by Amy Cross
"Martin!"
The door to the basement opens. I hate when she does this. She stomps down the wooden steps and storms over to me.
"Are you deaf?" she yells. "Seriously, Martin. Are you deaf?"
I shake my head.
"Did you hear me calling you?"
I nod. "I heard you, dear," I say. "I called back, but you didn't seem to hear me". I smile. "Perhaps it's you who are deaf".
She instantly jabs me in the ribs. It hurts, but I stay upright.
"I thought we had an agreement," she says. "Remember? You promised to stop playing with this rubbish and start being a real husband. Yes?"
I nod. I do, indeed, remember the agreement. But I entered into it under duress, so I don't consider it to be binding. Besides, one only enters into - and adhere to - an agreement if one stands to benefit from doing so. Otherwise, what point is there?
"You don't care, do you?" she asks. "You're so wrapped up in your own little world, you don't care about anyone but yourself and this... thing!" She looks at the little community marked out on the table. There are little roads and houses, rivers and bridges, and winding between them is the most perfect little train line. It took me years to get the arrangement right. Years and years...
"I'm busy," I say.
"Oh, you're never busy!" she shouts. "You're always occupied with some waste of time, but you're never busy. Not like real men. You're never actually doing anything that's got anything to do with anything except this stupid train-set".
I consider the possibility that she might be right. After all, I do spend a lot of time down here. But that's not because I like train-sets. To be honest, I find them rather boring. It's just that they offer a certain distraction from... other concerns.
"This is going," she says firmly.
I pick up one of the train engines. Seven inches long, gleaming green paint, it's a perfect replica of a 1911 Henderson Gauge steam engine from the old Mississippi line.
"Do you hear me, Martin?" she says. "I've had enough. Tomorrow morning, this is all going".
I don't reply.
"Martin!"
I turn, pull her close to me and, finally, I ram the Henderson Gauge straight down her throat. She struggles, but she can't get away. I push the train further and further, and I don't stop, not even when blood starts splattering up from the depths of her mouth.
Finally, I let her go and she falls to the ground.
I don't know what killed her. Perhaps it was the Henderson Gauge blocking her airway. Perhaps it was loss of blood. Perhaps it was shock. But she's dead now, and it's an amazing feeling to fantasize about doing something for so long and then to finally do it.
"You're right," I say. "I'll pack it all up tomorrow".
I head over to the stairs. It's time to go up, have a glass of beer and decide what to do next. Still, I have time to think. It's ironic, in a way, that my loud wife is unlikely to be missed at all by anyone at all.
19
I walk Shelley home. Partly so I can talk to her and explain everything, and partly because I feel I need to give Patrick and Vincent some time alone. When we get to Shelley's house, I promise her that I'll explain everything when I get a chance. I tell her that it's complicated, but that it's important. And I make her promise she won't tell anyone what she saw, not even Rob. She agrees.
"No-one else knows about this?" she asks.
"Just you," I say.
She smiles. "You could've told me sooner".
"I guess so," I say. "Thanks for following me. I'm pretty sure you saved my life".
She nods. "All in a day's work. Come and find me when you're ready to talk about it, yeah?"
"I promise".
She reaches out and pulls me into her, for a huge hug. "Do you know why I really followed you?" she whispers.
"Why?" I ask.
There's a pause. "Don't worry about it," she says, releasing me from the hug. "I just wanted to know if you knew why".
"Tell me," I say.
She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but she seems to think better of it. "See you around," she says, and walks slowly towards her house, with her little pink gun in her hand.
I turn and walk away, but I don’t know what to do or where to go. I should probably head home. But I can't. I want to spend time with Patrick, to ask him so many questions, to see if he is okay... But at the same time, I know that Vincent is dying and Patrick is spending time with him. I have never known Patrick without Vincent, and I can’t imagine that there’s any way he will survive without his father. The pair of them just seem to be so completely linked together, as if there's no way that either of them could be real without the other, as if they stabilize each other. Patrick, in particular, seems to need Vincent...
After walking around town for a while, I decide that I have to go back to the cavern. When I get down there, it seems at first that there's no-one about. But then I realise that they're inside the house, so I go in. When I was told Patrick was dead, a part of me still held out hope that it wasn’t true. But this time, with Vincent, I can tell that there is no hope, no turning back. It just feels as if his death is really coming to us now, as if there's no way that he's ever going to be saved. I didn't really get that feeling when he told me that Patrick was dead. Plus, while I can kind of just about imagine Vincent lying about Patrick being dead, I know that there's no way Patrick would ever lie about anything.
