Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (58 page)

Nimrod

London - 1985.

Midnight. The woman steps out of the shop, lighting up a cigarette. She inhales deeply, and then she breathes out a cloud of smoke. She looks tired, and her clothes are shabby. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieves a few coins and counts them. However long that paltry sum of money is supposed to last, it almost certainly won't be enough. Thin and under-nourished, the woman coughs heavily as she huddles up against the cold night and walks along the street, passing into the shadows.

I follow her.

A lone ghost follows me. David.

These nights of hunting are sublime. I am able to switch off all my worries, all my concerns, and concentrate purely on my physical needs. I am driven by a need to experience the sensation of warm blood flooding into my throat. I cannot go long without the thrill of holding a living human as it struggles and dies. I feel a huge, overwhelming sense of power and control. All I have to do is select a target, trail her and finally make the kill.

Some targets are harder than others, but this woman is easy. She quickly walks toward a fairly dark and isolated street. There are plenty of shadows, and the rough neighborhood means people around here will be used to the sound of women screaming and will almost certainly refuse to come and help. Only tomorrow morning, when the cold dawn reaches its light across the woman's ravaged corpse, will some of the residents realize they could have done more to help. By then, it will be too late. I'll be long gone.

I speed up, catching the woman quickly. She seems not to have noticed me, which is good. Women like her are often drunk, or high on drugs, or both. While I appreciate the challenge of a difficult kill, I also appreciate the ease and pleasure of a simple strike. Some nights, it's the pure taste of blood - anyone's blood - that I desire. I just want to strike, take what I want, and move on. Tonight is one of those nights.

The woman only seems to notice my presence when I'm within a few feet of her. She turns and stares at me with drunk, uncomprehending eyes. It's clear she can barely focus at all.

"You want something?" she asks with a strong south London accent.

"Yes," I say, and I grab her shoulders, pulling her toward me and sinking my fangs into her neck. She screams, but I quickly rip out enough of the flesh and muscle to silence her. The blood pours onto my face; I try to swallow all of it, but there's too much and some of it flows down the side of my mouth and onto my neck. The woman struggles silently now, but I hold her tight. Biting harder, I rip out more of the spongy muscle from her neck, swallowing it whole as I continue to drink down the blood. Eventually I feel her body go limp, and I hold her up a moment longer so that I can drink more, before finally letting her fall lifeless to the ground.

I stare down at her for a moment, and then I kneel at her side and pull a purse from her pocket. Opening it, I find that it's mostly empty, although there's a library card marked with a name: Gladys Hoult. I smile. A stupid, empty name; the kind of name one gives to a child with no thought of ambition. Although it is a harsh thing to think, I genuinely believe that Gladys Hoult would have simply lived a meaningless, painful life with no positive impact for other people. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's a good thing she's dead, but I doubt many people will miss her. Sometimes the weak must die in order to sustain the powerful.

I stand up. Already, I feel energized. Her blood is in my body now, and my feeding ritual is complete. All that's left is for me to get home and wash myself. As much as I enjoy consuming blood, I do not like having it dried on my skin and clothes. As I turn to walk away, however, I find my way blocked by Patrick.

"You came back," I say, ecstatic to see him. "I'm like you now! Don't you see? I'm like you! I can be your successor!" Patrick just stares at me, as if he doesn't recognize my achievements. I thought he'd be happy to see me like this, to see me becoming like him. "What's wrong?" I ask. "I've done everything you could possibly want me to do. I've copied you. I've changed myself to be like you. Don't you see everything that I've done?"

For a moment, Patrick seems poised to speak, but then he turns and walks away.

"Come back!" I shout. I refuse to run after him. That kind of humiliation would be beneath me. "I demand you come back!" I scream.

But he's gone.

I run forward, but there's no sign of him. He's just disappeared into the night.

"Damn you!" I shout. I turn and look back at the woman's body. Isn't that what Patrick wanted? Didn't he want a son, someone who could become his successor?

I stand alone and I realize that Patrick will never accept me. He'll never let me become like him, but if I can't do it, no-one can. I won't be Patrick's successor at all. Instead, I'll hunt him down and I'll replace him. I don't know how, but I'll find a way to kill him, and then I won't be
like
him... I'll be better than him!

Sophie

Dedston - Today.

"He's not dead," Nimrod says as the three of us walk away from the river. "Until you have his cold body on a slab, you can't consider him dead. You realize that, right?"

I nod. After Patrick disappeared beneath the water, I spent almost an hour searching for him. The current isn't strong, so he must have made his own way. Wherever he's gone, though, I won't be able to find him. I'm quite certain he's alive, but he's also wounded and I guess he's gone somewhere so he can recover. Maybe Nimrod was right when he said Patrick is like an animal; wounded, he's gone somewhere to heal in private. Next time I see him, he'll probably be back to full strength.

"Where's Abigail?" Shelley asks.

"He's hidden her away," Nimrod says. "I have no idea where. Perhaps we'll never know where."

"We'll find her," I say. "I don't know how, but we'll find her."

"You should have let me kill him when I had a chance," Nimrod says. "Do you have any idea how long I've searched for her?"

I shake my head. "If you'd killed him, we might never have been able to find where Abigail is. I need to reason with him when he's not in pain."

Nimrod stops ahead of me and turns, clearly angry. "You can't reason with a creature like Patrick!" he says. "He's an animal. After all the things he's done to you, do you really think you can just have a little chat and make him see your point of view? He's a crazed animal, and he needs to be executed. I'm sorry, Sophie. You need to forget about Abigail. I'm afraid she's lost forever."

"You're wrong," I say, determined to find a way to get to my daughter. "I'm going to wait until he comes back, and then I'm going to find a way to make him understand."

