Dark Season: The Complete Box Set

by Amy Cross

  Dexter's head drops to the floor, and blood flows from his stumpy neck.

  “That's pretty gross,” Shelley says, staring in shock.

  Patrick rips more flesh from Dexter's neck, chewing it and swallowing it. He has that look in his eyes, the look of a wild beast. I used to hate that look, but I've come to appreciate it. It's part of him, it's part of who he is, and it's never going to go away.

  Shelley

  Wyoming, Today.

  "So where are we going?" I ask as we walk through an unfamiliar part of town. I'm still not entirely certain that I can trust Abby, and I can't stop thinking about the words Patrick spoke to me all those years ago. It's almost as if, even back then, he could look ahead and see this moment. But if that's true, why didn't he try to change things? Why would he allow Abby to end up in such a terrible way: with a metal collar around her neck, indebted to Benjamin's dubious schemes. I thought parents were supposed to protect their children, but Patrick seems to have accepted the bad things that will happen to Abby. Damn it, he makes my crappy parents seem pretty decent.

  "I can't tell you everything," Abby replies, glancing back over her shoulder. She seems nervous and edgy, as if she thinks we're being followed. Either that, or she's a good actress. "Benjamin has contacts everywhere," she continues. "We can't be sure we're not being overheard."

  I smile. Abby still seems to be clinging to the idea that Benjamin isn't tracking our every move. I can't decide whether it's cute that she's so naive, or terrifying. After all, if she's so easily fooled, I don't see how she's ever going to break free. Suddenly I stop, feeling a cold shiver run through my body.

  "What's wrong?" Abby asks, stopping a few paces ahead of me.

  "Nothing," I say, but the truth is: I suddenly realized what's going to happen today, and what I'm walking into. Can I really do this? I never signed up to be part of Patrick's insane scheme. I mean, Sophie loved him, so that explains why she made some pretty dumb decisions. Why am I here, though? I could just walk away, or at least try to escape. Instead, I seem to have been sucked into this mess slowly until, finally, I realize there's no going back. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down. "I just..." I pause, the words catching in the back of my throat. I'm doing this for Sophie. It's the only thing I can do for her now.

  "Do you want to know how you'll end up, Shelley?" a familiar voice asks in the back of my mind. It's a voice I haven't heard for many, many years, and one that I'd always hoped to never hear again. "You'll end up as some diseased pus-bag tramp, dying on the streets somewhere with a needle poking out of your arm." All these years later, I can still hear the glee with which she spits out each vicious, hateful word. "You're going to have a miserable, pointless life and then you're going to die a horrible, meaningless, agonizing death. People will walk past your body, and they'll be glad that they're nothing like you. You'll be buried in an unmarked grave, and no-one will come to your funeral because no-one will like you. Maybe they won't even bother to bury you; they might just burn your body and toss your ashes into the trash. And then you'll go to Hell, where you belong, and you'll suffer for all of eternity"

  "Shelley?" Abby asks, staring at me.

  I sigh. There's no point dwelling on that old bitch's words. It's been years since that day at school, and in some strange way I've been waiting for everything she said to come true. Right now, I feel I'm on the edge of slipping into the kind of darkness that old Mrs. Hard-Ass predicted.

  "I need to use a phone," I say suddenly, almost surprising myself with the request. "I need to call someone. Is that okay?"

  "Sure," Abby says, looking a little puzzled.

  "I don't have anything with me," I say. "I need a payphone."

  It doesn't take us long to find a battered old payphone on a street corner. While Abby waits cautiously outside, I head into the booth and slip some money into the slot. I dial the number for directory services, and wait until someone picks up.

  "Directory Services," a woman says suddenly.

  "Hi," I say, stumbling for the right words. "I need the number for a woman named Katherine Hardstone. She lives in Dedston."

  There's a pause on the other end of the line. "I have one result," the woman says eventually. "I can put you straight through for a two dollar rate."

  "Sure," I say. "Do it."

