Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (56 page)

Nimrod

London - 1947.

I look down at my mother's dead body. The undertaker did a magnificent job, but he was not able to remove the look of sheer terror from her face. He told me that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get her eyes and mouth to close. He even considered gluing them shut, but he felt this would be a little disrespectful; he asked me what I thought should be done. I told him I don't give a damn.

Turning away from the coffin, I walk over to David. He's just five years old now. I had been hoping that our mother might remain alive for a few more years, to continue looking after my brother. That, after all, is what she was useful for. Unfortunately, she became far too infuriating and it was no longer possible to live with her. So now we are orphans, David and I, and we must make our own way in the world. As I lead him to the front of the funeral home, I reflect on the fact that he is now totally dependent upon me. He lives and dies according to my actions.

I must protect him.

I must ensure that he remains safe, and strong. Although he can never share my experiences entirely, he will be a useful companion. And everything I do must be focused on ensuring his safety.

"Where are your parents?" asks a voice nearby.

I turn to see a young man, probably in his 20s, standing by the doorway. He has a curious look on his face, as if he has just asked a question to which he already knows the answer.

"Dead," I reply. I turn to lead David away.

"Convenient," the man says.

I pause and look back at him. Since we were orphaned, I have experienced many reactions from strangers, but none have said that it is convenient. "Yes," I say finally.

"That your little brother, is it?" the man asks, looking at David.

"None of your business," I say.

"True," the man says. He smiles. "But it matters a great deal to Patrick, doesn't it?"

"Patrick?" I ask.

The man steps over to us. "Did you not even know his name? Well, I suppose that makes sense. He doesn't talk much, does he? He's not big on introductions. He just sort of... appears in the lives of other people. And I don't suppose he'd consent to wear a little name-badge."

"Who are you?" I ask, stepping in front of David. I feel a sense of shock at the idea that this man knows anything about my secret life. Since my mother died, I assumed that David and I were the only ones who knew anything about the mysterious visitor. But now this man has arrived, and he has put a name to the visitor: Patrick.

"My name is Vincent," the man says. "We have a lot in common, you and I. Perhaps we should talk." He reaches out a hand and shifts my shirt collar down a little, no doubt to look at the fang marks on my neck that refuse to heal properly.

"No," I say, pulling away. "We're quite alright, thank you."

"You don't have any questions?" Vincent asks. "You don't want to know who Patrick is, or where he came from? Or what he wants with you?" He smiles. "What, do you think he goes around biting children randomly?"

"I'm not a child," I say.

"You're fourteen years old," Vincent says. "You're a child."

I turn and lead David out and across the street, but this Vincent fellow follows us. "We don't need your help," I say, "or your pity."

"I have very little pity to give," Vincent replies, keeping pace with us, "and I'm certainly not going to waste any of it on you. You're an orphan, and so am I. You'll just have to live with it. However, there's one thing you should know."

"What's that?" I ask, hoping to shake this fool off.

"It's not you he wants."

I carefully avoid looking back at him as I walk away. "What do you mean?"

"Patrick doesn't want you," Vincent continues. "He's after David. He's just using you to get to your little brother, and when the time comes -"

"You're lying," I say. "I'm the one he bit. I'm the one he watches over. When the time is right -"

"It's all about David," Vincent says firmly. "Patrick wants David. He wanted you originally, but now he's shifted his attention. He wants David."

I stop walking and turn to him. "He has never touched David," I say. "He has never bitten him."

"He will," Vincent says.

I look down at David. He returns my stare, and it's clear that he doesn't really understand what we're talking about. To him, Patrick is just a shadowy figure who appears occasionally.

"Patrick wants a son," Vincent continues. "It was supposed to be me, but it went wrong. I turned out to be more like a father figure to him, and that's something he needs, but it's not what he really
wants
. So then he turned to your family, and at first he chose you, but now he's more interested in your little brother."

"He bit
me
," I say firmly.

"A good start," Vincent says, "but utterly irrelevant in the long run."

"I'm going to be like him," I say.

Vincent laughs. "Is that how you think it works?" He pauses. "You're never going to be like him, Charles. He knows that. You haven't got the temperament. He started the process of trying to transform you, but he abandoned it. That's why he only ever bit you once. You'll never be a vampire. Neither will I." He looks at David. "And I imagine he won't ever be one, either." He smiles. "Do you know what I think Patrick's doing wrong? He doesn't need a son at all. He needs a daughter. But he's so pig-headed sometimes..."

"You're wrong on a number of counts," I say, trying not to be overcome by a feeling of panic. "But that's fine. It is not my problem if you wish to be wrong. I hope you enjoy the experience." I take David's hand and lead him away.

"Come and find me!" Vincent calls after us. "When you realize I'm right, come and find me and I'll see if I can help you! I'll be around."

