Dark Season: The Complete Box Set (61 page)

Bowie

Lightning flashes across the night sky, followed by a crash of thunder. Rain pours down, soaking the forest and forming small puddles and streams everywhere. This is the third night in a row that the weather has been like this, and I can't help but wonder if it's some kind of omen. Perhaps the gods themselves are sending us a message, warning us that we're making a mistake by having Patrick in our midst. It's as if the natural world wants its chance to strike at him, to wear him down, and we've interrupted that process by giving him shelter. First the river tried to kill him, and now the storm wants to hurt him.

"I know what you're thinking," Cassandra says. She's snuck up behind me as I stand at the entrance to the tent. She has a look of deep solemnity on her face, as if she knows full well that dark times are coming. "This isn't his fault."

I stare out at the rain as another flash of lightning briefly illuminates the dozen or so tents in our little community. "If the weather keeps up like this," I say, "we'll have to consider moving. The ground's becoming too wet. We should move to higher ground."

"The storms will pass," Cassandra says.

"Will they?" I ask. "I seem to recall you saying similar things before, and you were wrong." I pause, even though I know that the next question is inevitable. "How is he?" I ask eventually.

"Not good," she says. "He has a terrible fever, and his wounds aren't healing. If I didn't know better, I'd say..." Her voice trails off. It's as if she can't finish the sentence, as if she can't say the words.

"Dying?" I ask, smiling. "Good. I'll start digging a grave in the morning. It'll take a while, with all this mud."

There's another flash of lightning, briefly lighting up the trees.

"Do you see them?" Cassandra asks, her voice filled with concern.

I nod. Out there in the woods, there are ghosts. They came today, hundreds of them. They keep away from our tents, but they stay between the trees, watching us. I don't know where they came from, but I'm damn certain I know why they're here. They've come to watch Patrick; like many of us, they want to see him suffer. Their presence is a bad omen, and a reminder of the old days. The other members of our little community are scared, and think we should throw Patrick out into the mud. I agree with them, but Cassandra has been able to persuade everyone so far to give her a little more time.

"Do you think they'll come into the tents?" she asks.

"No," I say. "They're parasites. Cowards. They watch, but they're terrified to act. The only question is... What are they waiting for? They clearly expect something to happen."

"We must be ready," Cassandra says.

"What's wrong?" I ask. "You're not frightened of a few ghosts, are you?"

She doesn't answer. I smile. Cassandra always manages to make herself seem like a strong leader when she's talking to the others; but when she's alone with me, the mask slips and there's fear in her voice. She knows where the ghosts come from, and she fears waking up in the night and finding them gathered around her bed. Despite this fear, however, she won't betray Patrick, not yet. Her ties to him are too strong, even after all the things he did to us, but I know that in her heart she's terrified.

"They're coming closer," I say. "Slowly. Inch by inch. They're becoming more daring." I turn to her. "They might enter the tents, yes. And if they do, your words will mean nothing. The others will pick Patrick up and throw him out into the mud."

She nods. She knows that this whole enterprise is pointless, that Patrick can't remain among us forever. Why, then, does she persist in trying to help him?

"Our time is past," I continue. "You know it. I know it. The others know it. Even the ghosts know it. So why try to help Patrick draw another breath? He should have died with the rest of them. The fact that he's alive even now is a perversion of everything that's natural. And the best part is, we don't even have to kill him. All we have to do is step back and let him die, rather than holding his hand and trying to keep him from dying. All things have their time. Perhaps you should let him go."

"I can't do that to him," she replies.

"I know," I say sadly. She turns and goes back into the tent. I watch as she hurries to Patrick's bedside, kneeling beside him and checking for signs of life. She and Patrick go back a long way, and she retains this stubborn loyalty to him that won't die. Although she won't admit it, I'm quite sure that she's in love with him and that she has felt this way for many, many years. Centuries, even. She knows that his destiny means he can't ever feel the same way about her, and that his heart is reserved for a human, but she can live with this knowledge. She merely wants to help him, to soothe him, to end his pain. Perhaps that's real love after all?

I walk over and stare down at Patrick. His fever is high and he looks to be in pain as he sleeps. Even though I hate him with a passion, I can't help but feel that no creature should go through such agony. Putting aside my long-standing feelings about Patrick, I feel that it's time to put him out of his misery. If I found an animal in the forest in such a tortured state, I'd surely snap its neck as a kindness.

"I don't know how to help him," Cassandra says, with tears in her eyes as she mops his brow with a cool rag. "No matter what I do, he just gets worse."

"Let him go," I say.

"No!" she says, almost shouting. She looks at me with anger. "He saved my life many times. I owe it to him to save his!"

"He saved your life only so that he could turn you into this pathetic state," I reply. "You've repaid your debt to him many times over. Look at him. Do you really want to keep him suffering? Finish him off, or leave the tent while I do it. Don't be selfish, Cassandra. Think about Patrick. Think about what's best for him. Does his death really have to be so painful?"

"I won't allow it," she says firmly.

I sigh. "Is that really your answer?" I say.

She says nothing, but her actions - continuing to care for him - show that there's no way she'll ever come around to my way of thinking. She's determined to help him, to try to nurse him back to health. And this means that I have only one choice.

"I know that you love him," I say after a moment.

She doesn't reply.

"I know that you've loved him for many years, but I also know that he's never loved you in return. His heart was reserved for another." I watch as a single tear runs down her cheek. Stepping behind her, I put my hands on her shoulders, hoping to give her some comfort. "I can't imagine how much it must hurt to look at him and know that he can never love you."

She starts breathing heavily, as if she's close to breaking down.

"Saving his life won't change anything," I say, running a hand against the soft skin of her neck. "There comes a point at which you have to let go."

