Dead End (Dark Season VIII)

by Amy Cross

“And the Lock,” I say. “He was here, but he wasn't a vampire, was he?”

  “No,” says Dexter, peering intently at the little white letters he has written out. He seems to be focused very intently on them, as if it's very important that he gets them exactly right. “He was a human, but a human with unparalleled insight into the lives of the vampires. He understood everything, and he was trusted by the vampires. Very few humans are ever allowed through the gates of Gothos”. He turns to me. “Present company excepted”.

  “He's dead now,” I say. “He died at Gothos”.

  “No-one really dies at Gothos,” Dexter says. “No-one really dies, and no-one really lives. And very few people ever get to leave. You were lucky”.

  I smile, remembering how Patrick and I walked away from the crumbling mansion. Suddenly an image flashes into my mind: I see myself walking through the forest with Patrick, but something's different: I'm heavily pregnant, with a large bulge in my belly, and Patrick is helping me. It looks as if we're happy, as if we're walking somewhere important. And Patrick seems more tender, and more caring, than I can ever imagine him being. It's an unreal memory, but also one that – in my bones and in my heart – I instantly know is real.

  “You okay?” Shelley asks, having apparently noticed something in my expression.

  I nod. “Yeah,” I say, but the truth is: I'm not sure if I'm okay at all. That was the first time I've experienced anything that might be considered a flashback to the missing year, and it's the first time I've remembered anything about the baby. For a second – just a second – I had a sense of what it was like to be carrying Patrick's child, and a sense of a very different side to Patrick. I reach down and touch my belly now, which is back to normal. “It's all true,” I say quietly to myself.

  “You're starting to remember, aren't you?” Dexter says, turning to look at me and smiling. “Strong connections from the depths of your memory are forcing their way through to your conscious mind. You should be prepared for more”.

  “What's the writing?” Shelley asks, interrupting him. She indicates the chalk writing that Dexter has written on the walls. “What language is that?”

  “The ancient language of the vampires,” Dexter replies.

  “Where'd you learn that?” Shelley says.

  Dexter grins. “I didn't. I memorised a few lines. I'm not even sure if I've got it right”.

  She walks over and stares at what he's written. “What does it say?”

  “It's part of a prophecy,” Dexter says, glancing briefly at me. “An old prophecy that vampires have been passing down for years, kind of like a bedtime story. A reminder of things to come”.

  “What does the prophecy say?” Shelley asks.

  Dexter smiles at me. “That Patrick will kill Sophie. That she will anger him so much that he rips her apart”.

  I turn to him. All this talk of prophecies is crazy, and it makes me uncomfortable. I need to change the subject. “What really happened to you?” I ask. “I saw Patrick pretty much kill you, and now look at you, you're...”

  “Hideous,” Shelley says, completing my sentence. She looks at me. “He is!” she hisses, before turning back to Dexter. “You are!”

  “The vampire showed me mercy,” he says. “He tortured me for days, ripping at my flesh and burning me. There was rage in his eyes, but old rage from long before I was born. I was prepared for death, but at the last moment he hesitated and he let me live. If you can call this living. I'm in agony every second, but I've learnt to live with it”.

  “Why did he let you live?” I ask.

  He laughs. “I have you to thank for that, don't I? You begged him not to kill me. Why was that? Did you want to see his human side? Did you want to believe he wasn't just some kind of animal, killing without a soul? Well, you were right”.

  “He saved you for me?” I say quietly, realising finally that even from the very beginning Patrick was listening to me. At the time, I assumed his silence was just a sign that he didn't care what I had to say. But now I'm starting to realise that I had a much greater impact on Patrick than I ever realised.

  “Are you sure you didn't make some kind of deal with him?” Shelley asks, clearly suspicious.

  “How could I make a deal with him?” Dexter replies. “I'm not the one who has what he wants. Or... had what he wanted”.

