really want to just let him lead us somewhere? What if it's a trap?"
"Patrick's a lot of things," I say, struggling to maintain a line of sight with the dark, distant figure up ahead, "but he's not crazy. Everything he does, there's a reason for it. Remember, we have the equipment. We can take him down if necessary. He's weak."
"He doesn't look that weak," she replies.
"He's dying," I insist. "We could drop him to the ground right now if necessary. Even a couple of shots from a gun might slow him down." That's not entirely true. To be honest, I'm not sure about Patrick's current state. It's certainly possible that he's weakened enough for us to overpower him, but the reverse might also be true: he might very well have enough strength left to fight back and kill us both without a second thought. Either way, I don't favor the direct approach; I'd rather work with Patrick, and wait to see what he's trying to show us, rather than going in with all guns blazing.
"There's something up ahead," Constance says.
She's right. Emerging from the dark mist, there's a large shape slowly becoming visible. Moments later, we emerge into a clearing and find ourselves facing a small, dilapidated house. It's clearly been abandoned for years, with broken walls and windows. There's a porch out front, with a set of steps up to the house from the swamp. Patrick walks steadily up those steps and through the front door. He's clearly inviting us to follow him, but I have no idea why. For a moment, it occurs to me that maybe Constance was right and this is some sort of trap. Then again, Patrick's not really the kind of person who'd bother with a trap; he'd just kill us if that was what he wanted. He must have a reason to bring us here.
"It doesn't look as if anyone's been to this place for years," I say as I walk toward the building. "I don't remember seeing any kind of residence marked on the maps." When Constance doesn't reply, I turn to see that she's hanging back, loitering at the edge of the clearing. "What's wrong?" I ask, but I already know the answer: she's scared.
"You're not seriously going to go in there, are you?" she asks.
"If he wanted to attack us, he'd have done it by now," I tell her. "Patrick's methods of communication can be a little unusual. I think he wants to show us something."
"Let's just wait for back-up to arrive," she replies nervously.
"We might not have time," I insist. "Come on, we have to stick together."
She shakes her head. "I'm not going in there."
"It's okay..." I start to say.
"I'm not going in there!" she says again, more firmly this time. I like Constance, but she's clearly not used to working out in the field and she's starting to become a liability. I'd rather be operating alone right now, but I guess I have no choice but to keep her close.
I stare at her for a moment, before deciding to call her bluff. "Then I'll go in alone."
"You can't leave me out here," she says, shocked.
"I'm going in," I say. "You should come with me. It'll be okay, I promise. Look, the sun's starting to come up. It'll be light soon." I pull my night-sight goggles and head-mask off and find that there's just enough low light to be able to see properly. It's kind of spooky to see the early morning mist drifting through the air. "See? It's going to be a lot more scary hanging around out here by yourself. You trust me, don't you?"
She nods.
"Then come in with me."
Slowly, and tentatively, she starts walking toward the house. I wait until she's close, and then I turn and head over to the porch, looking up at the house's damaged walls as I reach the foot of the steps. It looks as if the building is literally starting to fall apart. The door ahead is dark and uninviting, but I'm quite certain that Patrick must have led us here for a reason. Whatever he wants to show us, it's in this place, and I can't ignore the possibility that Abby might in some way be hurt. We have no idea whether she and Patrick are traveling together, and I have to prioritize Abby's safety above everything else.
"Are you sure about this?" Constance asks as she joins me.
"I'm sure," I say as I start walking up onto the porch. No sooner am I at the door, than my foot goes straight through the base of the porch. I quickly pull myself clear. "Careful," I say to Constance. "This place is in bad shape." In fact, that's something of an understatement. It's clear that no-one has been here for a long, long time. There's moss and mold all over the walls, and dirt on the floor. The boards creak under our feet, and even the air feels still and undisturbed. It takes a moment before I realize that the whole place seems to be eerily silent, as if all the local wildlife has deserted the area and even the wind doesn't dare to blow. "What's that smell?" I ask as I step through the door.
"Organic material," Constance replies. "Something's died and rotted here. Be careful not to puts your hands near your mouth once we're inside. You might transfer bacteria to your system. There's a risk of infection."
As I enter the dark interior, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but after a few seconds I realize I'm standing in a narrow corridor. There's debris all over the floor, and when I look up I see that part of the ceiling appears to have collapsed. A stiff breeze could probably blow the whole damn place apart.
"Something's definitely dead," Constance says. "Nothing else in the world smells quite the same as death."
"You okay?" I ask.
"I'm fine," she says, but her voice betrays fear. She's a long way from her safe, comfortable desk right now.
