The Civil Dead (Dark Season IV)

by Amy Cross

  My mother is in shock. Sure, my parents were divorced, but she still loved him in her own sick way. For the first time in years, I feel sorry for my mother. I make her a strong coffee and add a shot of whiskey to give it a kick. She sits on the sofa and goes through her address book, phoning up everyone she knows so she can tell them the whole story over and over again. I guess this is how she grieves. But after half an hour, she's only through to the 'B' section of the address book, so I decide to remove myself from the room. There are only so many times that I can handle listening to her recite the details over and over again.

  My brother is sitting on his bed, reading. He seems to be taking this in its stride. I wondered if he might be too young to really understand the implication of dad's death, but bizarrely he seems to be handling everything really maturely. It's crazy that he's holding up better than my mother and me. But I know that he'll crack eventually, so I make sure I'm around him or nearby so that when he does need someone to talk to, I'll be there. Call me crazy, but I can't help thinking that I'd be a better person to talk to than my mother. I tell him to come and find me if he needs me. He just nods.

  I go to my room and use my laptop to contact a few people. Shelley isn't online, but Adam is. I get in touch with him and tell him what's happened. He's shocked and tells me he'll be straight over. Closing the laptop, I realise it'll take him at least half an hour to get here. I go to the window and look out. It's still raining. Fuck, it's been raining almost non-stop for days now.

  Is the rain keeping Patrick away? That would be the easiest answer, even if I know it doesn't make sense. The truth is, I haven't seen him for weeks, and I'm starting to wonder if I've done something wrong. I know we had a sort of disagreement last time I saw him, when I thought for a moment that he'd killed someone. After all, he had blood on his hands and he had been out of town, pursuing someone But I'm pretty sure he didn't do what I initially thought he'd done, and I really don't think that I said anything that should keep him away. Yet I haven't seen him, and Vincent only says - somewhat cryptically - that Patrick is 'away' doing 'something'. This is the first time it occurred to me that Patrick has a life beyond skulking about near my window. What does he do when he's not with me?

  I have to admit, though, that there's a part of me that wishes he could be here right now. Doesn't he know that something terrible has happened? I've always felt that he has a kind of sixth sense when it comes to this kind of thing, so I would've expected him to be here by now. The truth is, though, that over the past couple of weeks I've had one bad experience after another, yet Patrick is nowhere to be seen. Has he really just abandoned me at the moment when I need him the most?

  Ten

  She can't see me, but I can see her. She is at her window again, looking out at the rain. I can tell from the look on her face that she is hoping to see me, but I can't get close to her. So I stay here, hidden.

  If I get too close, the Tenderling will panic. And when Tenderlings panic they have a nasty habit of instantly killing their victim before rushing off to find someone else. That's the problem with a Tenderling. They always get what they want, and they have a nasty reputation for killing their victims at the slightest provocation. There are seven billion people on this planet and very few Tenderlings, so they're not exactly short of potential targets. When someone is being targeted by a Tenderling, you have to be very careful, because even the slightest mistake could cause the creature to panic.

  I can't afford to let this Tenderling panic. It could kill Sophie, and there's still a prophecy to fulfil. If Sophie dies now, I don't know how the prophecy will unfold. She has to play such a crucial role, even if for now she has no idea what that role might be. She will learn, eventually.

  So I have to bide my time, I have to be careful, and I have to be sure that I don't make any stupid mistakes. If my father plays his part properly, there is a chance that I can draw this Tenderling away from Sophie. Not a great chance, but a chance. And I have to try.

  Eleven

  I don't tell Adam about seeing my father last night. I can't, can I? He'd think I'm cracking up. He already thinks I'm pretty strange, and I don't want him to give up on me completely. So I keep quiet about all of that. Unfortunately, all Adam wants to talk about is how I feel now that I'm, in his words, "half an orphan", and I really don't know what to tell him. I know this will sound weird, but suddenly Adam seems like a complete stranger, and his concern for me seems completely fake. It's not fair of me to say that, because I know he's being genuine. But I'd really rather be by myself tonight, just in case my father appears again. Instead, Adam insists on staying over. Great, he'll scare off Patrick and the ghost...

  "I can't imagine what it's like to lose a parent," Adam says as we share a plate of spaghetti in my room, both of us sitting cross-legged on my bed. We look like the dogs from Lady and the Tramp, except we're not cartoons dogs and there's nothing particularly romantic going on.

  "You know you can talk to me, right?" he says. "Any time, you can just talk and I'll listen, okay?" He's being kind and considerate. Too kind and considerate, maybe. I know I'm probably being a bitch and I should appreciate him more, but the fact is, there's only one person I really want to talk to right now and he's nowhere to be found. And even if he showed up, he wouldn't be able to talk to me.

  "It's okay to be upset," Adam continues. Again, I know I'm being mean, but my first thought is Shut the fuck up. Seriously! I guess I'm just angry 'cause I haven't been sleeping properly. Eventually I give up hope of persuading Adam to go home for the night, so we agree he can stay over. It's not the first time, and at least I don't think he'll try anything sexual tonight. After all, he's too busy playing the role of caring, loving boyfriend to stick his hand down my pants.