  Another flashback hits: I remember being somewhere wild, up in the mountains, with snow falling all around us as Patrick leads me to a cave. I'm still heavily pregnant, and he helps me settle into a bed of straw. I seem to be happy, and I seem to be with him willingly. This is obviously what I was doing during the year that I was missing. I spent that whole year with Patrick, not as a prisoner but as his... what? His girlfriend? His lover? He was looking after me, caring for me as I prepared to give birth to our child. How did I forget all this? Why did Patrick want to make sure that I wouldn't remember such a happy time, the only time he and I really had together?

  “Are you sure he's coming?” Shelley says, distracting me from the memory.

  “Of course he's coming,” Dexter says. “There are things here that he can never leave for too long. Things he has hidden here in preparation for this moment. And he knows we'll be here”. He looks at me. “He knows you'll be here. Remember the prophecy?”

  “He's not coming to kill me,” I say.

  “Oh, he is,” says Dexter. “He's on his way right now to find you and end your life. But fortunately you have a little help from good old Dexter. Well, and this -” He pulls a gun from his pocket, some kind of antique pistol. “You know how to drop a vampire to his knees? Silver bullet, straight to the heart. Works on werewolves, too, but with vampires it's particularly effective. It won't kill him quickly, but it'll stop him from killing you and it'll allow me to cut him up”.

  “You don't want that,” Shelley says to me. “You don't want Patrick dead”.

  “You want the child,” Dexter says. “If that means Patrick has to die, then so be it. You'll walk out of here with the child in your arms, and you won't even look back to see what I'm doing to Patrick”.

  And now I remember it all: the agony of childbirth late one night in that snowy cave, as Patrick delivered the baby. I remember the fear, and the pain, and finally I remember hearing the child's cries. I remember looking down to see Patrick holding it, and then... I remember Patrick taking the child away, and refusing to let me see it. I remember being too weak to move, but begging him to let me see my baby. And he refused. No matter what I tried, he refused. It was as if a wall went up between us, and he no longer looked at me as if he cared about me at all. I remember the anger that I felt, and then...

  I remember one night I pretended to be asleep and finally I crept over to the baby. I remember looking down and realising that it was a girl, and I remember picking her up and holding her for the first time, her little eyes looking up at me with hope. There was no sign of Patrick, so I wrapped the baby up as warm as I could and I ran from the cave. Though it was snowing and the wind was blowing, I could see the lights of Dedston in the distance, in the valley below the mountains. And though I knew we might not survive, I set out to get my baby away from Patrick. I remember knowing in my heart that he would never allow me to be with my child.

  But Patrick followed us. As we struggled through the snow, he appeared in front of us. I tried to get away, but it was no use: he blocked our path, moving quickly and effortlessly through the snowdrifts. I began to realise that even if we did escape from Patrick, we'd never survive the journey down the mountain. I remember being unsure of what to do, and I remember Patrick trying to grab the baby from me, and she fell into the snow, and as I tried to save her I fell. I remember tumbling down a snowy slope, bouncing off rocks that jutted out. I remember coming to a stop and looking back, and seeing nothing but more snow. And then... I remember opening my eyes in a small dark room, with doctors examining me. No sign of Patrick. No sign of the baby. Patrick must have carried me and abandoned me somewhere safe.

&nbs
p; “He betrayed you,” says Dexter, as if he can read my mind. “He used your body to get his child, and then he tossed you away like garbage. He's coming to kill you, because in his twisted mind killing you is a sign that he loves you. He believes he had a duty to protect the child, and he believes you're a danger. You saw what he did to me. He'll do the same to you, except he'll be sure to finish the job”.

  “He left me for dead,” I say, realising what happened. Suddenly I hear a noise nearby, and I turn.

  He's here. Standing in the entrance to the tunnel, staring at me with those deep, dark eyes, Patrick has finally arrived to finish what he started. But then, slowly, he turns to Dexter and kneels, as if he's surrendering.

  Dexter laughs.

  8.

  I remember the one perfect night that we had. Just one. Sometimes that's enough...

