Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (107 page)

Abigail

Callerton, New Mexico - Today.

I put my lips close to her ear. All around us, the dark forest is silent. It's as if the whole world is waiting for me to speak, but I prefer to take my time. I've waited so long; I can wait a moment longer.

"Wake up," I whisper eventually.

She doesn't respond. Typical: the blow must have really knocked her out cold. I need to be more careful in future. As my strength increases, I might find that I accidentally cause more damage than I intend. It's as if, every day now, I find myself changing more and more. It feels good to be getting so powerful, but at the same time I can't help wondering where it's going to end. I guess it all comes back down to that one, inevitable question: what am I?

"Wake up," I whisper again, my lips almost touching her ear. "Donna, wake up."

Still nothing. Is it possible that I caused some serious damage? I know she's not dead: it's strange, but I can sense her heartbeat, even without touching her. That's something else that has changed recently. It's almost as if I can peer straight into people and understand them a little better. I can't read their thoughts, or anything like that; it's more that I can sense their pulse, which tells me a lot about their state of mind. Right now, Donna's pulse is slow but strong. She's not dead; she's not dying; she's not going anywhere. She's mine.

I lean a fraction of a millimeter closer. "Donna," I say. "Wake -"

Suddenly she lunges toward me, knocking me flat on the ground. Before I know what's happening, I hear her scrambling to her feet and running across the forest floor. I stand up, feeling a little sore from the push, and angry at myself for letting her surprise me so easily. Looking around, I see that she's already got quite far from me, running for her life. I stand for a moment and watch her go, knowing full well that I can catch up to her whenever I'm ready. Finally, with a smile, I start the chase.

I have several advantages, of course. For one thing, I seem to have the ability to move faster than a normal person; for another, I can see much better in the dark. I can see everything ahead of me with perfect clarity, whereas Donna is smashing and tripping her way through the dark undergrowth. Already, after just a few seconds, I've almost caught up to her. This is really too easy, but it's fun to think that - for just a moment - she thought she could get away from me. I like the idea that she started to believe she could escape. Reaching out, I grab her shoulder and pull her down, landing on top of her as she tumbles into a pile of soggy, wet leaves.

"Where do you think you're going?" I ask, still smiling.

"Get the fuck off me!" she shouts breathlessly, pushing against me with all her strength. It's not enough: she can't move me.

"What's wrong?" I continue, leaning down close to her face. "Don't you like me?"

She doesn't say anything. She just keeps trying to push me away, battering me with her full fury. It's not enough, and I find I can hold her down with ease. It's amusing to watch her flailing around beneath me, and I can't help but smile.

"I get it," she says, still out of breath. "I was a bitch to you. I totally get it, and I'm sorry, okay? I was a bully. I was an asshole. Whatever you want me to admit to, I'll do it. I was mean and cruel and I did horrible things to you, but please..." She starts sobbing, tears streaming down her face as she gulps back the fear. "Please don't hurt me," she begs. "I'll do anything you want! Anything! Just please don't hurt me!"

I stare at her, shocked at how easily her mask has slipped. It's kind of pathetic, really. "Anything?" I ask eventually, my mind immediately filled with a million cruel and horrible possibilities.

"Anything!" she weeps. "Anything you want! You name it, I'll do it. Just don't hurt me. Please..."

I reach up to scratch the side of my neck.

"Not my face!" she screams, as if she thought I was about to poke her eyes out.

I stare at her. To be honest, I hadn't expected her to break so easily. I thought she'd put up more of a fight, and maybe pretend not to be scared. Instead, she panicked almost as soon as she saw me, and now she's begging for her life as if she thinks I might kill her. To be fair, she's got a point. I
could
kill her, and I still might, but nothing has been decided yet. A lot rests on whether I think her apology is genuine, and whether I can fight the blood-lust that seems to be growing deep inside my soul. The bad news for Donna is that with each passing day, I become more and more consumed by the desire to kill. It doesn't matter what, or who... I just need to kill, to have blood on my hands. Right now, Donna's the best target. After all, she deserves to feel real pain.