  There's a ringing sound. Moments later, someone picks up the phone. "Hello?" asks the voice of an old woman. It's strange, but even though she sounds ancient and creaky, I can still tell it's her. I haven't heard Mrs. Hard-Ass speak for a couple of decades, and she must be pushing close to eighty, but that old familiar voice is burned into my soul.

  "Hi," I say, feeling my throat starting to dry up. I've always fantasized about confronting the old bitch, but suddenly I'm not sure what I should say. I guess I thought I'd rip into her and tell her how much I hate her, but wouldn't that just make me as bad as her?

  "Who is this?" she asks, sounding impatient.

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. I've been carrying this rage around for decades, and suddenly - just as I have a chance to express it - I feel strangely calm and peaceful. "Is this the same Katherine Hardstone who used to teach at Dedston Junior School?" I ask.

  "It is," she replies, sounding a little worried. "May I ask to whom I'm speaking?"

  "You won't remember me," I say, "but I remember you." I take a deep breath. "You once told me that I'd end up dying alone and sad and forgotten. You told me I was a worthless piece of trash. I just thought maybe I'd let you know that you were wrong. I'm about to do something that terrifies me, something that I might not even survive... but I'm doing it because I owe it to my best friend, even though she'd dead, and..." I pause as a sudden thought strikes me. All these years I've hated Mrs. Hardstone, and now I realize I owe her so much. "I just wanted to thank you," I say. "If it wasn't for you, I might never have met my best friend. I might never have met Sophie, and then I'd never have been given a chance to do what I'm about to do."

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," she replies.

  "Of course you don't," I say, tears in my eyes. "That's okay. You don't need to. I just wanted to say the words." Without waiting for her to reply, I put the phone down. It was so strange talking to her again, and now I can't help thinking about that day when she made me go to the 'naughty corner'. If she hadn't done that, I might never have met Sophie. What would my life have been like? I guess I'd be doing normal stuff, and I'd probably have wasted the past few decades. I certainly wouldn't know anything about vampires. Turning, I look over at Abby. She looks so lost, and there's a sense of sickness about her; suddenly I realize that I have to make sure she's okay, and that I have to do whatever it takes to ensure she breaks free from Benjamin. For the first time in my life, I realize that I'm part of something that's much bigger than me, and I understand that I have an important role to play.

  "Let's go," I say, stepping out of the booth. We walk on in silence, as I contemplate what's going to happen. When Sophie used to talk about a prophecy, I always smiled politely while thinking that she was insane. I thought she was crazy to even consider the possibility that parts of her life were pre-ordained or were out of her control. Now, though, I can see that it's all true. Sometimes, bigger things are happening, and you have to accept your role. This is mine.

  "Here," Abby says suddenly, stopping outside a large hotel in the center of town.

  "Here?" I ask, totally shocked. Looking up, I realize that this is a grand, exclusive kind of place. I'm pretty sure you have to be a multimillionaire to even get through the door.

  "Here," she says firmly. "I'll be outside for a while. Someone's in there waiting for you."

  "Who?" I ask. "Todd?"

  She pauses. "Just go inside. Go to the bar and wait."

  "Don't you think that's kind of sad?" I reply. "I mean, a woman, waiting in a bar all alone... It's kind of desperate, isn't it?" I sigh. "Oh, who am I kidding? I've done it enough times over the years. Is Todd coming? Is that who
I'm meeting?"

  Abby stares at me for a moment. "Hurry," she says eventually. "You'll be late."

  Sighing, I realize there's probably no chance I'll ever get a sensible answer out of her. She seems distracted, almost as if she's in pain. Looking closer, I see that the metal collar around her neck has a number of small jagged points sticking into her skin.

  "Abby," I say slowly, "does that thing hurt?"

  "Just go inside," she says firmly.

  "Abby, take it off! If it hurts, you shouldn't wear it!"

  "It doesn't hurt!" she insists. "It just... It's part of me. I need it."

  "Is that what Benjamin told you?"

  "It helps me to focus on what I really need to do," she replies. "It helps me remember who I am."

  "This isn't you," I tell her.

  "Go into the fucking building," she snaps, almost spitting the words at me. "Someone's waiting for you."

