by Amy Cross
A few hours later, I wake up and realize there are voices elsewhere in the house. I try to go back to sleep, but eventually I realize that there are two or three people here, talking to my mother, and there are bright lights outside the window. I get out of bed and open my door, looking out into the corridor. I can't quite make out the voices, so I creep along the corridor until I'm close to the kitchen. I look around the corner and see my mother sitting at the table, with two men standing opposite her. My mother has her head in her hands, and she looks upset.
"We're still looking for witnesses," the first man is saying. "We're hoping that a surveillance camera nearby might have caught something. We've got people checking the tapes right now".
"We have a lot of leads," says the other man. "You can rest assured that we're going through all the possibilities. We will find whoever -" He glances over and makes eye contact with me. Panicking, I pull back, hoping he didn't see me. Seconds later, the second man walks around the corner and stops, looking down at me and smiling. "Hi," he says after a moment. "Now let me guess. You must be Todd, right?"
I nod cautiously.
"Todd!" my mother calls out. "Get in here!"
"Maybe you should go see your Mom," the man says. "It's okay. My friend and I are just leaving. I think your Mom would like to talk to you". He has a kind face, but there's a sad look in his eyes.
"I'm supposed to be in bed," I tell him.
"I think it'll be okay," he replies.
"Todd!" my mother calls again.
Reluctantly, I walk past the man and head into the kitchen, walking over to the table and finding my mother with tears in her eyes. She looks like she's been crying for a while now, with her eyes all puffy and red. I've never seen her like this. She gets angry sometimes, but never sad. The last time she actually, genuinely cried, it was when she sat on the remote control.
"I'll be in touch in the morning," the first man says. "There'll need to be a formal identification, and we have some people who can put you in touch with some excellent counselors".
My mother doesn't say anything. She seems totally lost and in shock; ominously, the TV has been switched off, which only happens when something really major has happened. The last time the TV was turned off so suddenly, it was the time we found out that my Dad had died. Now, as the men say their goodbyes and head out of the house, I find myself standing by the table and waiting for my mother to say something.
"Mom?" I say eventually. "What's wrong?"
She takes a deep breath, and then she waves me away. I turn, but I only get as far as the door when I hear her call after me. "Todd," she says, "get back here".
"What is it?" I ask, walking back over to her. I wait for her to reply. Eventually, I go over to the cupboard and grab a bag of potato chips, taking it back to the table and putting it in front of her. "What's wrong?" I ask.
"Sophie's..." My mother pauses. "Fuck, I don't know..." She says. She has a tissue in her hands, and she's picking it apart piece by piece. "Well, sometimes bad things happen," she continues, "and this morning -" She closes her eyes, and I see another tear slip out and roll down her cheeks. "This evening, I mean -" she says, taking a deep breath as her voice starts to waver, "they... found her".
"They found her?" I reply, my hopes rising. "You mean Sophie? Where is she?"
"She's not coming home," she replies, reaching into the bag of potato chips. "She won't be coming home any more. When I say they found her, what I mean is..." She pauses, and then she looks down; she starts trembling, and I notice more tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Mom?" I ask, feeling a sense of unease start growing from the pit of my stomach. I wait for her to answer, but she just sits there, trembling with her head bowed down. "Mom?"
Suddenly she reaches out and puts her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. Burying her face in my shoulder, she starts letting out a slow wailing sound. I try to pull free, but she's got me held firmly. Finally, realizing there's not much I can do, I decide to just stand there until she decides to let me go. In some strange way, I kind of wish those two men had stayed. I don't like it now; I don't like it being just me and my Mom, with no-one else around. Things would be different if Sophie was here, but somehow I get the feeling that she's not coming home. Not now, and not ever.
Chapter One
Louisiana, Today.
