Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (24 page)

Patrick

For weeks now, this Tenderling has been feeding off Sophie. It has been placing the pebbles under her skin, using them to absorb all her energy and all her negative emotions. As soon as it enters the room, it sees me and it realizes the endgame has arrived. I can see from the way it stares at me that it initially sees me as a threat, and it starts moving toward Sophie with the intention of killing her. But I know it won't kill her, not now, because it has a better prize in sight.

Tenderlings are like emotional vampires. They suck out all feeling from their victim, both positive and negative. When there isn't enough emotion, they have certain tricks they can use to create new, stronger feelings. That's why people who are the victim of a Tenderling often find their lives going seriously wrong. The Tenderling has the ability to take on other forms and to influence a person's life, all with the aim of creating stronger emotions that it can then absorb. It can appear as any image that it believes will cause the victim emotional distress.

It was this Tenderling that appeared to Sophie as her father, and it was this Tenderling that attacked the idiot boy who shared Sophie's bed, and it's this Tenderling that is now torn between killing Sophie and investigating me. It knows that the pebbles should be in Sophie, but it can tell that they're in me now. Although it understands that I'm not quite like its usual victims, it can't help but be curious about me. Rather than killing Sophie, it starts sniffing at me, investigating me, trying to work out whether I can become its next victim. It circles me, and I feel its long, thin probe running over my body, checking the location of the pebbles. It doesn't know what I am. It thinks it can hurt me.

Finally, it sticks the end of the probe into my arm. Poor, pitiful creature. It can't resist. It has to have its fix.

The problem for the Tenderling is that it's used to humans. Human emotions are strong, they're powerful, but they're never enough for a Tenderling, so the creature is used to feasting on them, leaving the human feeling weak and exhausted. This Tenderling has probably only ever feasted on humans, because humans are easy targets, so it doesn't know to be careful sometimes.

It doesn't realize that I'm not human.

It doesn't realize that it should be careful.

Because no matter how strong Sophie's emotions are, she's still a human, and she's still young.

Me? I'm a thousand-year-old vampire who's been having a really bad century.

I grab the Tenderling's head and force it against me, preventing it from pulling out its probe. While it's used to the emotions of humans, it's now feeling my emotions flood into its body, and it's already starting to struggle, trying to get free. When it was feeding off Sophie, the Tenderling was sucking up the emotions of a girl who had just lost her father, and who was confused about her life. Now that it's feeding off me, it's sucking up the emotions of a vampire who lives every day with the enormous guilt of having destroyed his entire species. That's the kind of emotion that it takes time to come to terms with, yet the Tenderling is absorbing it all at once, and its brain is frying.

The creature starts to scream. It can't handle all the power it's absorbing from me. It's feeling my guilt over the genocide of the vampires. It's feeling my fear over the fact that I will one day have to return to Gothos. It's feeling my desire to keep Sophie safe and protect her. It's feeling my sorrow at the knowledge that one day I will have to watch her die. It's feeling my concern that I might never see my father again, and it's feeling my anger, the huge anger that I keep hidden away every day, the anger that I'm terrified I will one day have to use against the people I care about.

Some people mistake my silence for a lack of feeling. They think I don't have any emotions at all. But this Tenderling is finding out the hard way that I have more than enough. I have too much. I can spare some.

I look down at the creature. It's still screaming as my emotions rush through its mind, overcoming its defenses. I actually feel sorry for it, because it's being killed by over-eating, and I can feel its head getting hotter and hotter as it struggles to remove its probe from my skin. With its probe still stuck in my body, it tilts its head up to look at me, as if it's begging for mercy, but I can't let it live. It's too dangerous. It's done too much damage to Sophie. Even though it was only doing what came naturally to it, and it was only trying to survive, I have to make sure it dies. That doesn't mean, however, that I have to make it die in sorrow. So I look down at its face and I make sure that, as its brain overloads and switches off, the poor pathetic creature's last sensation is my overwhelming sympathy for its plight.

It burns. It can't handle my emotions and its whole body starts to ignite, flames erupting from within. It screams and screams, but I won't let it live. Eventually I let go of its head and the Tenderling falls to the ground, but within seconds the fire has taken over its entire body and within seconds it's just a smoldering pile of burnt flesh and bones.

It tasted the emotions of a vampire and it couldn't handle the overload. It was like a junkie who always uses low-grade heroin, then one day accidentally takes an overdose of the pure stuff. Its body couldn't handle the experience, and it died.

I hold out my arm and slowly I start taking out the pebbles from under my skin. I'll have to bury them somewhere, otherwise they'll attract more Tenderlings, and I certainly don't want to ever have to do all of this again.

When all the pebbles are out, I turn to Sophie. She's standing in the corner of the room, watching me with a shocked look in her eyes. She doesn't understand what happened, of course. Perhaps she never will. She probably thinks, like the rest of them, that I have no emotions. Perhaps it would be easier if she had her own probe she could stick into my body. Perhaps she'd be shocked to find out how I feel. Or perhaps she knows. That's the interesting thing about Sophie: sometimes I feel as if deep down, she knows these things that others miss. She understands me, or she will soon.

I step toward her. I know I shouldn't do this. It's too soon. Perhaps it's something to do with the Tenderling, or perhaps it's something to do with the way Sophie's looking at me, but I can't help myself. I move close to her, then I lean down and kiss her, just once, just briefly, on the lips, and then I turn and walk back to the Tenderling, scooping up its burnt body and the pebbles and carrying the creature's corpse out of the house. As I go, I pass my father, who has finally returned. I'll leave it to him to explain things to Sophie.