  I want to reach over and pull that collar from her neck, but something tells me it wouldn't be a good move. Instead, I walk up the steps that lead into the hotel, and then I turn and look back at Abby. She seems almost scared, as if she knows what's going to happen and she doesn't like it. I'm starting to think that Todd probably isn't going to be in there; in fact, I'm starting to think that maybe Todd's out of the picture altogether. I wouldn't be surprised if Benjamin and his gang of thugs have started tying up 'loose ends' now that they've got hold of Abby, and in that case I'm probably next on their list. I should turn and run, but I wouldn't get far, not with Abby on my trail. The truth is: I have to go into the hotel and face my fears. Maybe what happens next is set in stone, like Patrick told me all those years ago, but I still have control over how it happens and - ultimately - over what it means. This is my destiny, and Patrick's words finally make total sense.

  Sophie

  Dedston, 16 years ago.

  I stumble toward the light, looking around for Shelley and Patrick. The floor starts to give way, and I have to jump to one side as the stones I was standing on crumble into darkness. Finally I spot Shelley and Patrick on the other side of the chamber, with Patrick covered in blood as he continues to devour what's left of Dexter.

  “This way!” I shout to them.

  Shelley grabs Patrick and tries to pull him away. Patrick lets go of Dexter's destroyed body, which falls into the dark hole that's opened up in the floor.

  “Come on!” I hear Shelley shouting as she tries to tug Patrick towards me. But Patrick seems hesitant, as if there's something he still needs to do.

  In my heart, I get this sinking feeling. I know that Patrick could just come with us, but I also realize that nothing he does is ever simple. From the look on his face, I can tell he has something else planned. As he stands looking at me across the burning chamber, his bare torso still ripped and torn from Dexter's punishment, blood still around his mouth and on his hands, there's a strange expression in his eyes. I've often tried to read his expression, and I've rarely been successful, but this time I feel as if I understand what he's saying: he's saying goodbye.

  “Come with me!” I shout at him.

  He stares at me, not responding.

  “Patrick!” I shout. “If you don't leave, I won't leave and we'll both die here!”

  He looks so sad as he turns toward the fire, and then he stops, looks at me again, and goes back to Shelley. And then, as I watch, Patrick leans in to Shelley's ear and he whispers something to her, and as she listens, her face goes white with shock.

  Shelley

  Wyoming, Today.

  "May I take your coat, Madam?" asks the doorman as I step into the hotel foyer.

  Shaking my head, I walk across the marble floor. This is by far the poshest place I've ever been; for me, a hotel is usually a dodgy little place where rooms can be rented by the hour. For a small-town girl who grew up in Dedston, this is the pinnacle of social climbing. Everything about the whole damn place reeks of money: the foyer is large and tall, with a reception desk over at one side; rich-looking people are going about their business, probably cutting multimillion dollar deals, and they're all exuding class from every orifice. Damn it, there are paintings on the walls, and they're not even screwed in place!

  Spotting a sign leading to the bar, I wander past the reception desk. There's a lady nearby, old and fat and very well-dressed, and she gives me a brief, snarky look that makes it clear she thinks I don't belong here. I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror, and I guess I can see the old bag's point: the cheap clothes don't do me any favors, but what really gives me away is the look of fear in my eyes. I'm clearly out of place and out of my depth. Hell, if I saw someone like me in a place like this, I'd assume that I'm a hooker heading up to a room where I can service a client. I guess some people are just born with the kind of face that 'fits' in high society, and some people are born looking like me. Then again, if I have to put my life on the line today, I guess doing it in a fancy hotel isn't too bad.

  "Can I help you?" asks a girl standing at the entrance to the bar. She's well-dressed and polite, and - here's the kick to the gut - she's younger than me. Much younger than me. She smiles at me with courtesy, but I can see in her eyes that she thinks I shouldn't be here.

  "I'm meeting someone," I tell her, glancing into the bar. I don't see anyone else in there, other than a couple of older guys and a girl in a dress. Definitely no-one who'd be waiting for me.

