Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (136 page)

Patrick

Standing by the river, I watch as Abigail walks through the forest. She's alone, and she's wandering aimlessly. She has nowhere to go, no-one to visit; she has no plan, and no idea what she's supposed to do. She's completely free, as I was once. It has been hundreds, thousands of years since I was her age. Like her, I had to set out from a destroyed home and find my way in a world that seemed far too big and far too noisy. Fortunately, Abigail is stronger than I ever was. She won't make the same mistakes; she'll make her own mistakes, but she'll be able to deal with them. She's strong enough. She's the last vampire, now, and the first of a new species.

"She's hurting," says Sophie, standing next to me. "She killed Shelley, and she thinks that means she's an evil person." Pausing, she turns to me. "It's not going to be quick, is it?" she asks. "It's going to take her years to come to terms with her past, but..." She looks back over at Abigail, who walks along the opposite side of the river, oblivious to the fact that we're watching her. "She'll be okay, won't she?" Sophie asks finally as we watch Abigail disappear into the distance.

Reaching down and taking Sophie's hand, I lead her away. Abigail is alone for now, but she won't be alone forever. She doesn't need old ghosts watching over her and helping her; we'd just hold her back and tie her to the past, when she needs to be focusing on the future. When I was her age, I made the mistake of dwelling on my own failings, and focusing too much on my needs. Abigail, I think, will fare a little better.

"Now what do we do?" Sophie asks as we walk slowly between the trees. "After I died, I hated you at first, but eventually I realized that everything you did was for Abby. I made a conscious decision to wait for you, but now... Where do we go?"

I don't reply. I just lead her toward the horizon, which has begun to get brighter. I could try to explain to Sophie what happens next, and what the next world will be like, but it's hard to put into words and - anyway - I've never been particularly good at explaining things. Instead, I lead her into the light that's starting to rise in the sky, its rays spreading through the forest. I can tell Sophie's nervous, but she still trusts me. I don't deserve her love, not after everything that happened, but it seems that she has seen past my actions and has recognized the depth of my love for her. I can't begin to understand how she can be so intuitive and understanding, but all I can do now is to make sure she never, ever has cause to regret her decision.

We stop as we reach the threshold between this world and the next. The white light bathes us with such intensity, it's getting hard to see Sophie, even though she's standing right in front of me. I reach out and put a hand on the side of her face. The moment is here. One day, many hundreds or even thousands of years in the future, perhaps we'll come back to this place in order to greet Abigail when she reaches the end of her own life. For now, Sophie and I will be going on this journey together, but there are others waiting for us on the other side. Vincent, Shelley, Todd, Cassandra, Garvey, Comfortable... Sophie's parents... Everyone who died will be there, and we'll be together.

"I love you," Sophie says, with a hint of fear in her eyes.

I stare at her, and for a moment I don't reply. Finally, I lean closer. As the light engulfs us and we pass through the threshold into the next world, I lean closer, ready to kiss her.

"I love you too."

Epilogue

New York City, Eleven years later.

This place is hell. Absolute hell. Every time I have to come to New Mercy Hospital, I find myself having to force my way through crowds of walking wounded, all of whom are convinced that their injuries demand immediate attention, and all of whom are angry that they're being ignored. Tonight is no exception, with the ER room packed from wall to wall, while a handful of bewildered medical staff try to make sense of the chaos. Like I said, this place is hell, and I never come here unless it's absolutely necessary.

"Detective Cooper," I say, flashing my badge at a security guard over by one of the staff doors. He flicks the door open, barely even bothering to look at me.

Once I'm through into the treatment area, I manage to relax a little. At least the general public can't get here, not without being led through by one of the nurses. Still, it's a pretty grotty scene. As I walk across the room, I pass a series of beds, each of them containing someone who's sick or injured. There's a guy with a gash on his leg, sitting tensely while a nurse sews the wound back up; there's another guy who has what appears to be part of a fence post rammed through his shoulder; there's even an old woman who looks positively yellow, and who is being completely ignored as she breathes slowly and harshly on a bed in the corner.

"Detective Cooper," I say as I reach the nurses' station, where a bored-looking nurse is writing notes in a log-book.

"And?" she asks blithely.

"And I'm here to see the guy who was brought in with part of his face missing," I continue.

"Cubicle twenty," she says, barely able to hide the disdain in her voice.