Nimrod opens his mouth to argue with me, but then he seems to think better of it. "There's just no way," he says. "Try if you want, but I've spent years chasing Patrick, and I can promise you one thing. He can't be reasoned with. He might be old, but in many respects he's immature. When he wants something, he reaches out to take it and if someone tries to stop him, he responds with violence. He could have raised Abigail with you, but instead he stole her from you. That's the kind of mind we're dealing with here."

"I'm going to stay in Dedston," I say, "and I'm going to find Patrick, and then I'm going to get Abigail."

"And I'll help you," says Nimrod.

"I don't need your help," I reply

"You kind of do," Shelley whispers to me.

"I'll help you find him," Nimrod says, "and I'll help you try to locate Abigail. You have to understand that she might be gone forever. But if the chance arises again, I
will
kill Patrick, and you can't get in the way." He reaches out a hand. "Do we have a deal?"

I stare at his hand. Is this a deal with the Devil, or is it just a realistic attempt to work with someone with whom I share some common aims? Reluctantly, I shake his hand.

"You've made the right choice, Sophie," he continues. "If there's any hope for Abigail, we have to work together. I can't promise that we'll succeed, but we have a chance to rescue that poor girl before Patrick causes too much harm to her mind."

Epilogue

Dedston - Today.

As I reach my apartment, I double-check that I'm not being followed, and finally I let myself inside. I head straight to the basement, where I switch on the light and walk to the center of the bare room.

"Hello, Abigail," I say, staring down at the baby as she starts to cry. "I saw your Mommy and Daddy today. They're both very worried about you, in their different ways. Don't worry, though. Your parents are going to die painful, miserable deaths, but you're going to surrender your life to a much more noble cause."

Book Two

Shy People

Prologue

"Nice place!" says the whore as she walks into my apartment.

"Thank you," I say, shutting the door quietly behind us. "The rent's extremely high, but I'm of the opinion that one must strive to live in an environment that nourishes the soul and provides as much comfort as possible."

She turns to me, smiling. "Yeah," she says. She has a slightly high-pitched, young-sounding voice, but while she's dressed in skimpy clothing and there's plenty of make-up plastered over her face, closer inspection reveals that she's not as young as she seems. She's easily in her mid-twenties, if not early-thirties. Disappointing, but I'm sure she'll still be of some use. "Most of my clients are thick as pig-shit," she continues. "It's cool to meet a guy who's got more refined taste."

"Thank you again," I say, heading over to the drinks cabinet, although I'm not sure that this bitch is in any position to pass judgment on anyone's level of refinement. "Can I interest you in some wine?"

"No thanks," she says. "I don't drink when I'm working."

I smile as I pour myself a glass of sherry. "Of course not. I hope you don't mind if I have a glass?"

"Go ahead," she replies. "Whatever you want. You've paid for the hour." She checks her watch. "Well, there's only fifty-four minutes left, but that's no problem. We can extend it a little bit if you want, I won't charge for an extra five minutes."

"Perhaps," I say. "But perhaps I won't need the whole hour."

She smiles. "Fast worker, huh Charles?" She glances around the room. "So, er, what did you say you're doing in town again?"

"A spot of business," I reply. "Catching up with an old friend. Meeting some new people. Securing certain items and services for the future."

"Cool," she says. "Sounds like really intense work. No wonder you need to de-stress a little."

I nod. "What was your name again?"

"Natalie," she says, grinning. "But you can call me Nat. Or Natty. Or anything you like. For the money you're paying, you can even call me Mommy."

"That won't be necessary," I say, sipping from my sherry. "So... Natalie... How does this work, exactly? I'm new to this kind of transaction."

She steps toward me. "Well, Charles. You've already paid, so all that's really left to do is for you to tell me what you want. Like I said earlier, anything goes. Any hole. Any role. Any game you want, but you can't film it. I can do sweet and innocent, or I can do dark and dirty. I don't mind role-playing, and it's okay if you get a
little
rough." She leans in and kisses me in the side of the neck. "Not
too
rough," she whispers, her hot breath against my skin, "but a little's okay."

"Good," I say. "I like it a little rough."

"Me too," she says. She presses her body against mine. "Just no blood, okay honey?"

"Okay," I say. "Perhaps we should go to the bedroom."

She steps back, takes my hand and leads me over to the bedroom door. I set my glass of sherry aside and follow. As soon as we're in the bedroom, she turns around and pulls her shirt off.

"You want me to keep going?" she asks, keeping her eyes fixed on me.

"Yes," I say.

She unhooks her bra and lets it fall to the floor, before stepping back over to me and leaning close into my face. "You like kissing?" she asks.

"Of course," I say.

"Squeeze my tits and kiss me."

I stare at her.

"Come here," she says, smiling before leaning in close and planting a delicate kiss on my lips. I respond, and moments later we're kissing passionately, her tongue exploring my mouth. I reach around with my arms and hold her tight against me, and the kiss continues until finally I decide that the time has come to strike. Making sure that I have a firm grip on her, I begin to feed. She starts to struggle, and she makes a gurgling sound as I break through the back of her throat. Blood pours into my mouth, and she fights to get away from me, but I hold her firm. It helps that I have small hooks that I've inserted via my mouth, binding her face to mine. I open my eyes and see her eyes are open too, with a look of terror. Leaning closer, I press my eyeball against hers and looks deep into the darkness of her pupil.

She gradually stops struggling as I feed on her blood, absorbing as much of her youth as possible. I reach deep, deep down into her body, desperate for every drop, but finally I realize I have everything that I'm going to be able to get from her. I let go of her body and for a moment she remains standing before, finally, she drops to the floor. I feel re-energized and ready to take on the world.

"You see, Natalie?" I say, staring down at her dead body. "I didn't need the whole hour after all."