  "Let's go to sleep," I say eventually.

  "Okay," he says. "Are you tired?"

  "Yeah," I say, which is kind of true. I mean, I'm no more tired than I was when I woke up this morning, but I could definitely sleep.

  "We should go and say goodnight to your mom," he says.

  I snap a little. "Do what you want," I say, deliberately going to the other side of the room, i.e. away from the door.

  "I think it'd be considerate," he says.

  "Patrick, just do whatever you want, okay?" I don't look at him. Instead, I'm pretending to be looking for a book in the pile by the window.

  "What?" he asks.

  "I said do whatever you want," I say, turning to him.

  "My name's not Patrick," he says.

  I stare at him.

  "You called me Patrick," he says, looking confused.

  I think about it for a moment. Did I? It's possible. Okay: deny everything. "No I didn't," I say. "Go and say goodnight to my mother if you want".

  He keeps staring at me. "It's not the first time," he says. "It's like the third time in a week you've done it. I didn't mention anything because it didn't seem important, but three times is a lot. Who's Patrick?"

  My mind races for a moment. What do I say to him? "Patrick Lockhart," I stammer. Oh great. This is going to be the worst lie ever. "Sorry," I continue, "my mother's been watching her damn soap operas, I hear the names and... She's been watching Days of Our Lives reruns, and you look a bit like this character Patrick Lockhart, so... That's how that happened. Weird, huh?"

  He clearly isn't convinced, but what can he say? I'm grieving for my father here! It's hardly a good time to press me on details. "Yeah," he says.

  When we get into bed, I can tell things are weird between us, so I make an extra effort to be nice and to remind him that I can be a good girlfriend. To seal the deal, I go down on him and for the first time, I swallow when he cums in my mouth. He seems surprised but happy, and within a few minutes he's fast asleep. Great. I stay awake for a while longer, thinking in the dark. I half expect my father to appear in the corner of the room, but nothing happens. I guess that was all just part of some weird freak thing. Eventually, after God knows how long, I fall asleep with Adam's arms around
me.

  I open my eyes and it's morning. As usual, I feel completely drained. I swear, it's as if I get up while I'm asleep and run a marathon. No matter how tired I feel when I go to bed, it's worse when I wake up. I don't know what's going on while I sleep, but I'm seriously starting to wonder whether I sleepwalk or something like that. Could that be what's happening? Am I getting up in the dead of night and wandering around the house? There has to be some explanation for why I'm exhausted every single morning.

  "What the fuck," says Adam behind me.

  I turn to look at him, and it takes me a moment to recognise what's happened. He's naked next to me, but something's horribly wrong. From head to toe, he's covered in tiny scratches.

  Twelve

  My father and I walk to the entrance to the chamber. For the first time, there are no ghosts along the way. Perhaps they avoid my father? Or perhaps they simply do not wish to be involved in anything of this magnitude? Either way, I am glad that they are not here. If you have never walked a road lined with ghosts, you cannot imagine how cold it feels.

  I can tell that my father is concerned about the task ahead. He says very little as we walk, focusing all his thoughts on where we are going. And as we start our descent down the stone steps, he seems hesitant, as if he is starting to have second thoughts about the whole thing. But he cannot back out now. This is the final act of a game that he himself set in motion many years ago. He always knew this day was coming.

  There is so much I could say to him. For the first time in many years, I am forced to contemplate the possibility of life without him. It is by no means certain that he will be able to leave the chamber once he has entered. The price he is willing to pay to discover the solution to Sophie's problem is beyond all imagination. I know he thinks this is a foolish move, and I know that he is only doing it for me. I am grateful.

  I do not know how far I should go with him. But when we get to the entrance to the final chamber, he turns to me and I realise that he has to go on ahead. So I wait as he enters, and immediately I hear the taunts start. My father has met his only enemy, the enemy he thought he had vanquished many years ago. These two men were never meant to see one another again, yet here we are. And though this enemy is chained, he can still cause terrible damage simply by virtue of the words he chooses. He has known my father for many years, and he understands how to inflict maximum damage.

  I listen. My father stays silent as the taunts continue. Though the prisoner says the harshest, most evil things, my father does not rise to the bait. Instead, he says nothing.

  The prisoner starts by talking about me. He says that I am a failure, that I am responsible for the deaths of all the other vampires. He says I committed genocide. And he's right. I did. He should know. He was there. In fact, this wretched, pitiful prisoner was the one who put Cassandra's heart into my hands and told me what to do. So he isn't entirely blameless in all of this, even if it's true that ultimately I was the one who carried the heart to the dungeons of Gothos and showed it to the children.

  It's my burden. I showed them the heart, and then I showed them the secret of Gothos, the secret that they had kept for so long, they had entirely forgotten it.

  Next, the prisoner starts taunting my father about his own mother, about how she was a whore who was butchered in an alley. Again, this is true. The prisoner is not saying anything that is false. But my father knows that his mother, though she might have been a whore, was a good woman. And he knows that it was not her fault that she was attacked and killed.