I don't look back. The man is clearly insane, and possibly a little jealous that I am the one chosen by Patrick to be his successor. Nevertheless, I am concerned that someone else knows about the arrangement. I had naively assumed that Patrick was my secret, but now it's clear that he has a far greater history. He is part of my story, but I am also part of his.

Sophie

Dedston - Today.

"Are you sure you can trust him?" Shelley asks as we walk along the street.

"No," I reply. "But for the next few hours, I don't really have a choice."

It's getting close to sunset and I still have so many things I need to get ready for the journey. Fortunately, I have the most important thing: a bus ticket out of Dedston, on a bus that leaves first thing in the morning. Shelley helped me out with some money, and hopefully Nimrod will come through with his offer of a little more help. I still don't really see Nimrod as someone with wholly good intentions, but I figure he's not the bad guy I once thought he was. Maybe he's just really, really messed up, which just begs the question again: what happened between Nimrod and Patrick?

"I wish I could come with you," Shelley says.

"You can come and visit," I reply. "When I know where I'll be."

Shelley's silent for a moment. "I can't," she says eventually. "Think about it. If you run off with Abigail, Patrick's gonna hunt you down. And if I come to find you, I'll just lead him straight to you."

I open my mouth to argue with her, but I realize she's right. There's no way I can allow Patrick to track me down once I'm gone, even if that means losing touch with everyone from my old life forever.

"We'll catch up one day," I say, aware that it's an empty sentiment. "When we're old and gray."

We walk in silence for a few blocks. I've known Shelley since we were children. We're very different, but somehow - perhaps by default, at first - we became best friends. Shelley was bullied at school because she hated the other students and because she hated the teachers, and I was bullied at school because I was quiet, so we kind of gravitated to one another for support. Over the years, we've been there for each other when it counted, and now it seems I'm supposed to just cut her out of my life.

"You sure you don't want to come with me?" I ask as we cross the road.

"It's not about not
wanting
to come," she says, "it's more about what's best for you and Abigail. Three people move slower than two."

"But I could use the help," I say. "If Nimrod comes through on his promises, we can find somewhere safe, away from Patrick."

"Do you think that's possible?" Shelley asks. "I mean, do you really think you can ever be safe?"

I shrug. "I've got to try. Patrick wants Abigail and I'm not going to let him have her. I don't care what I have to do, but I'm going to keep her away from him, even if..." My voice trails off as I realize the enormity of the situation.

"Even if what?" she asks.

"Even if he won't take no for an answer," I reply, avoiding the question.

Shelley stops walking.

"Okay," she says.

"Okay what?" I ask.

She smiles. "I'll I'll come with you."

I stare at her. "Are you serious?"

She nods.

"Are you sure?" I ask, feeling the stirrings of hope in my soul for the first time in days.

She nods again. "I mean, on the one hand, there's a crazy vampire who'll be after us, and who'll probably rip us to pieces so he can get hold of Abigail. And it'll be a tough life, moving all the time, always looking over our shoulders. Always wondering if he's going to get us. But on the other hand..." She pauses. "What the hell, right? I mean, this place is a shit-hole, so it's not like there's any reason to stay. There's an old saying my grandmother taught me. Why sit around at home when you could be out there being chased by a vampire?" She pauses for a moment. "I might have changed part of that."

I step toward her and we hug. "Thank you," I say. I feel worried about the fact that I'm probably pulling Shelley into something dangerous, but at the same time I figure Patrick will go after her anyway if he thinks she can lead him to me. Besides, in a selfish kind of way, I feel it'll be easier to keep one step ahead of Patrick if I have a little help. Shelley's a good person to have around. "Are you really really really sure?" I ask.

"I'm really really really sure," she says, pulling away from me, "but I need to get my shit together before we go."

I follow Shelley to a couple of places, and she gets together some money and a few other items. Finally, we find ourselves standing outside the run-down DVD rental store where Rob works.

"I guess I should say goodbye," she says, staring at the door.

"I'll wait outside," I say.

She smiles. "I didn't love him," she with a hint of sadness in her voice, "and he was rubbish in bed. I pretended he was good, but really... Nope. Callum was better. And Tom. And Marcus. And Bobby, and the other Bobby. And Steven. And... well, you get the idea. Still, I liked Rob a lot."

"Say bye from me, okay?" I say, realizing how much Shelley's going to sacrifice in order to come with me.

She goes into the shop, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. I look around at Dedston, taking one final opportunity to marvel at the place I've called home for so long. The truth is, I hate this town. Maybe one day I'll be nostalgic about the place, but right now it just seems to be a short, concrete-covered hell-hole. I would've left years ago if I'd had any money. I knew people from school who left Dedston with no cash, no prospects, no nothing, and sometimes I wonder if I should have done the same thing. Not only would I have had a chance of some kind of decent future, but I might have avoided all this stuff with Patrick. Now
there's
a thought: a life in which I don't know who Patrick is, in which vampires are just characters from books and films. I'd like a life like that. It'd mean there'd be no Abigail, though, and I feel a connection to that baby even though I don't remember ever meeting her. Damn it, my emotions are all over the place right now.

