Dark Season: The Complete Third Series (All 8 books)

by Amy Cross

  The truth is, I've spent the past few years forcing myself to forget all about Patrick. When Sophie died, I knew - even though I was so young - that the official police story had to be wrong. There's no way she just happened to be killed by a random murderer. As I reached my early teens, I began to get angrier and angrier; I spent all my waking hours trying to uncover the truth. I even ventured back down to the tunnels where I'd met Patrick before, but there was no sign of him. What I did find, however, was blood. Dried on the floor, there was a red patch that I couldn't help thinking must have marked the spot where Sophie died. I've never had any proof, but I've long suspected that it was Patrick who killed her. I wanted to find him, to try to punish him even though I know he'd probably have killed me too. Eventually I decided the anger was consuming me, so I forced myself to accept the situation. I moved on, started college and focused on my Engineering course. And now, just when I thought the past was buried, someone is clearly seeking to bring it all back into the light.

  "You're back early," my mother mutters as I walk back into the house. She's carrying a tub of ice cream from the kitchen to the sofa.

  "Yeah," I say, watching her as she sits down. "Actually, I got some news. I've been given a scholarship".

  "Huh," she replies, barely even looking up from the TV, where some quiz show is running. "How much?"

  I stare at her. "What do you mean?"

  "A scholarship's money, right?" she says. "So how much are they giving you?"

  "It's not that kind of scholarship," I reply.

  "Huh".

  "I'm going to work for Seagram for a while," I continue, knowing full well that she doesn't really care and that the name means nothing to her. She just stares at the TV screen all day; she was like this when I was younger, but she got worse after Sophie died. I've agonized over ways to get her up and about, but she seems content to waste her days like this. "It means I have to go away for a while," I continue. "Maybe a month or so. Will you be okay?"

  She stares at the screen. "Who's gonna look after me?" she asks after a moment.

  "You'll look after yourself," I tell her, figuring that maybe this will be a good thing. Maybe it'll spur her into action and force her to take control of her life.

  "Whatever," she replies.

  I watch her for a moment. If I go away, she'll be left here alone, and I'm not sure she's capable of living like that. She spends all day watching quiz shows, sometimes napping for a while, and barely ever leaving the house. In fact, I don't think she's been outside the front door since Sophie's funeral. If I could think of some way to help her, I'd do it without hesitation, but I figure she's just going to have to learn to cope on her own for a while. I guess this is tough love.

  "Have you ever seen this guy?" I ask, opening the envelope and taking out the photo of Patrick. I hold it up, and she glances over. I don't know why I'm even asking, but I feel like maybe it's worth a shot.

  "No," she says, looking back at the TV.

  I slip the photo back into the envelope. It's crazy to think of all these things happening without my mother having ever noticed. She's just floating along in her own little bubble, oblivious to the real world. "I'm going to go and pack," I tell her. "I have to be in Colorado on Monday for my..." I pause, realizing she's not listening. "I'll go to the store later," I continue. "I'll stock up on food for you. You'll be okay".

  She sniffs.

  "Sophie was killed by a vampire," I say suddenly. "She fell in love with him, she had a child with him, and then he took the child before killing her. Now I'm going to go and meet some people who seem to know where the vampire has gone". I take a deep breath, wondering whether she listened to any of that.

  "Can you get that?" my mother says suddenly, pointing to the TV screen. An advert for chocolate ice cream is playing.

  "Sure," I say, sighing. "No problem".

  Turning and going to my room, I pull a suitcase out of the closet and set it on my bed. As I turn to grab some shirts from the drawer, however, I realize that what I'm doing is crazy. All this stuff about Patrick is in the past. Am I really going to go all the way to Colorado just to re-open old wounds? In the process, I'd be abandoning my mother, and I have genuine concerns about whether she'll be able to manage. I should be focusing no the future, not chasing the past. Still, that photo must mean something. If there's even a chance that I can learn more about Sophie's death, I have to go and at least see what's going on. Plus, there's this feeling I've had ever since the funeral. Somehow, I feel as if I know deep in my heart that one day I'm going to see Sophie again. I have no idea where, or when, or how, but I know it's going to happen. I grab some shirts and put them in the suitcase. I can't let this opportunity go. I owe it to Sophie to go and learn the truth.

  Chapter Three

  Louisiana, Today.

  "What's he waiting for?" Constance whispers.