"Great," I reply, turning and heading along the next corridor. Somewhere in the distance, I hear someone screaming. God knows who it is, but in a place like this you barely even bother to notice such things. It'd almost be odd if there
wasn't
someone screaming, such is the general chaos and pandemonium of this fucking hospital. Seriously, the people who come to this crumby, worn-down hospital are the people who were already pretty far-gone to begin with. Drunks, hobos, alcoholics... They all get turned away from other hospitals and sent down to New Mercy, where they sit around and complain until someone takes pity on them and decides to take a look at whatever's causing them pain. Frankly, I don't see why anyone bothers helping these people; it'd be better if they were all taken out back and left to rot.

"Detective Cooper," I say as I reach the cubicle at the end of the corridor. I find that there's a young guy in the bed, with a large bandage over the left side of his face. A doctor is checking his medical chart; young, hot and with a friendly smile, she's the kind of doctor who could only be in a place like this out of some misjudged sense of duty. I can't help noticing a small, crescent moon necklace glinting as it hangs around her neck.

"He's asleep," she says, barely looking up from the chart.

"I can see that," I reply. "The question is, will he ever wake up?"

"Hard to say," she admits, putting the chart down. "He lost a lot of blood, and there seems to be some cerebral trauma. On top of that, I think he might have suffered a small stroke in the Pons section of his brain. I'm waiting for confirmation, but I'm pretty sure the stress of his accident brought on some kind of mild neurological event. I'm sorry I can't be more precise."

"Do you know what attacked him?" I ask.

She pauses, looking a little nervous. "I've got an idea," she says finally.

"What?" I ask. "Let me guess. Some kind of big cat? A bear? Seriously, you get all sorts in New York. Some rich collector buys a bunch of exotic animals, gets bored, and they end up being released into the sewers. Either that, or some fucking foreigner moves in and brings his fucked-up pet with him, and then it gets out and starts mauling people."

"This was none of those things," the doctor says. "Before he lost consciousness, Mr. Bell - that's his name, by the way - told us he was attacked by a humanoid creature."

"Humanoid?" I say. "What's that? Like... human?"

"Not quite," the doctor says. "He insists this thing was able to leap over a chain fence with ease. He says it had eyes that burned yellow. Also, there's this." She passes me a print-out, but it's full of medical jargon and I have no idea what it means. "There are toxins in his body," the doctor continues. "Inorganic. Unlike anything I've ever seen before, except..." She pauses for a moment. "There was a similar case last week. I think they're related. I think you've got a problem, Detective Cooper. I think there's some kind of creature on the loose in New York, and I think it's trying to drink the blood of its victims."

"Like a fucking vampire?" I ask, passing the sheet of paper back to her.

"Like a vampire," she says, "but not quite a vampire. Just something that shares a few similar traits. It's pretty unusual."

"Is that all you've got for me?" I say. "I came all the way down here, and all you can tell me is that something attacked this guy, and it might have attacked some other guy last week, and apart from that you haven't got a clue what it is but maybe, just maybe, it's a fucking vampire." I smile. "No offense, but I'm a little disappointed."

"You won't be disappointed if this thing follows the pattern I'm expecting," she says. "I've got some experience with this type of thing. I think we're looking at a Golv. They're usually fairly docile creatures, but for some reason one has become more aggressive. It won't stop of its own accord, so you're going to have to believe me. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon. And when you do, I can help you."

"You can, huh?" I say, impressed by her confidence. "What the fuck is a Golv, anyway?"

"You don't want to know," she says. "You don't
need
to know, either. If you can help me get access to the past month's police logs, I'm pretty sure I can track it down myself. Just give me what I need."

"You want access to the police logs?" I say, laughing. "Seriously? You think I'm just going to have that shit over to you?"

"It'd be useful," she says. "I can still find the Golv without your help, but it'd be easier if you come onboard."

"And why should I help you?" I ask. "What can you do that I can't do for myself?"

"I've got experience with these things," she replies firmly. "The Age of Chaos is coming, and there's going to be a lot more of this type of thing. I figure we might as well get the groundwork done while things are relatively calm." She pauses for a moment, before stepping toward me and reaching out a hand for me to shake. "It's complicated, and I can only explain part of what's happening. You wouldn't believe the rest. My name's Abby Hart. Dr. Abby Hart. And trust me... You're gonna want me on your side."

THE END

Bonus Books

The New Girl

(Asylum 1.1)

Prologue

The gun fires once, there's the sound of his body hitting the leaf-covered forest floor, and then everything goes completely silent.