Shelley leans out of the store. "Come inside," she says, before ducking back inside.

I follow her in and find that there's no-one else there.

"Where is he?" I ask.

"No sign of him," Shelley says.

"Maybe he's busy," I reply.

"It's Rob," she says, "he has no life. And..." She points at what appears to be a smeared bloodstain on the floor.

"I'm sure it's nothing," I say.

Shelley goes behind the desk and opens the cash register. "Damn!" she says. She sorts through the coins. "A grand total of fifteen dollars." She pockets the money. Looking over at me, she shrugs. "Come on, we need every cent we can get, right?"

"Not by stealing," I reply. I wish I could say I was shocked by Shelley's behavior, but I've known her long enough to understand that she has a hell of a self-preservation streak.

"Don't worry," she says. "I'll rationalize it later."

"Sure," I say, noticing more blood over by another door. I wander over. The blood looks fresh, still wet. A rising feeling of fear starts to build inside me. I reach out and open the door, but the room inside looks like a bare stockroom. On the floor, though, there's yet another patch of blood. I step into the room, and I soon as I look across the room I see a human body.

"Fuck!" I say, stepping back.

"What?" Shelley asks, hurrying into the room. She pulls up short when she sees the body.

We stand in silence for a moment.

"It's him," she says eventually.

"Are you sure?"

She nods.

I step closer to the corpse. Walking around it, I'm shocked to see that Rob isn't just dead; his body is like a husk, as if something has sucked out all the moisture, leaving him looking like a withered prune. His skin is wrinkly and gray; his eyeballs have shrunk in their sockets and his mouth is open, as if he died screaming. He's still wearing his uniform, with the 'My Name is Rob' badge in place.

Shelley turns and rushes out of the room. I hear her vomiting and I follow her.

"It's okay," I say, grabbing her hair and holding it back while she continues to throw up on the floor. Eventually she turns to me. "It's okay," I say again, even though I know there's nothing I can do or say to help her.

"That fucking asshole," she says, wiping her chin.

"Who?" I ask.

"Him!" she shouts, pointing at the door. "Fucking dying like that!" She pauses. "Who did that to him?"

I shake my head.

"Patrick?" she asks.

"I don't know," I say. "I don't know if Patrick's alive right now."

"But he might have done this, right?" she continues. "I mean, he's a fucking psycho, isn't he? He's a monster. This is the kind of thing he'd do!"

"No, this -" I pause, staring at the door. Somehow, this doesn't feel like Patrick's work. "I don't think this is Patrick's fault"

"What about that Nimrod guy?" she says, almost spitting the name. "Maybe it was him?"

"I..." I pause. "I don't think he would, or could. It looks like whatever attacked him was something else. Something..."

There's a moment of silence between us.

"Let's get out of here," Shelley says, turning and hurrying to the door.

We emerge onto the dusty, deserted Dedston street. Shelley reaches back into the shop and flips the sign around to 'Closed', and then pulls the door shut. "Fuck," she says, clearly in shock. "Holy fuck. What a fucking idiot! How could he let himself get..." Her voices trails off, and I realize she's in shock.

"It's okay," I say, putting an arm around her. "Let it out."

She pauses. "I did," she says, wiping a single tear from her eye. "I let it out. I'm done. Let's go."

"Wait," I say, but I'm not sure what I really think we can do. Rob's dead, and it's not like we can bring him back.

"Wait for what?" Shelley asks, clearly trying hard to convince me that she's not really upset. "Are we supposed to have some big circle-jerk, claiming he was a great guy? He wasn't." She sniffs back some more tears. "He was just an ordinary guy who was gonna spend his life in this crap-heap. He had no prospects. No future. No hope." She stares at the door to the store. "The world's not a worse place without him." She pauses. "He's just gone. We have to get out of here, or we'll be next."

"We should tell someone -" I start to say.

"We don't have time," she says, almost shouting. "We have to get out of here." She jingles the change in her pocket. "We got the only useful thing from this place, now let's get going." Without waiting for me to say anything else, she turns and starts walking away. I glance at the door to the store one final time, and then I follow Shelley along the sidewalk.

"Hey," I say, catching up to her.

"Hey," she says, walking fast and looking straight ahead.

"So if you want to talk about it -"

"I don't."

"Okay," I say. "But I mean... Ever..."

"Sure," she says.

We keep walking. I feel like there's so much to say, but also like there's no way to say it. I don't know who killed Rob, or why, but I can't help wondering if it has something to do with the fact that I went to see him earlier today. It seems too much of a coincidence otherwise. Is there something in town, following me and hoping I'll lead it to Abigail? I can't deny the possibility that everyone around me might be in danger right now. The only thing left for me to do is to get the hell out of this town and go far away from everyone I care about. Even Shelley, maybe. I guess this is going to be my life from now on. I'm never going to stop running until the day I die.