Reaching the end of the corridor, I turn left and enter a large, bare room. Patrick is standing at the far end, next to a door, and he disappears into the next room as soon as he's sure that I've seen him. He's definitely leading us to something; I kind of wish he could just tell us what's going on, but I guess that's not his style. It's odd, though: Patrick has never sought to co-operate with the Watchers before. What's different this time?
"Any luck with the comm link?" I ask Constance.
"Still no signal," she replies. "Trust me, I'm checking every thirty seconds."
"Don't stop," I say as I walk carefully across the room and reach the door. Beneath me, the floorboards creak and bend; any moment, they could break and drop us into the mud beneath the house. Peering into the next room, I see that Patrick is standing next to a table, and on the table, there's a white sheet coverin
g something that looks suspiciously like a human body. There are four similar tables on the other side of the room, making this look like some kind of macabre operating theater or morgue. Each of the sheets is blood-stained, and soiled with yellowy-green liquid.
"I guess we've found the source of the smell," Constance says. "I strongly recommend we get out of here. There could be toxic hazards in here, all sorts of -"
"It's okay," I reply, interrupting her in an attempt to keep her calm. I'm worried that she might start panicking, and the last thing we need right now is panic. "Patrick's smart," I continue. "He wouldn't bring us here if there was any danger." I step cautiously toward the closest table, staring uneasily at the distinctly human-shaped bulge under the sheet. As I reach the table, I turn to Patrick. "What is this?" I ask. "I don't understand. You're going to have to explain what's happening."
He stares at me for a moment, before reaching over and pulling the sheet away. I look down; as soon I see what's on the table, I take a step back. It's a human body, elderly and male, mummified to the point of total dehydration. Its skin is withered and putrid, colored various shades of brown and green and yellow. Looking more closely, I see multiple long stitch wounds, as if someone cut the body up and then attempted to sew it back together.
"What happened here?" I ask, turning to Patrick. "I don't get it. What are you trying to show me? Did you do this?"
He shakes his head. After a moment, he turns and walks over to the next table, pulling off the sheet to reveal a similar body. He goes to the other tables and does the same, and soon I'm facing five mummified bodies, each of which appears to have been partially dissected and then put back together. In each case, the stitching is slightly different; it's almost as if someone was experimenting on the bodies, trying out different methods to achieve some sick aim.
"Thoughts?" I say, turning to Constance.
"Whoever did this," she replies, staying a few paces behind me, "he or she had no specialist training. The stitch marks are erratic and undisciplined, as if someone was learning as they went along." She pauses, looking around the room. "Any surgery performed in a place like this would have certainly been fatal. It doesn't look as if the environment could possibly have been sterilized. There's no equipment. I don't even see any method for delivering anesthetic." She looks back at the bodies. "Whatever was done to these people, it must have hurt. A lot."
"You think they were alive when they were sewn up?" I ask.
She nods, pointing carefully at the nearest body. "There are signs that a healing process began, even if it wasn't completed. I'd say this specimen lived perhaps twenty-four hours after whatever was done to him." She moves a little closer, to get a better look. "It's hard to say how long ago all of this happened, but we're talking at least a decade. I can't be certain with just a visual exam, but if we can get them back to the lab, I can be more specific."
I stare at the bodies for a moment. "I don't think we're going to be taking anything back to a lab," I say, before looking up as I hear a noise coming from the upper floor of the house. It sounds as if something is scratching at the wood.
"Termites?" I say hopefully, turning to Constance.
"Let's get out of here," she says, grabbing my arm. Her panic, which has been bubbling under the surface since we found Patrick, is now close to boiling over.
"Not yet," I say. "There's something he wants us to understand."
"Over there!" she replies suddenly, pointing at one of the other bodies.
"What about it?" I ask.
"I could have sworn its hand was resting on its waist a moment ago, but now it's down by the side."
"Maybe it slipped," I say, although I don't really believe the explanation myself. To be honest, I didn't notice much about the way the bodies were positioned, and I'm not convinced that Constance is a reliable witness. In her panic, she's probably just imagined that something changed. Either way, I reach down and double-check that I still have my guns.
"I really don't like this," Constance says, her voice wavering.
I look over at Patrick. Once again, he walks through to the next room as soon as he's sure that I've seen him. "He wants us to go with him," I say, heading across to the door. Constance sticks close to me, even though she clearly wants to get out of here as fast as possible. I guess the one thing more scary than exploring this place with me would be to stand around alone outside. As we go through to the hallway, I see that Patrick has started going up the stairs. He's walking slowly, as if he wants to make sure that we keep up.
"We can't go up there," Constance hisses at me. "You heard that noise!"
"You're welcome to wait here," I tell her, before starting to follow Patrick up to the next floor. "Whatever we find, I'm ready for it. Trust me."