  We've been standing here for two hours now, watching as Patrick stares back at us. He seems content to just wait for us to make the first move, although I'm sure he has all the bases covered. He has that usual aura of calm, silent confidence, but this time he seems different somehow. Whenever I've encountered Patrick in the past, he's always been on the move. A restless soul, he wanders the land, rarely staying put in one place for too long. To see him so still is disconcerting. He's just standing there, watching us as we watch him.

  "Something's not right," I say. "This isn't Patrick's normal behavior at all. It's like he wants us to approach him".

  "I don't think that would be a good idea," Constance replies.

  I shake my head. "It's as if he's daring us". I stare at the body on the ground. "That's definitely not Abby. Something about this whole situation seems completely wrong. He clearly doesn't want to kill us, or even lose us".

  "Maybe he's trying to distract us," Constance says. "Maybe he's trying to make us focus on him, so that we miss something more important".

  "That's not it," I say. "He knows there are hundreds of Watchers on the move. Sure, he can distract the two of us, but why just us? I've scanned this area over and over again. There's nothing alive out here except us and him".

  "Whatever he wants, he's creeping me out," she replies. "The way he's looking at us... It's like he's a predator, and we're the prey".

  I smile. "You say that like you've only just realized it's true. He's -" At that moment, Patrick turns and starts slowly walking away. "This is new," I say. "Come on". I lead Constance forward, always being careful to maintain a safe distance from Patrick - not that there's really any distance that can be considered safe. Soon we've reached the body on the ground. I kneel down and roll it over, finding that it's just a set of bones with a few mangled pieces of flesh hanging in shreds.

  "Why would he do that to someone?" Constance asks, looking away. "Is he hungry?"

  "He didn't do this," I reply. "This is an old body. It's been dead for years, but I think maybe he dragged it to this spot fairly recently". I look up and see that Patrick is rapidly disappearing into the distance. "We have to go with him," I say, getting to my feet and hurrying through the swamp. "Something's not right here".

  "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Constance asks as she struggles to keep up with me. "Do we really want to just let him lead us somewhere? What if it's a trap?"

  "Patrick's a lot of things," I say, struggling to maintain a line of sight with the dark, distant figure up ahead, "but he's not crazy. Everything he does, there's a reason for it. Remember, we have the equipment. We can take him down if necessary. He's weak".

  "He doesn't look that weak," she replies.

  "He's dying," I insist. "We could drop him to the ground right now if necessary. Even a couple of shots from a gun might slow him down". That's not entirely true. To be honest, I'm not sure about Patrick's current state. It's certainly possible that he's weakened enough for us to overpower him, but the reverse might also be true: he might very well have enough strength left to fight back and kill us both without a second thought. Either way,
I don't favor the direct approach; I'd rather work with Patrick, and wait to see what he's trying to show us, rather than going in with all guns blazing.

  "There's something up ahead," Constance says.

  She's right. Emerging from the darkness, there's a large shape slowly becoming visible. Moments later, we emerge into a clearing and find ourselves facing a small, dilapidated house. It's clearly been abandoned for years, with broken walls and windows. There's a porch out front, with a set of steps up to the house from the swamp. Patrick walks steadily up those steps and through the front door. He's clearly inviting us to follow him, but I have no idea why. For a moment, it occurs to me that maybe Constance was right and this is some sort of trap. Then again, Patrick's not really the kind of person who'd bother with a trap; he'd just kill us if that was what he wanted. He must have a reason to bring us here.

  "No-one's been to this place for years," I say as I walk toward the building. "I don't remember seeing any kind of residence marked on the maps". When Constance doesn't reply, I turn to see that she's hanging back, loitering at the edge of the clearing. "What's wrong?" I ask, but I already know the answer: she's scared.

  "You're not seriously going to go in there, are you?" she asks.

  "If he wanted to attack us, he'd have done it by now," I tell her. "Patrick's methods of communication can be a little unusual. I think he wants to show us something".

  "Let's just wait for back-up to arrive," she replies nervously.

  "We might not have time," I insist. "Come on, we have to stick together".

  She shakes her head. "I'm not going in there".

  "It's okay..." I start to say.

  "I'm not going in there!" she says again, more firmly this time. I like Constance, but she's clearly not used to working out in the field and she's starting to become a liability. I'd rather be operating alone right now, but I guess I have no choice but to keep her close.

  I stare at her for a moment, before deciding to call her bluff. "Then I'll go in alone".