  Shortly after leaving Gothos, I took Sophie to my old home. It was still warm and safe there, and I wanted her to be sure that she understood my intentions. Though we had made love at Gothos, it had been quick and basic, designed to ensure that she became pregnant while on the Gothos grounds. But now, I realised I had just one chance to teach her the true extent of my love for her, to try to show her through actions what I could never tell her through words. And though she no longer remembers that night, I can't help but believe that somewhere deep inside her, she knows that I treated her with tenderness and kindness.

  The whole house was lit with candles. We didn't speak for almost an hour, as Sophie looked at Vincent's old books. Finally I stepped up behind her, kissed her neck and ran my hands slowly down her body. I lifted off her shirt and unhooked her bra, and from behind I reached around and held her breasts tightly in my hands, feeling her nipples becoming harder as she firmly pushed her ass into my crotch.

  Still standing behind her, I reached down and unbuttoned her jeans, pulling them down and removing her underwear, running a hand through the hair between her legs. I let my other hand rest on her belly: although she had been pregnant for only a couple of days, somewhere inside of her was the beginning of a new life.

  She turned to me, undressed me, and led me to the bed, where we kissed as I touched her body, running my hands down her side and pulling her close to me. As she rolled onto her back and I leaned over her, for the first time I let her see properly the two large fangs that are common to my species. Then I slowly made my way down her body, kissing a line from her neck, over the mound of her breasts, and down through her pubic hair. She arched her back as I entered her with my tongue, her breasts jutting up, her wetness spilling into my mouth. Holding her firmly by the hips, I tasted her and caressed her deep inside as she moaned. I was careful not to hurt her, not to let my fangs cut her, as reached my tongue deep up and inside her body and finally she gasped as her body twitched, tensed and then shook with the force of pleasure.

  Then I moved back up her body and kissed her as I slipped myself inside her, and she wrapped her legs around me. I looked deep into her eyes as we moved together in rhythm, her hands running up and down my back as I thrust deeper and deeper inside her. This was the moment for which I had been waiting since the first moment I rescued her so long ago. But I had always known that I had to wait until Gothos before we could become lovers, and I had managed to fight every urge to take her before the right moment finally arrived.

  Later that night, I watched her sleep. I already knew that our time together was coming to a close. All I had to do was wait for the child to be born, and then I could begin to die. As much as I hate all other vampires, I know that a child that has Sophie's heart can never be a bad child, and will grow to become a better vampire than I will ever be. And although I would dearly love to be able to raise that child with Sophie, I also know that a vampire child would never be safe, would always be targeted by those who wish to possess such a thing for their own needs. So the child had to go away, had to be hidden in the one place where I am absolutely sure it can never be found until it is old enough to look after itself. Everything else is unimportant. I have known from the start that Sophie would hate me for taking the child away, but I can never hope to make her understand.

  As I sat there watching her sleep, I knew that for her sake, and for the sake of our child, I would have to let them hate me, and I would have to die, and I would have to give my body to those who seek it, so that they would no longer seek the child. If I did not sacrifice myself, they would go after the child instead, an easier target. As I always knew, as my father once taught me, at the end of everything there is only death.

  9.

  Suspended from the wall by his own manacles, his wrists clamped in metal and his feet hanging a feet above the floor, Patrick is finally subdued. As he wakes, he looks up groggily and seems unable at first to focus on anything. Then, finally, he turns to me and his eyes are filled with a kind of shock. When he came here tonight, he wasn't expecting to find that we were ready to turn the tables on him. He thought he'd be in control, as usual.

  “I can take it from here,” Dexter says, his eyes open wide as he stares at his prize. “I have what I need”.

  “The baby,” Shelley says. “Where's the baby?”

  Dexter grins. “Well, vampire? Where's the baby? Tell the girls, so they can be on their way”.

  Patrick stares at us. It's clear that he's not going to answer. He'll die rather than surrender, but I'm not sure if Dexter is ready to push him that far. After all, it seems like Dexter is more interested in keeping Patrick alive, torturing him, and getting the information that he needs.