"There's something alive up there!" she says, panicking. "Come on, let's just get out of here, get in touch with Benjamin and wait for reinforcements! We can be back here in a couple of hours with a full tactical team to take this fucking place apart room by room!"
"It's okay," I insist. "I'm trained for situations like this, and I trust him!"
"You trust him?" she asks incredulously, looking up at Patrick as he reaches the top of the stairs. "He killed your sister!"
"I know how his mind works," I tell her. "He's not leading us up here to put us in danger. He wants to show us something. I promise you, this is going to be okay. Just stay calm and don't panic. The worst thing you can do is lose control." Without waiting for her to reply, I turn and follow Patrick up the stairs. By the time I get to the top, Constance has decided to join me, and we walk along to a doorway where Patrick is waiting.
Inside the next room, there's another mummified body, but I realize with horror that this one is alive. It's clearly no threat, since it can do little more than scrabble about on the floor, its long finger-nails scratching the wood. A large black manacle is wrapped around one of its legs, chaining it to the wall. Hearing us, the creature looks straight in our direction but its eye sockets are hollow. Slowly, it opens its mouth, but no sound comes out.
"What happened here?" I ask, turning to Patrick. "Why are you showing us this? I don't get it."
He stares straight at me, as if he expects me to magically understand what's going on.
"Give me a clue!" I continue, looking back at the pitiful creature as it slows tries to crawl toward us. "Did you do this to these people? Is this your work?"
"For fuck's sake!" Constance says angrily, pushing me aside and walking into the room. Before I can stop her, she fires a gunshot directly into the creature's face. With blood pouring from the wound, the creature stops moving and appears to finally be dead. "You can't leave something like that alive," she says, turning to me. "It's inhumane. It's just like torturing someone."
"We could have helped it," I say.
"No," she replies, "we couldn't. There was nothing in that thing's future other than pain and misery. I couldn't watch it suffer."
I step toward the dead creature, making sure to keep a safe distance just in case it has any last surprises. Whatever happened to this person, it's clear that their final moments were a horrific nightmare. Someone has been carrying out experiments here, and it's obvious that Patrick isn't responsible. Then again, why has he brought us here? If it were just about revenge, or about stopping this stuff from happening, I'm quite sure he could have done all of that by himself. Apparently, though, he wants us to do something, but I'm at a loss to work out what, and I definitely don't understand how any of this is connected to Abigail.
"Where do you think you're going?" Constance says behind me. I turn to see that she's aimed her gun at Patrick, who has walked over to the door.
"Put that down," I say to her. "It won't achieve anything."
Although her hands are shaking, she keeps the gun pointed straight at Patrick. "This sick bastard brought us here to gloat with him," she says. "He probably thinks it's funny to tear people up and then turn them into these things. This is probably the funniest thing he's ev
er seen." She rests her finger against the trigger. "Life isn't something to be played with. Life is precious."
"Calm down," I say.
"No!" she shouts at me. "You calm down! I've had enough of this! We came out here to find him, and we've found him. Now we're taking him back with us, and he has two choices. Either he comes with us willingly, or we make him come." She pauses for a moment. "Which is it going to be?" she asks, facing Patrick. "Are you going to make this harder than it has to be?"
"What do you think you're going to do?" I ask. "Shoot a vampire? You need to calm down."
"Stop saying that!" she replies, her voice filled with panic. "Stop telling me to calm down!"
"You can't shoot him!" I tell her. "Do you really think that's going to work?"
"He's weak," she shouts. "You said it yourself. I can't kill him, but maybe I can incapacitate him." With no warning, she first straight at Patrick, hitting him square in the chest. He steps backward, steadying himself against the door-frame. Quickly firing again, she hits him in the shoulder and he drops to the ground. Finally, she shoots him three more times in the back.
"That's enough!" I shout, grabbing the gun. "Okay! You've done it! Now calm down!"
"How long will he be down?" she asks.
"Normally, about twenty seconds," I reply, reloading the gun from my own supply of ammunition. "In this state, considerably longer." I turn to her. "You've probably pissed him off. You didn't have to do that."
"We came to get him," she says firmly. "We got him. Now we send a digital flare signal and get back-up here."
"You have a flare?" I ask.
"Benjamin gave it to me," she says, pulling a small device from her pocket. "He said to use it if we find Patrick. He said..." She pauses. "Never mind."
"What did he say?" I ask. Something's not right here. Why would he give Constance a flare, but not me?
"He said I might not be able to trust you," she says, walking over to the top of the stairs. "He said you might double-cross us and try to take Patrick with you."
I sigh. Benjamin's always been an astute old buzzard, but I thought he genuinely trusted me. Now it seems he's got his suspicions about my motives. I guess maybe he's right.