The problem is, I've only ever known Patrick when Vincent is around. I've always seen Vincent as a force that stabilises Patrick and keeps him from become whatever kind of monster lurks within. The truth is, I'm scared of the thought of Patrick living without Vincent, because I'm terrified that Patrick will finally be free of the only influence that keeps him from becoming... whatever he could become. Without Vincent, Patrick could become uncontrollable.
I can hear movement in Vincent's room. At first, I loiter outside. I don't know whether I'm supposed to go in, whether I'd be welcome or whether I'd be intruding. Eventually I decide to enter, to see what's happening and to find out if I can help. Even if there’s nothing I can do, I want to be there when Vincent passes away. As I enter the room, I see that he's sleeping now, with Patrick sitting watching him. I come close to them, and I put my hand on Patrick’s shoulder.
“Is it true?” I ask. “Is he really dying?”
Patrick stares at me for a moment, and then - finally - he nods. It’s one of the few times he’s ever really responded to anything I’ve said to him. Then, he turns to Patrick, reaches out a hand and brushes the old, grey hair from across Vincent’s face.
“Fuck,” I say, totally inappropriately, witnessing the tenderness with which Patrick is looking after Vincent. “It’s true, isn’t it?” I stare at them and I realise Vincent is really leaving us. I look at them, and something still seems wrong. How can a human, in his 80s, be the father of a vampire who has been alive for centuries? And yet they...
"Leave us for a moment," says Vincent, barely able to speak.
I turn to go.
"Patrick, leave us," says Vincent.
I turn back. Patrick looks at me for a moment, as if he's angry that I'm interrupting his final moments with his father. But he gets to his feet and he walks out, as commanded.
"I'm so sorry," I say.
"Come closer," says Vincent. When I'm sitting next to him, he manages a smile. "I got this all wrong," he says. "I thought I would have time to help you, but I won't".
"You don't have to help me," I say.
"You must go to Gothos," he replies. "You and Patrick, and you must take The Lock with you. You'll understand when you get there, there will be people waiting to receive you. You have to help Patrick play his final role in the history of the vampires".
"Okay," I say, nodding but not really understanding any of this. "I thought all the other vampires were dead".
"They are," Vincent says. "But there are ghosts to be taken care of. They're all around, in the forest, in the city, everywhere. They're waiting to be rele
ased. After Gothos, the old vampires will be dead forever, in every form".
I nod. I still don't really get it, but I guess I'll figure it out when we get to this Gothos place.
"You can't die," I say. "You told me that there's always a way. You said that no matter how bad things get, there's always a way out if you're smart enough to find it. So come on, Vincent. Find the way out. If Martin Keller bit you and poisoned you, find a way to defeat the poison". I stare at him, and I can see he's fading away. "Do something," I urge him.
"Sometimes," he says, "the only thing to do is to make sure your death save the lives of others".
I think about his death. "Will we ever see you again?" I ask.
"Death is death," he says. "I don't know what happens next. But I don't think I'll be coming back this way again". He tries to laugh, but just ends up coughing.
"And the prophecy?" I ask. "You said there was a prophecy, that Patrick is going to kill me one day".
Vincent smiles. "Prophecy is prophecy," he says. "You can't change what is to come".
There's silence for a couple of minutes, and Vincent's breathing is getting slower.
"I'll get Patrick," I say. I go to move, but Vincent takes my hand.
"When I was young," he says, his voice weak. "I learned that my father didn't need a son". He breathes slowly, carefully. "I learned that my father needed a father".
My heart turns heavy as I realise the truth
I turn as I hear Patrick at the door, and I realise that this isn't a son watching his father die; it's a father watching his son die. But because Patrick didn't need a son, Vincent took the role that Patrick needed him to take: he became Patrick's father, acting as his guide and as his conscience. How is Patrick ever going to survive without Vincent?
"I'm sorry," I say to Patrick.
He keeps his gaze fixed on Vincent, but I swear that for a moment I see a hint of tears in his eyes.