"Please, Abby," she says, still sobbing, "you know I never meant it to get out of hand. I'm sorry I spat in your ear, and I'm sorry I threatened to pull your braces out, and I'm sorry about everything else. I'll never do it again. Just please, please don't hurt me."

"Words are cheap," I point out. "Actions take more guts." I reach down and place a hand against her belly. "You've got guts, haven't you, Donna?" I continue. "Slippery guts in your belly, sloshing around. Have you ever imagined what it would be like to have them slopping out of your body? Have you ever -" Suddenly I'm struck by an image: I see my mother, Sophie, dropping to her knees; her belly has been torn open and her guts are falling out, and she's desperately trying to gather them up and push them back inside. My father, Patrick, is standing and watching her, with blood dripping from his fingers.

"Don't hurt me!" Donna screams.

"What?" I reply, as the image of Sophie and Patrick fades. "What did you say?"

"I said please don't hurt me," she continues. "Please, Abby." She gulps back some more air. "Please!" she screams at the top of her voice. "Please please please please -"

"Shut up!" I hiss, putting my hand across her mouth. "What's wrong with you? Do you
want
someone to come and find us?"

She stares up at me, her wide, terrified eyes filled with abject fear. She looks like someone who knows that they're in the presence of real, mortal danger. Again, she's right: there's a strong possibility that I'm not going to let her out of this place alive. After all, she bullied me for years and years, back when I was completely unable to defend myself, and the only reason she claims to be sorry now is that she's scared for her life. That's not genuine remorse: that's just someone who'll do or say anything to avoid pain and suffering. She knows I mean business. She's terrified of me, and that feels good.

"How do I decide what to do to you?" I ask, staring into her eyes. "How do I make such a difficult decision?" I pause for a moment. There are so many options. "Maybe I should start by seeing if I can trust you," I continue. "Don't shout. Don't scream. Consider this to be a test." I slowly move my hand from across her mouth.

"Let me go," she whimpers quietly, rushing her words. "Please, God, let me go and I'll never, ever do anything bad again. Not to you, not to anyone. I swear!"

"You're not very good at keeping quiet, are you?" I say with a smile.

"Please," she says. "I don't want to get hurt!"

"Will you become a nun?" I ask.

She stares at me. "What?"

"Will you become a nun? If I let you go, I want to know that you'll go and join a holy order. You'll devote your life to being a nun. It feels like the only place where I can be sure you won't hurt anyone else. No men. No fun. Just you and God, for the rest of your life. Will you promise me that?"

"Yes," she says immediately, wide-eyed with terror. "Anything!"

I stare at her. "You'd look good in a nun's habit," I say. "Remember, God's everywhere. He sees everything. He even knows what you're thinking. So if you lie to me, he'll know."

"I swear," she stammers, "I'll do anything. I'll be a nun!"

I start laughing. "Somehow -" I start to say, but suddenly she bites my hand, sinking her teeth deep into my flesh until she draws blood. It's not exactly painful: the feeling is uncomfortable, especially as I feel her teeth scraping against my bones. Strangely, though, there's no real pain. I stare down at her face as she keeps her jaws clamped around my hand, and finally a series of streams of bright red blood start to trickle from the wound. "What are you doing?" I ask calmly.

She doesn't reply. She just bites down even harder, her whole body trembling with the effort.

"What are you, a vampire?" I ask, enjoying the irony. "What do you expect to achieve with that, other than just making me even more pissed off than I was before?"

She bites as hard as she can, the strain showing on her face so much that there's a vein on her forehead that looks like it might pop at any moment.