I just stand there, feeling the cold gunmetal in my hand, my finger pressed against the trigger. I'm completely unable to move; it feels as if passing angels have put their hands on my shoulders, stilling me, forcing me to stay and face what I've done. They want me to be found like this, with a thin wisp of smoke still rising from the barrel of the gun, and my little brother's body at my feet.

I could turn and run. I'd probably get quite far before they tracked me down. Eventually, though, they'd drag me back here and force me to face the evil I've committed. I can't stand the thought of being forced, kicking and screaming, back to this place. I'd rather just wait here and show them that I understand. Besides, they'll want to know why I did what I did. If I'm to stand any chance of making them accept that I was justified, I have to stay and face them. This is the test.

So far, this is nothing like a movie. On the forest floor, my little brother's body is completely still. The only movement is a slow trickle of dark red blood that seeps from the wound in his skull. I expected his head to explode when I shot him, but all that happened was that the bullet went straight in and out again, leaving behind a single, growing red spot on his forehead. He didn't scream; he didn't struggle; he just dropped to the ground and that was that. In the end, it was remarkably easy. I just pulled the trigger and he died.

No-one will understand, though. Little children are supposed to be innocent and sweet. Nobody ever believes they could do anything truly evil. My parents have always seen me as the difficult one. The weird one. The plain one. They'll see me standing over Taylor's body and they'll immediately assume it's all my fault. I understand that, but if only they'll let me explain, I can show them that this was the right thing to do; if they'll just give me time to tell them what Taylor was doing, and why he had to die, surely they have to know that I had to do this. I had to save the world.

I can hear them coming now. Their voices raised, they've heard the gunshot and they're racing through the forest. They'll be here any second, coming up behind me and seeing the terrible scene. I can already feel the tears in my eyes, but I have to hold it together. I can't cry, not yet. I have to stay strong, so that I can explain myself. If I start crying, they'll just see me as a monster and I won't be able to make them understand the truth. I have to keep my eyes dry, but they're here now. They've seen what's happened, and as my father pulls the gun from my hand and pushes me aside, my mother's screams ring out through the forest.

Dear God, why did you make me do this?

Chapter One

The heavy metal door slams shut behind me, leaving me staring down a long, deserted corridor. The whole place is silent. For a moment, it's possible to believe that I'm the only one here. That'd be nice. I'd like to be alone. I deserve to be alone.

"Move," says a voice behind me, and I'm shoved forward. I grab onto the wall to avoid falling over, and I turn back to the guard who towers over me. "Something wrong?" he asks.

I stare at him. I feel like I should say something - maybe a witty comment or a cutting remark - but my mind is blank. It's been blank since... I'm not sure when. Everything's foggy, and I'm having to focus on the simple things, like my name and where I am and how to breathe; the complicated things, like cause and effect, are way beyond me.

"Keep moving," the guard says, stepping forward. He grabs my arm and pushes me along the corridor. I trip and slam onto the hard plastic ground, but I'm immediately hauled back up onto my feet. "Keep. Moving," the guard snarls, getting right up in my face.

I nod, trying to get him to see that I understand, hoping he might cut me some slack. But he just pushes me again, and I fall flat on my back, the back of my head bouncing a little on the floor. A single thought pops into my mind: have I been drugged?

"Get up," the guard says, staring down at me. "Radford, get on your fucking feet."

I stare up at him. I know I have to get up, but somehow I can't get all the movements together. I manage to roll onto my stomach, but all I can do is reach ahead and hope I'll manage to achieve something. I start crawling, hoping it might be enough to satisfy him. After a couple of seconds, I'm hauled up again by the scruff of the neck, and this time the guard carries me quickly along the corridor. I reach out to try to grab hold of the wall, but I'm too weak and eventually I just let my arms fall limp.

"Who's this one?" asks a female voice as we turn a corner.

"Room five," the guard says.

"The new girl?" the female voice says, already getting further and further away. "I'll get the kit."

I try to look back, to say something, but it's already too late. I want to explain everything to them, to make them understand, but they won't give me a chance. No-one's given me a chance since this whole thing started. The guard is carrying me so fast, I don't have time to think properly. If only my mind wasn't so foggy and blank, I'd -

Suddenly, as we walk around another corner, my head slams against the wall. I'm not certain, but I think I black out for a moment. When I come around, I'm still being carried and I've lost all hope of struggling. All I want is to be put down on the ground somewhere. Anywhere. I just want to be left alone. No people. No voices. Nothing and no-one around me.

"Room five," says the guard, stopping for a moment as he unlocks what sounds like another heavy metal door. I hear the beeping sound of a number being punched into a keypad, followed by a large lock sliding across, and finally there's an ear-splitting sound as the door swings open and I'm literally thrown inside, landing hard against the floor.