"This doesn't make any sense," says Constance as we trudge through the undergrowth. It's late at night, and an overcast moon means we've got our night-sight goggles switched on. Ahead, there's nothing but the dark green haze of the swampy marshlands that surround us. We've been out here for hours and, unless we find Patrick or Abby soon, we're not going home tonight. Unfortunately, the tracker we placed on Patrick has gone dead, but the last time we located him he was in this area.
"He's a thousand-year-old vampire," I reply, checking the readout on my hand-held scanner. "How could anything he does possibly make sense to us?"
"I know," she says, "but I've studied him, Todd. I've read all the reports over and over again. He's never been to this part of the country before. He has no connections to Louisiana. I don't see why he'd come here, of all places".
Beneath my goggles and head-mask, I can't help but smile. Constance is a researcher first, and a librarian second. She's happy in a laboratory or a room full of books, and it's a sign of Benjamin's desperation that he's pressed her into service for this hunting trip. Even as we're knee-deep in thick, swampy weeds, Constance is trying to apply logic to the situation. We're hunting down a dying, ancient vampire - the last of his kind - and she thinks he'll be acting logically. It'd be funny, were it not for the fact that we're a team and I might have to rely on her to save my life if things go wrong.
"Something up ahead," she says, stopping in her tracks.
"Give me that," I say, grabbing her scanner. It takes me a couple of seconds to see what she's picked up. "It's a frog," I say.
"How can you tell that from the scanner?" she asks, staring down at the screen.
"I can't," I say, "but I can see the damn thing up ahead". Sure enough, my night-sight goggles are picking up a small, glowing spot that seems to be hopping past us. "Trust me," I continue, "if there's an actual person, or a vampire, up ahead, these scanners are going to light up like Christmas trees. Don't get too jumpy, okay?"
"Okay," she replies, but I can tell from the sound of her voice that she's on edge. As we keep walking slowly through the darkness, she seems nervous and twitchy. "It's just... I've studied him," she continues, "and I've seen him when we had him at the facility, but I've never encountered him in the wild, so to speak. I don't know what he's like, or how he acts. I mean, I've read about him, but I don't know".
"There's only one rule," I say, checking my scanner for the thousandth time. "Never, ever turn your back on him. If you do that, you're dead. You need to respect him and stay calm. To be honest, though, there's not a lot you can do to protect yourself. If he wants you dead, you'll be dead. The only reason it's safe for us to be hunting him like this is that he's dying. Now that he's sick and weak, we can restrain him fairly effectively, but it's still not going to be easy. He's -" I pause for a moment, seeing a strange set of readings on the screen.
"What is it?" Constance asks.
"Nothing," I reply, watching as the readings get stronger. "Something. Maybe. Up ahead, about fifty clicks. There's definitely something, but it's weak. Far too weak to be Patrick, even in his current state".
"What do we do?" she says.
"We go take a look," I tell her, "and we stay calm. Remember, I've helped capture him before. If we get confirmation that it's him, we hang back and call in back-up. It's going to be okay. There's no reason to be scared".
"And what if he's her?" she asks. "What if it's Abigail?"
"Then we talk to her," I reply. "We tell her we only want to help". The truth, though, isn't quite that simple. I can't admit it to Constance, because I don't know where her loyalties truly lie, but I've decided I'm not goi
ng to deliver Abby back to Benjamin. Patrick, yes, but not Abby. She's my niece, and I no longer trust Benjamin. He'd confine Abby and study her, maybe even hurt her; he'd justify his actions and say it's all for her own good, but at heart he's a scientist and he wants to dig through Abby's body and find out how she works. I don't care what he does to Patrick, but he's not going to get his hands on Abby. I'm going to break rank. If that means incapacitating or even killing Constance, then I'm willing to do whatever it takes.
"Anything?" she asks, looking over at my scanner.
"The same," I reply as we get closer to the source of the readings. "What about you?"
"I'm picking up increased infra-red activity," she says. "Something at the far end of the spectrum, but I'm not sure what. The numbers keep changing every second".