Sophie

My father lived in Los Angeles, but he was born in Dedston so his funeral is taking place here. I wanted to go to Los Angeles so I could fly back with his body, but we didn't have the money for that. Nevertheless, there's a good crowd of people who have traveled to Dedston to pay their last respects. Despite his rampant unreliability, my father was a popular guy.

My mother is quietly furious that I was out all night again. She pulls me aside and demands to know where I was. I consider telling her the truth, but I decide that wouldn't go so well. "Relax," I say. "I was just out partying, taking drugs and having unprotected sex in inappropriate places." This shuts her up long enough for me to give her the slip and go to meet some of the people who have turned up for the funeral.

I talk to Sharon, my dad's girlfriend, and she tells me that my dad was always talking about how much he wanted to invite me out to LA to visit. That sounds pretty typical of my dad: always
talking
about things, but never quite managing to get around to
doing
anything about it. If he'd lived another ten years, he'd probably still have been always planning to invite me and arrange things, but would never have got around to actually organizing things.

"It's lovely here," says Sharon, looking around at the cemetery with its green grass and hillside view of the city. "Very spiritual."

"Do you really think my dad would want to be buried here?" I ask.

"Of course," says Sharon. "Why not? Look at it, it's beautiful."

"Hey," says a voice from behind. I turn to find that Shelley and Rob have turned up, with Shelley's friend Alice a short distance behind them. "I have no idea if it's appropriate for us to be here," Shelley says. She leans closer and whispers. "And I think we're still a bit drunk from last night. Does that matter?"

"I don't think so," I say, giving her a hug.

We walk across the cemetery to the spot where my father's ashes are going to be buried. I wanted to scatter them somewhere, but it's been decided to bury them, and no-one listens to my opinion anyway.

"Don't you think it's wrong to bury ashes?" I ask Shelley. This is something that's really bothering me. I just can't see that this is the kind of thing my father would ever have wanted.

"It's bollocks," Shelley says.

I turn to Rob. "What do you think?"

"It's a bit weird," he says.

"I'd hate to be buried," Alice adds. "I'd want to be scattered."

"Me too," I say quietly, staring at the urn.

The priest puts the urn on a small table and starts to speak. I nudge Shelley in the ribs and get her to follow me around the back of the crowd. With everyone focused on the priest, I grab the urn and we walk away quickly, breaking into a run as we head off. It's a little late, but I think I've finally found a way to show my father that I'm a good daughter. Sure, he's dead now, but at least I'm giving him what I know he would have wanted.

"What are we doing?" asks Shelley.

"We're staging an ash-napping," I say. "Come on!"

We start running, away from the cemetery and into the forest. They're all going to be so mad when they find out I've stolen my father's ashes, but the truth is: I knew my father as well as any of them ever did, if not better, and I know that he'd want his ashes scattered somewhere. In fact, I know exactly where.

There's no point trying to argue with my mother, or with Sharon. They want things to be done properly. They think it would be wrong to not bury my father formally in a cemetery, near his parents. They're completely deluded, and I'm not going to let my father be buried in a little box in a boring cemetery when I know exactly where he'd really want to be.

Shelley, Rob, Alice and I head down to the river. This is a place where my father used to bring me and my brother. He said it was where he used to play as a kid. As we reach the river bank, I turn to see that not only have Shelley, Rob and Alice followed me, but Adam and Todd have also come. Right about now, there's probably a huge fuss at the cemetery as they desperately try to find the ashes and realize with mounting shock that I've taken them. I can't help smiling at the thought of the look on my mother's face. Still, they won't be able to find us in time. None of them will know where to look.

"Who's that?" asks Shelley.

I turn to see Patrick standing a short distance away, watching us. He's keeping well back from the group, but he's here.

"He's a friend of mine," I say, unable to quite believe that he's shown up. I never expected to see him today. In fact, it didn't occur to me that he might make an appearance. I can't deny that it feels good to know that he cared enough to come.

"He's hot," Shelley whispers, clearly interested.

"He doesn't say much," I reply.

"Does he need to?" she asks. "Look at him. I wouldn't mind if he never said a word, as long as -" She stops. "Sorry," she says. "Bad moment. We'll talk later."

I turn and open the lid of the urn. I look inside and see a load of gray powder. Wow. So that's what they turned my dad into. It's so weird seeing him like this, part of me wants to hang onto the ashes, perhaps put them in my room. But no, that'd be totally macabre. The only people who do that are little old ladies who can't let go of the past.

I
can
let go of the past.

So, tipping the jar upside down, I watch as the ashes fall out and scatter on the breeze. It seems appropriate to do it like this, and it also seems appropriate that my mother and Sharon are probably squabbling like crazy back at the cemetery. Shit, I'm going to get into a lot of trouble for this, but who cares? It's not as if they can undo what I've done.

"Bye dad," I say quietly, under my breath, as the ashes settle on the surface of the river. I don't think anyone hears me. I take a deep breath, as the enormity of the moment hits me. My father's gone forever.

"So are you seeing the hot guy?" Shelley whispers suddenly. "Or can I have a go? 'Cause I don't want to step on any toes or get in the way of anything. Are you and Adam serious? I don't understand, are you seeing
both
of them?"

I open my mouth to reply -

"Never mind," says Shelley, sounding disappointed. "He's gone."

I turn to see that she's right. There's no sign of Patrick. But he
was
here, albeit briefly, and that means something. Slowly, I start walking back to the cemetery with the others. We have a lot of explaining to do, and a lot of pretty angry people to placate. But really, everyone should be happy. They didn't need the ashes for their little ceremony, and they can still bury the box if that's what they want. I just think my father would be happier knowing his ashes have been scattered into the world rather than put in a little box and buried underground. I know that's what I would've wanted. And I think my father and I were pretty similar.

I don't regret a thing.