“How?” I ask. But it’s a stupid question. Patrick's a vampire. He’s hundreds, maybe even thousands, of years old. And Vincent... well, I know almost nothing about Vincent. He looks old, whereas Patrick looks like a late teenager. But in this world of theirs, appearances can be deceptive. If Vincent is Patrick’s son but isn’t a vampire, it could have been born seventy or eighty years ago and just aged normally.
“He’s not dead yet,” I say. It’s all I can think to say to try to make Patrick feel better. “He can still fight this, maybe you’ll find a way...” I stop talking. Somehow, everything I say feels empty and useless.
I look at Patrick’s eyes. They’re young, vibrant and alive. But they’re looking down at his son’s eyes, which are ancient and tired. Vincent looks up into Patrick’s face, a son look to his father for some kind of help with the process of dying. And Patrick, for all his qualities, is no help here. He can only look on helplessly as his old, old son fades from life. And Vincent, looking up into his father’s young eyes, clearly know this.
Without even thinking, I reach out and take one of Vincent’s hands in mine. He doesn’t look at me, but he gently squeezes my hand. His gaze is focused on Patrick. I still can’t quite believe that Patrick, who looks so young, is the father of Vincent, who looks so old.
I look at Vincent’s eyes, which are staring up, and I realise something. He’s already dead. It has happened. With his eyes still staring up at his father, he has passed away.
I gently slip my hand from his.
Slowly, I lean my head against Patrick’s shoulder. We sit there, the two of us, with his dead son, who looks like an old man but was so young compared to his father. I have so many questions. Why did Vincent age like a human despite being the son of a vampire? Why couldn’t Patrick save him? And if Vincent was Patrick’s son, who was Vincent’s mother? But now is not the time to answer these questions. Now is the time to grieve, to remember Vincent and to consider how we’re going to go on without him.
Epilogue
They are coming. Finally, I can feel that they have started their journey, but... Something is wrong. There should be four, but there are three. What happened to the fourth?
I go through to the dining room, where the great dining table is prepared for the great feast. I have dreamed of this moment for so long. Since Gothos fell, there have been no feasts in its hall. But now the places are set, and the cooks are in the kitchen with special orders to prepare the greatest feast ever served.
I walk through to the grand hallway, and I find Sebastian standing halfway up the great stairway. He is dressed for dinner, ready to impress our guests.
“Are they close?” he asks.
“Very close,” I say.
“Why are there only three of them?” he asks.
“One of them is dead,” I reply. “This was not part of the plan, but it is not strictly a problem. Three of them are still coming, and this will be enough entertainment for our purposes”.
Sebastian seems lost in thought for a moment. “The vampire is with them?”
I nod.
“And the human?”
I nod again.
“Then which one is dead? The father or The Lock?”
“The father,” I say. “By which I mean, of course, the son”.
Sebastian nods. “The vampire will be grieving the loss,” he says. “We should expect him to be unstable”.
“Already in hand,” I say. “The human also lost her father recently, and she was close to the vampire’s father as well. She will be unpredictable as well”.
“And the Lock?” asks Sebastian.
“He is insane,” I reply. “His mind was shattered long ago. But I am holding those shattered pieces together for now, until he gets here. After that, I will allow the pieces of his mind to collapse”. I start walking up the stairs. “I need to pass,” I say as I reach Sebastian.
He steps aside.
I head up to the first floor, and I walk slowly to the final door. Retrieving the key from my pocket, I slide it into the hole and turn. Then I open the door and look inside. Such horror and carnage, such hopeless death and waste of human life.
I close the door and find that Sebastian has followed me here.
“The old masters are also returning,” he says firmly. “They are coming from many worlds away. They are punching holes through universes, and soon they will be here. They will want to see the vampire and the human, and they will have their revenge”. He smiles. “Don’t even think of trying to stop them,” he continues. “You know what will happen if you try”.
In the distance, the great bell of Gothos rings. I walk quickly to the window overlooking the great garden. Soon, they will be here.
The vampire.
The girl.
The Lock.
Behind my back, one by one, the ghosts of Gothos return to life.
NEXT - DARK SEASON VI: GOTHOS
Sophie, Patrick and The Lock make the long journey to Gothos. Once the ancestral home of the vampires, Gothos is now an abandoned ruin. But ghosts are on the move, ready for a great feast. And as Patrick prepares to play his final role in the history of the vampires, Sophie finds herself drawn to a mysterious locked door that hides a dark secret.
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