  The prisoner starts talking about Sophie. He asks whether my father can truly condone what is going to happen to her. She is, after all, an innocent girl. We could let her walk away, and she could live a full life, never knowing the true horrors of Gothos. But he knows, as we know, that if Sophie isn't the sacrifice, then someone else will eventually have to be. And Sophie is by far the best candidate, because there is something inside her that makes her strong. She was not chosen by accident.

  And now the prisoner is on to other subjects. He is trying every possible subject, trying desperately to make my father angry. He talks about Cassandra, and how she let the Alpha Wolf rip out her heart before their wedding. He talks about the night that the Castle of Eyes fell apart, and about the moment that I opened my hand to show the children how The Promise could set us all free from the chains of war. Finally, he warns my father that The Other is returning.

  My father finally speaks. He says that The Other is dead, that he died along with the vampires.

  But the prisoner is insistent. He says that The Other has been gathering strength, but that he has gathered disciples. He insists that some of these disciples are known to my father, and to me, and to Sophie, and he says that when The Other is ready to unleash his power, we will be unable to stop him.

  He's wrong. The Other is dead. I saw him die. I killed him again and again and again until there was no possibility of resurrection. Again and again and again and again and again. He cannot come back. This is just a test, to scare my father. It will not work.

  I turn and walk away. I know that my father will not want me to hear what happens in that chamber. It is going to be a long night for my father. He will have to put up with the taunts of the prisoner until dawn. But if he survives that long, he will emerge from the chamber with the answer to the problem that I face. And that's when I will be able to go and defeat the Tenderling, and save Sophie.

  If it's not already too late...

  Thirteen

  Adam gets dressed quickly. Very, very quickly. It's shocking to watch him, with his body so completely covered in small scratches. It looks like a bunch of cats danced all over him in the night. None of the scratches are deep, they're just little red lines, as if something spent the whole night scraping away at him. How could he not feel that? How could I not feel that? I look down at my hands. My nails aren't even long enough to cause scratches like that, but if I didn't do it, who did?

  I look over at the corner of the room where I saw my father the other night.

  "Fuck this," says Adam.

  I turn to look at him. He's almost dressed. Naturally, he's not best pleased about the whole situation.

  "Don't take this the wrong way," he says, "and I know you're going through a tough time, but there's something wrong with you". He puts his coat on. "Even before your dad died, there was something weird, something I couldn't understand". He keeps scratching all over his body, with obvious scratch marks on his face and hands. There's not a spot on his entire body that hasn't been attacked. "I mean, fucking hell, Sophie, look at me! What the fuck have you been doing to me?"

  I stare at him, and I can't deny that something's very wrong. But did I do this to him? Is that why I'm so tired? Did I sit up all night, scratching at his skin? And if I did, why didn't he wake up? Sure, I've been under a lot of stress lately, and then there's the shock of finding out about my father's death. But surely there's a limit to how far I could go...

  "I'm sorry," I say. "I don't know what happened". I stare at him. It's impossible to believe this is happening. "I didn't do this to you!" I shout.

  He clearly doesn't believe me. "So, what, your mom came in and did this?" He stares at me. "Whatever you did, Sophie, it stinks. Fuck it, look at me! What am I supposed to do? Sit in my room for a week while this heals up?"

  "It won't take that long," I say.

  "It'll still take longer than it should!" he says loudly. "It shouldn't be there at all!"

  "You'd better go," I say, not sure if this means we're breaking up. I don't want to break up with him, but at the same time I'm starting to feel that it's dangerous for him to be around me.

  "For fuck's sake, Sophie," he says. There's a moment's silence between us. "What is this?" he asks. "Is this some kind of subconscious hatred of me? Do you just want to rip me apart and force me out of here? 'Cause if that's what you want, just say it. Just tell me honestly, instead of... this"...

  "I don't know," I say. I step towards him. "I do
n't know, okay? I have no idea what happened to you last night. I swear I didn't do it, but I don't remember anything I've been doing lately and you're right, something's wrong". I open the door and start pushing him out of my room. "Just go home".

  He backs out and shakes his head. "Whatever's going on, let me know if I can help," he says. "Otherwise, just... Just take some time to figure it out".

  I sigh. "Are we breaking up?" I ask.

  He stares at me.

  "Cause if we are," I say, "I'd rather just do it cleanly, okay? No stupid drawn-out crap. Just a clean break. Okay?" I wait a moment, then I push the door shut. There. Conversation over. I was a little mean, perhaps, but I really really need to get out of here.

  I head straight to the forest, where I quickly locate the entrance to Patrick and Vincent's home. I run along the underground corridor and down the steps until I reach the huge cavern in which their little old house sits. Rushing over, I go straight to Vincent's study, but he's not there. And as I stand there, I realise there's not a sound in the whole place. I listen, convinced that any moment I'll hear footsteps and one of them - probably Vincent, knowing my luck - will come strolling in.