"Not yet," she says quietly, her voice weak with tears.

"Stand up," I say.

She gets to her feet, turning to me.

"The way you feel about him," I say quietly, "is the same as the way some people feel about you."

As tears run down her face, she stares into my eyes. "I know," she says.

"If you could just forget about him," I continue, "you could be happy.
We
could be happy."

She nods as she begins to sob.

"Don't cry," I say. "Don't see this as an end to something, see it as a beginning. See it as a chance to live out your years in happiness. After all, now that we have human bodies, our life-spans are limited."

She looks down as more tears run down her face.

"Look at me," I say.

She lifts her head.

"I love you," I say. "It breaks my heart to see you waste your heart on someone who can never feel the same way for you. If you can just recognize this simple truth, and let Patrick die, your life can be so much better. Don't you see that?"

She nods.

"Don't you remember how life used to be?" I ask her. "Before Patrick changed us all those years ago... Don't you remember what it was like to have that power coursing through our veins? We could have ruled the world. We looked down on humans as pitiful creatures. And now what are we? We're like them, but worse. We skulk about in the woods, stealing wasted food from their trash cans. We have no power, but I can feel it in my bones. I can feel where I used to have that power. I can feel where I used to be strong. Tell me you remember those days."

She nods.

I put my hands on either side of her head.

"Let him go," I say, and I lean in closer to her. "Be mine."

We kiss. It's a kiss that I have waited for, a kiss that I always hoped would come. For hundreds of years, I have dreamed of feeling her lips on mine. But it's also a kiss that I know she has been reserving for Patrick. I allow the moment to linger for a few seconds, until it's almost perfect, and then - with a swift movement - I take a better grip of her head and twist it quickly around, snapping her neck. I hear the bones crunch, and I feel the slightest struggle in her body before she becomes limp. I hold her for a moment longer, feeling her warmth in my arms, before I slowly let her fall dead to the floor.

Hundreds of years of friendship. Over in the crack of a neck.

The only sound comes from above, as torrential rain continues to fall on the tent. I look down at Cassandra's dead body. It looks strangely pathetic. I remember what she used to be like, what we were all like before Patrick took away our lives and left us with these paltry human bodies. After hundreds and hundreds of years, Cassandra has died in a feeble, simple manner that seems like a betrayal of her entire soul, but which also serves as a testament to the power that we all used to enjoy.

"How sad," I say out loud, but no-one is around to hear me. I feel a shiver run down my spine. I've known for a long time that I would have to kill Cassandra at some point, but now that it has happened, I feel strangely empty.

"This is your fault," I say, turning to Patrick. He remains in his fever, and I doubt that he has any idea of what just happened.

I turn and walk to the door, and then out into the rain. The others are all gathered in the other tents, talking around dull lights. By the time I reach the next tent, I'm soaked to the skin, but that's okay, it adds to the sense of tragedy. I pause for a moment before stepping into the tent. I find a group of five of the others warming themselves around a small pile of embers.

"Bowie," says the Elder, smiling. "Won't you join us?"

"Something has happened," I say.

They stare at me.

"Something awful," I add. "It's Cassandra. Her neck was snapped." I pause for a moment, to allow the news to sink in. "Patrick killed her."

Sophie

"We're lost," I say. "Aren't we?"

As the rain pours down, Nimrod and I are sheltering beneath a large tree. It's not exactly keeping us dry, but it's better than being out in the worst of the weather. It's cold and my clothes are wet, and the only light comes from the screen of my phone, which won't last much longer. It feels as if we're out at the end of the world, with the forces of nature conspiring against us to block our way. It's as if the forest itself is trying to tell us to leave.

"We're not lost," Nimrod says. He sounds like he believes it, too, although to be honest I have my doubts. "We're finding our way."

More lightning streaks across the sky in the distance. "Is this safe?" I ask, looking up nervously at the large tree that towers above us. "Shouldn't we be out in the open when there's lightning?"

"It's not directly overhead," he replies. "We'll be fine. The rain will pass soon, and I'm sure we'll find the camp soon." He stares at me for a moment, as if he's trying to understand something. "You must really be in love with Patrick," he says eventually, "to still care about him after everything he's done to you."

I feel my heart lurch slightly when he says the word 'love'.

"We can't choose who we love," Nimrod continues. "Do you think he loves you?"

"I don't care," I reply firmly. "I don't love him. How could I even
like
him after what he did to me?"

"Let me guess," he replies. "You thought love was about sweetness and kindness and roses, and tender kisses and all that kind of stuff. Right?"

"I never loved him," I say.

"Have you
ever
been in love?" he asks after a moment.

I shake my head.

"You don't know, or you're not answering the question?"

"I've never been in love," I say, even though I feel as if it's none of his business. "Happy now? Not with Patrick, not with anyone. I don't know what love feels like."

"Then how do you know it's never happened to you?"

"You can't be in love without knowing it," I reply. "You just can't."

"Are you sure? What if you don't realize until it's all over? What if you don't realize you love someone until they're gone?

I look away, determined not to fuel his stupid questions any longer. I'm here for Abigail, not for Patrick, and I don't see why I should expend energy trying to persuade Nimrod that I'm more than some lovesick little puppy.

"Fire," he says suddenly, looking into the distance.

I turn and see that there's a distant orange flame, just about visible through the trees. I swear it wasn't there a few minutes ago, but right now it's impossible to miss.

"A controlled fire," Nimrod goes on to say. "A campfire. You see? I told you we weren't lost. Sometimes the best way to find where you're going is to just stand still for a moment."

"Is it them?" I ask.

"Come on," Nimrod says, stepping out into the downpour. I follow, feeling a growing sense of confusion. Are we about to find Patrick and, if we are, does that mean Abigail is nearby?