Behind me, the door is slammed shut, and everything falls silent.

Alone at last, I guess.

Time passes. Loneliness settles around me, like a fine layer of dust.

I feel like I'm dead. I feel like every ounce of energy and fight and sense has been drained from my body, and now I'm just a husk. Sure, my friends and family might look at me and say "Yeah, that's her," but if any of them looked in my eyes, they'd see that there's no-one home any more. To all intents and purposes, I really
am
dead. Really, truly, totally dead. And that's fine. I don't mind. Just so long as everyone leaves me alone.

"Hey," says a voice nearby, cutting the silence of the room. It's a fragile female voice.

I try to look up, but I'm too weak. In fact, it's hard to believe I'll ever be able to move again. I'm just a body on the floor, waiting to be picked up and thrown about by anyone who cares to get me out of the way. I don't mind: I'm happy just to stay here and hopefully not get hurt anymore. Death can't come soon enough, and it feels like the end is coming. Maybe just a few more seconds...

Slowly, I feel arms wrap around me. Whereas the guard's arms were big and heavy, these arms are thin and bare and weak; whereas the guard was able to haul me up and carry me, these arms struggle to pull me off the floor and onto a bed. I can barely even keep my eyes open, but I can just about make out a vague, fuzzy shape holding me. As she struggles to get me onto the bed, I can hear her huffing and puffing through the effort. Why's she even bothering?

"There," she says eventually, pulling a sheet over my body. "At least you're not on the floor."

I open my mouth a fraction, trying to say "Thank you." Nothing comes out, of course, but it's a slight improvement. A couple of minutes ago, I wouldn't even have been able to open my mouth at all. Am I slowly getting stronger? I hope not. That would seem cruel. Why get stronger now, of all times, when I'm only going to get weaker again? I just want to fade away forever. Somewhere at the back of my mind, there's the memory of everything that's ever happened in my life. I don't want that memory to ever come back. That's why I just want to die. Plenty of other people will remember what I did. It's not necessary for me to be alive. What was it that the judge said? My crime will live in infamy. In other words, people will remember me...

"Thank you for picking me up and putting me on the bed," the female voice says, sounding a little sarcastic. "Oh, don't mention it, weird girl. Glad to be of help. Don't worry about saying anything. My name's Kirsten, by the way. Nice to fucking meet you." There's a pause. "
Ungrateful
, much?"

I make another attempt to speak, but it's still too difficult. Even breathing is hard right now. I find it impossible to believe that I'll ever do anything in my life other than fade away on this bed.

"Duodraxadine," the girl says, suddenly putting her face close to mine and sniffing. "I can smell it on you. Maybe five per cent Hexadrall mixed in. Enough to take down an elephant. You'll be like this for a few more hours, but you'll be up and about by morning. That's assuming they don't come and give you another dose. It all depends on how much of a threat they think you are." She leans in even closer, and now I can feel her breath on my skin. "How much of a threat
are
you, anyway? Should I be concerned?" She pauses. "Hopefully not too much. I mean, you're in here with
me
, right? No offense, but if you try anything, I'll fucking kill you, do you understand? I will literally smash your head open and smear your brain across the wall. And then I'll piss in your skull until it overflows out your mouth and eye sockets. You got that?"

I move my mouth a little, trying to speak. It's useless.

"You're fucked up," the girl continues. "Don't get me wrong, but you're seriously like... I mean, your face is so out of it. Can you even see me?"

I try to focus on her, but everything's still blurry. I don't know what drugs they put into my system, but all I can make out of the girl is a giant fuzzy blob hovering close over me.

"They must have given you a double dose," she says, sounding fascinated. "That means they must think you're seriously dangerous. Dude, well done. You've got a high score already." I hear her moving away, but then she comes back close again. "Remind me to talk to you about this when you're awake, yeah? I want to know all about it. I want to know who you are, where you're from, why you're here and what the fuck is wrong with you. 'Cause I can see one thing real clear. You're special. I thought I was the most dangerous one here, but it's blatantly you. Blatantly."

With that, she's gone. I stay on the bed, and after a while I realize I'm drooling from my open mouth. I try to close my lips, but it's too much effort: I'm like a god-damned vegetable. I'm helpless. The only thing I can do is surrender to the crushing pressure of sleep, and hope and pray that they've accidentally over-dosed me so that I slip into a coma and then, from there, into the perfect nightmare of death.