"It might be him," I say, feeling my chest start to tighten in anticipation. "Up ahead, slightly to the left in about fifteen clicks. If it's not him, it's definitely something strange". I turn to her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think it might be better if you keep behind me. I've got experience with things like this, and you've just read about them. There's a difference".
I stay slightly ahead of her as we approach a clearing in the swamp. It's still too dark to see without the night-sight vision, but I can see something nearby. It's definitely a human-shaped figure, so it could be Patrick, but I need to get a proper view. The scanners are giving confusing, conflicting results. These swampy areas aren't exactly hospitable, but it's not impossible that there could be random humans wandering about, not to mention the possibility of werewolves or other creatures. There's rumored to be a clan of werewolves living about twenty miles to the north, and they're the last people I want to run into our here.
"Do you see anything?" Constance whispers.
"Over there," I say, pointing toward the figure who's standing roughly ten meters from us. The night-sight goggles aren't very clear, so it's hard to get visual confirmation.
"What's that thing on the ground?" Constance asks.
I look down at the figure's feet, and see that he's standing over something. It takes me a moment to realize that it's a person, but I can't tell from here whether they're dead or alive.
"We need to call back-up," Constance says.
"Do it," I reply, inching closer to get a better look at the figure ahead of us. Finally I manage to get a proper view of his face, and with a heavy heart I see that it's definitely Patrick. "It's him," I whisper. "Get the others here now! Let the -" Suddenly Patrick turns and looks straight at me, his dark eyes almost piercing straight through my soul. It's a powerful moment of connection, unlike anything I've ever felt before; it's almost as if he's reaching inside my head. After a moment, I realize I want to look away but something's stopping me. I can feel the adrenalin coursing through my body.
"I can't get a signal," Constance says after a moment, with a hint of panic in her voice. "I'll go back and try again".
"No!" I say, turning to her and grabbing her arm. "We don't split up. If we do that, he can pick us off easily".
"You want to just stand here?" she asks.
I look back at Patrick; he's still staring back at me, as if he's waiting for something. Looking down at his feet again, I try to make out the figure on the ground. It's definitely a person, but with the night-sight goggles I can't make out anything more than the general shape; I can't even tell if it's male or female.
"Is it her?" Constance asks. "The body on the ground. Is it Abigail?"
"I don't think so," I reply. "It looks too bulky, more like an adult".
"I'm not picking up any life signs," she continues. "Not from the body, anyway. Just the readings from Patrick".
"Keep trying to call for back-up," I say. "If we don't check in within a couple of hours, they'll send someone to find us anyway. Just hang on and this'll all be okay. Don't make any sudden movements, and we'll wait this out until help arrives". I continue to stare at Patrick, trying to work out what he wants. He could easily run and get away from us, even in his damaged state, but he seems to be willingly facing us like this. It's almost as if he's challenging us to approach him. The truth is: if back-up doesn't arrive soon, I'm going to try to bring him down myself. It's a long-shot, but given how close to death he must be by now, I reckon I've got a chance. I'm going to recapture him and make him show me where Abby has gone, or I'll die trying.
Chapter Two
Dedston - Six years ago.
"Unacceptable," my college tutor says, striking out a line from my essay. He reads a little more. "Totally unacceptable," he adds, striking out another section. He reads on for a moment, before putting the essay down and looking at me. "Mr. Hart, this is the worst essay I've ever read. It's un-sourced, it's vague and the few worthy points are completely unattributed and come across as being almost random". He sighs. "I don't mean to sound harsh, but based on this essay, I can't help but conclude that you lack the focus to complete your studies".
Staring back at him, I try to work out what to say. I want to tell him that I'll do better, and that I'll improve next semester, that I'll ignore all the distractions and improve my work ethic; unfortunately, I already told him that last semester and it didn't work out too well. My studies have been in a permanent nosedive for the past year, and it's getting to the point where I should just pack it in and go find a proper job. I feel like everything I'm studying is just a rehash of things other people have done.