"Seriously, Donna," I say, "you're not achieving anything, so just give it up. You just look weird." I wait for her to stop, but finally I realize she's determined to hurt me, so I forcefully rip my hand out from her jaws. Several large chunks of flesh remain stuck between her teeth, and when I look at my hand I see that there's a lot of muscle and bone showing. My index finger has been entirely stripped of skin, and the dark red meat glistens in the moonlight. When I clench my fist, I see the exposed tendons moving. "Beautiful, isn't it?" I say, looking back down at Donna. "Did it taste nice?"

She spits pieces of my flesh onto the ground, with blood smeared all over her teeth and lips. Still breathless, she stares back up at me. I look at my hand and see that the damage is already being repaired. Deciding not to let Donna see this, I get off her and take a step back, determined to keep my hand hidden. "What now?" I ask. "What's your plan? Are you just gonna keep biting me until I decide to let you go?"

Staring at me, with my blood on her chin, she seems totally stunned. It's as if she's got no idea how to respond.

"Are you scared?" I ask.

"No!" she spits back.

"Then you're a fool," I reply. "Do you really think I'm just gonna slap you around a little and then send you on your way?"

"You're nothing," she sneers. "You're just a fucking outcast who thinks she can scare other people, but you haven't got the guts." It's clear from the look in her eyes that she doesn't really believe what she's saying. In a way, it's kind of cute to see how she's trying to persuade herself that somehow she's going to get out of this situation. This is her last stand. "Fuck you," she continues eventually. "I'm getting out of here." With that, she gets to her feet and turns to walk away.

"You're not going anywhere," I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her back with such force that I feel her bone snap: in the palm of my hand, I feel her lower arm break cleanly in two. She screams in pain, and I'm so shocked by my own strength that I let go of her. She falls to the ground, clutching her arm.

"You fucking bitch!" she shouts, clearly in agony. "You broke my fucking arm!"

"I'll break more than that if you're not careful," I say, stunned by my own strength. "I'll break your god-damned neck if I don't like what I hear from you."

She screams in pain again.

"I thought I told you not to scream," I say. What the hell am I going to do with her in the morning if she won't be quiet? The last thing I need is for people to hear her. Sooner or later, someone's going to notice she's missing, and by then I need to have decided how this is going to end. Right now, I don't see any way I can let her go. I can't allow her to tell people that I did this to her. I reach out to shut her up, but suddenly I'm struck by the most intense pain I've ever felt in my life. It's as if someone has suddenly dropped hundreds of razor blades into my chest, slicing through my body. I drop to the ground. The pain is so powerful, I can barely breathe. Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I try to fight back, to find some way of overcoming the agony. Finally, I let out a scream as the razors fill my chest, and then - just as suddenly as the pain started - I start to feel my body relax again. Short of breath, I wait until the agony has completely gone. What the hell just happened?

Sweating from the intensity of the pain, I turn to look at Donna. She's staring at me, her eyes wide as she holds her broken arm.

"What are you looking at?" I ask, annoyed by her presence.

"Nothing," she says quickly. "I swear."

I smile, realizing that she's absolutely terrified of me. "I didn't mean to break your arm," I tell her.

She looks down at her hand. "I can't move it," she replies.

Holding up my own hand, I see that the damage from her bite has almost completely healed.

"What the fuck are you?" Donna asks, her voice trembling

"I don't know," I tell her. "I really, honestly don't know."

"My hand hurts," she whimpers.

"Don't try any more smart moves," I say, before pausing for a moment. "Do you want to know a secret, Donna?" I ask eventually. "Do you want to know what I am?"

She stares at me, her face filled with fear.

"Haven't you guessed yet?" I ask. Seeing that she has no idea, I smile. Gradually, I open my mouth more and more, until finally my fangs are showing and she Donna's face turns pale with fear. Now this is real power. I hiss at her, and she recoils in terror. "Okay," I say, "you know what? I don't really understand my limits yet." I pause for a moment. "My father would rip you to pieces," I tell her. "He'd kill you without a second thought. My mother... I think maybe she'd have helped you, and let you go." I smile. "The question is... Which of them am I more like?"