  “You'll never find it,” Dexter says, turning to me. “Not now, at least. He's hidden the child too well, with people who cannot be reached. But one day the child will come and find you, when it's old enough to care about things like that”.

  “I can't wait that long,” I say

  “Then I can't help you,” he replies. “I can't make the fucking vampire speak. I'm sure you've tried enough times. Follow his tracks. The baby will be in the mountains somewhere. Go try to find it, I have things to do”. And with that, he slashes at Patrick's naked torso with a silver dagger, drawing blood and forcing a grimace of pain to shoot across Patrick's face.

  I push past Dexter and approach Patrick. He barely has the energy to look at me.

  “You have to tell me,” I say. “If any of this ever meant anything to you, I need to know where the baby is. Please. You have to let me find her”.

  He stares at me, his eyes dull and tired. It's almost as if he's given up, as if he no longer has any appetite for the fight. But why would that be? What could possibly render Patrick so lost and pathetic?

  “Tell me,” I say. “For once in your life, speak to me. Say words. Tell me where the baby is. Our baby. Help me find her so I can look after her”.

  Patrick stares at me and then, slowly, he lets his head droop. He has clearly decided that he will no longer help me. I'm on my own, and I owe Patrick nothing.

  “Fine,” I say. I step right up to her and I kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything,” I whisper, “but this is over, do you understand? I'm going to go, and I'm going to let this guy do whatever he wants to you. And one day, somehow, I'm going to find the child you've taken from me. Wherever you've hidden her. Wherever you've taken her. I'm going to find her”.

  He doesn't reply.

  Hell, he never replies.

  “Say something,” I whisper. “Say one thing, just tell me that you cared about me a little bit. Tell me that while you were using me, you at least started to like me”.

  Nothing.

  He stares at me, and I try to read the expression in his eyes, but it's useless. He's like a lump of stone, impassive and totally emotionless.

  “At least tell me one thing,” I whisper. “Before I go, tell me the baby's name. Tell me that”.

  I wait, and he says nothing.

  Dexter grins nervously. “Get out of here, girls. Leave the men to their business”. He looks so excited, as if he's finally getting what he always wante
d.

  “I don't get it,” Shelley says. “Why has he just surrendered? Why isn't he fighting?”

  “Maybe it's shame,” I say, looking at Patrick with contempt. After all, this is the bastard who tricked me into believing that he loved me, then used my body to have a child, then took the child, wiped my memory and left me to die.

  “He has no shame,” says Dexter. “No, he's sacrificing himself because he's ready to die. That's why he wanted the baby. Now that there's a new last vampire, Patrick no longer has to keep going. He can give up. And since it's impossible for a vampire to commit suicide, he's surrendering himself to me. It's why he kept me alive, why he didn't kill me. He knew I was the only one who could go through with a plan to kill him”.

  I stare at Patrick, hanging there, unable or unwilling to say anything. It's as if he really doesn't care, as if he just wants to get this over with, as if I'm just an afterthought, an annoyance, a piece in his puzzle.

  “Goodbye, Patrick,” I say. I turn to Shelley. “Let's go”.

  “You sure?” she replies.

  I nod. Although part of me wants to cry, another part of me – a stronger part – is determined to make sure that I wait until I'm alone. I don't want anyone to see my weakness.

  “Come on,” I say, turning to leave the chamber.

  “Adios, you two,” says Shelley to Patrick and Dexter. “Have a nice party”. She runs to catch up with me.

  “Let's just get out of here,” I say, still looking straight ahead as we leave. “I've got to find that baby”.

  We walk a few paces before Shelley grabs my arm. “Wait,” she says. “What about the prophecy you talked about?”

  “Like I said,” I reply, “there's no such thing. That was just a load of superstition”.

  “And you know that how?” Shelley says. “Think about it. All the other stuff, about vampires and werewolves and all that crap, turned out to be true. So why not the crap about prophecies? What's different?”

  I stop and turn to her. “What do you want me to do? Go back in there and demand that he kills me, to prove a point?”