"Do you have anything to say?" my tutor continues. "I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. Hart. I've felt this way about you for quite some time. I was quite prepared to let you just drift along, in the hope that you might improve at some point, but two things have occurred in the past week that make me see that it's in neither of our best interests to continue this charade. The first thing, obviously, is this essay". He slides the pieces of paper across his desk, as if it's a piece of garbage that offends him. "Fortunately," he continues, "something rather miraculous has happened, something that makes me more certain than ever that it's time for us to part ways".
I wait for him to tell me to get out of his office. This is humiliating. I just want to leave.
"Are you aware of the Seagram Program?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"The Seagram Program is a professional sponsorship offered by one of our biggest donors," he explains. "Every year, one student is selected to take part, based on academic performance and an assessment of the student's personal qualities. The chosen student is invited to go and visit the Seagram Institute and take part in a one month research apprenticeship". He sighs. "This year, as usual, I put forward the names of three of our best students. You can imagine my surprise when I was informed that they wanted you instead".
"Me?" I say, shocked.
"You," he says, barely able to hide the disdain in his voice. He's never liked me, and I can tell it's killing him to have to give me this 'good' news. "Mr. Hart, you are without doubt the worst student I've ever had the misfortune to teach. Nevertheless, the fellows at the Seagram Program are quite adamant that you are to receive this year's scholarship. They haven't been able to satisfactorily explain their decision, but one of the unfortunate realities of modern academia is the need to please one's benefactors, and therefore -" He grabs a large envelope and passes it to me. "The details are in here. I hope you understand how lucky you are".
Holding the envelope, I weigh up my options for a moment. "What if I don't want to go?" I ask. "I mean, it seems kind of pointless..."
"If you refuse the scholarship, I shall perhaps be able to persuade them to award it to a more worthy candidate".
I shrug, putting the envelope back on his desk and sliding it across to him. "Maybe you should do that..." I say.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure," he replies, before sliding the envelope back to me. "However, I was told to tell you that there's something in that envelope that will change your mind and persuade you to accept the scholarship. I was also forbidden from looking in there
myself, so I'm afraid you'll have to make the determination yourself".
Picking the envelope up, I turn it over and unseal it, pulling out a photo. My heart almost skips a beat when I see the face in the image: it's a grainy photo, taken at night with some kind of filter in place to enhance the image, and the grainy quality of the image suggests it's a detail from a picture that was taken from a long way away, but there's no mistaking the person I'm looking at. His face has been burned into my memory since I was a kid, since the days I used to see him outside my sister's bedroom window. Patrick.
"What is that?" my tutor asks, leaning across the table and peering at the photo.
"Nothing," I say, turning it so he can't see the picture. I don't understand who sent me this image, or why, but I sure don't want to start flashing it around for everyone to see.
"Will you be taking the scholarship?" he asks.
I take a deep breath. My mind's racing, and I can barely make sense of everything. "Yes," I say after a moment. "I will". I slide the photo back into the envelope. Whoever sent this to me, it's clearly intended as some kind of message.
"Make sure you don't make a hash of it," my tutor says wearily. "You've been given an opportunity that others would kill for".
Standing up, I head to the door, before pausing and turning back to him. "This Seagram Institute," I say, "what exactly do they do?"
"They produce semi-conductor materials for the military," he replies, "though they also have a side-line in more fanciful research. Crypto-something, they call it. You know, I really think you should know things like this by now. After all, you do claim to have an interest in engineering".
On the way home, I find myself constantly looking behind to see if I'm being followed. Something feels decidedly 'off' about everything that's happening today. After all this time, why would someone send me a photo of Patrick? Come to think of it, how would someone send such a thing to me? Patrick's not exactly the kind of person who'd stop and pose, so I'm kind of keen to find out who would be able to get close enough to capture his image. It's almost like seeing a photo of the Yeti, or a UFO. It seems impossible that the image itself could exist.