  "Very good," the girl says. "If I can assist you in any way, please don't hesitate to let me know."

  "Sure thing," I reply, glancing at her name badge. "Thanks, Debra."

  "My pleasure."

  Walking toward the bar, I'm very aware that the other patrons have noticed me. I've been in a lot of bars in my life, but they've all had jukeboxes and pool tables and sticky floors. This place, on the other hand, is the height of sophistication. Soft, mellow lift music is playing in the background, and there's an extremely hot barman smiling at me.

  "Hi," I say, suddenly realizing I probably can't afford anything here. I reach into my pocket to count my change. A glass of tap water might just about be in my price range.

  "I'm sorry I kept you waiting," says a voice behind me.

  I pause, immediately recognizing the voice. It's the person I was expecting and, to be honest, it's the only person it could ever have been. Turning slowly, I find Benjamin smiling at me. He's wearing a smart suit, and he looks as if he's dressed for a business meeting, or perhaps a funeral. Either way, he has a slightly sad look in his eyes.

  "I hope you're not intimidated by the surroundings," he says. "Please, won't you join me over at my table?" He leads me to a table in the corner of the bar, far away from the other patrons. "I felt we should talk face to face, Shelley. A lot has happened since the last time I saw you, and not all of it has been good. I'm sure you've seen Abby -"

  "Why are you doing this to her?" I ask, interrupting him. I sit down, feeling an intense anger start to rise through my body now that I'm confronted with Benjamin's smug, calculating face. "She's just a teenager, and you've fucked with her head and put a metal collar on her neck. Why are you trying to destroy her?"

  "I'm not trying to destroy her," he replies calmly. "I'm trying to save her. Do you really think she'd still be alive without my help?" He smiles. "In an ideal world, her father would have looked after her. He would have taken care of her and taught her how to deal with her abilities. Unfortunately, as I'm sure you're aware, we don't live in an ideal world. We live in a world where parents abandon their children, and that's what Patrick did with Abigail. I don't know why, especially after all the agonies of her birth, but clearly he was willing to let her die." The barman places a couple of whiskey glasses on the table for us. "I wasn't willing to let the girl die, though," Benjamin continues. "I see potential in her. Her father is the last vampire, but Abigail can be the first of a new breed."

  "And you want to control her," I point out, not convinced for a moment by his words.

  "I want to guide her," he replies. "
I want to give her the support she needs while she works out who she really is. I'm quite certain that, in return, she will show gratitude, and I'm sure that over time we'll help one another. But I certainly don't intend to control her. She'll be free to make her own choices."

  "Only after you've messed with her head so much, she doesn't know what's real any more," I say. "That collar isn't setting her free. It's reminding her every second that she's your property. She's in agony."

  "Pain is under-estimated," he replies. "Most people spend their whole lives trying to avoid pain, but ultimately pain is something that comes to us all. I doubt there's ever been a single person on this planet who has lived a life completely free of pain." He takes a sip from his whiskey. "I'm sure you've felt pain in your life, Shelley. I'm sure it hasn't all been a bed of roses."

  "Is this why you wanted to meet me?" I ask. "So you could deliver a lecture on the value of pain?"

  "I wanted to meet you because I think we can still help one another," he says. "I know we got off on the wrong foot, repeatedly, but I still think we can work together if we take a moment to recognize our mutual needs."

  "Where's Todd?" I ask, determined to cut through Benjamin's bullshit.

  "He's dead," he replies. "He was badly injured in a confrontation with Patrick, and I'm afraid his injuries were too severe for him to survive. In the end, Abby chose to end his life in order to save him from more suffering."

  "Abby killed him?" I ask, shocked.

  He nods. "It was entirely her decision. Personally, I think she was a little harsh, but I wanted to give her the freedom to make her own choice." He smiles. "Or do you think I should have told her what to do? Surely you want her to have these freedoms, don't you? After all, one of the greatest freedoms is the freedom to make mistakes." He smiles. "You want her to be free, yet you want me to stop her from doing things. I'd respectfully suggest, Shelley, that you should make your mind up."