  "You can't leave me out here," she says, shocked.

  "I'm going in," I say. "You should come with me. It'll be okay, I promise. Look, the sun's starting to come up. It'll be light soon". I pull my night-sight goggles and head-mask off and find that there's just enough low light to be able to see properly. It's kind of spooky to see the early morning mist drifting through the air. "See? It's going to be a lot more scary hanging around out here by yourself. You trust me, don't you?"

  She nods.

  "Then come in with me".

  Slowly, and tentatively, she starts walking toward the house. I wait until she's close, and then I turn and head toward the porch, looking up at the house's damaged walls as I reach the foot of the steps. It looks as if the building is literally starting to fall apart. The door ahead is dark and uninviting, but I'm quite certain that Patrick must have led us here for a reason. Whatever he wants to show us, it's in this place, and I can't ignore the possibility that Abby might in some way be hurt. We have no idea whether she and Patrick are traveling together, and I have to prioritize Abby's safety above everything else.

  "Are you sure about this?" Constance asks as she joins me.

  "I'm sure," I say as I start walking up onto the porch. No sooner am I at the door, than my foot goes straight through the base of the porch. I quickly pull myself clear. "Careful," I say to Constance. "This place is in bad shape". In fact, that's something of an understatement. It's clear that no-one has been here for a long, long time. There's moss and mold all over the walls, and dirt on the floor. The boards creak under my feet, and even the air feels still and undisturbed. It takes a moment before I realize that the whole place seems to be eerily silent, as if all the local wildlife has deserted the area and even the wind doesn't dare to blow. "What's that smell?" I ask as I step through the door.

  "Organic material," Constance replies. "Something's died and rotted here, probably inside the house. Be careful not to puts your hands near your mouth once we're inside. You might transfer bacteria to your system. There's a risk of infection".

  As I enter the dark interior, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but after a few seconds I realize I'm standing in a narrow corridor. There's debris all over the floor, and when I look up I see that part of the ceiling appears to have collapsed. A stiff breeze could probably blow the whole damn place apart.

  "Something's definitely dead," Constance says. "Nothing else in the world smells quite the same as death".

  "You okay?" I ask.

  "I'm fine," she says, but her voice betrays fear. She's a long way from her safe, comfortable desk right now.

  Reaching the end of the corridor, I turn left and enter a large, bare room. Patrick is standing at the far end, next to a door, and he disappears into the next room as soon as he's sure that I've seen him. He's definitely leading us to something; I kind of wish he could just tell us what's going on, but I guess that's not his style. It's odd, though: Patrick has never sought to co-operate with the Watchers before. What's different this time?

  "Any luck with the comm link?" I ask Constance.

  "Still no signal," she replies. "Trust me, I'm checking every thirty seconds".

  "Don't stop," I say as I walk carefully across the room and reach the door. Beneath me, the floorboards creak and bend; any moment, they could break and drop us into the mud beneath the house. Peering into the next room, I see Patrick is standing next to a table, and on the table, there's a white sheet covering something that looks suspiciously like a human body. There are four similar tables on the other side of the room, making this look like some kind of macabre operating theater or morgue. Each of the sheets is blood-stained and soiled with yellowy-green liquid.

  "I guess we've found the source of the smell," Constance says. "I strongly recommend we get out of here. There could be toxic hazards in here, all sorts of -"

  "It's okay," I reply, interrupting her in an attempt to keep her calm. I'm worried that she might start panicking, and the last thing we need right now is panic. "Patrick's smart," I continue. "He wouldn't bring us here if there was any danger". I step cautiously toward the closest table, staring uneasily at the distinctly human-shaped bulge under the sheet. As I reach the table, I turn to Patrick. "What is this?" I ask. "I don't understand. You're going to have to explain what's happening".

  He stares at me for a moment, before reaching over and pulling the sheet away. I look down; as soon I see what's on the table, I take a step back. It's a human body, elderly and male, mummified to the point of total dehydration. Its skin is withered and putrid, colored various shades of brown and green and yellow. Looking more closely, I see multiple long stitch wounds, as if someone cut the body up and then attempted to sew it back together.

  "What happened here?" I ask, turning to Patrick. "I don't get it. What are you trying to show me? Did you do this?"

  He shakes his head. After a moment, he turns and walks over to the next table, pulling off the sheet to reveal a similar body. He goes to the other tables and does the same, and soon I'm facing five mummified bodies, each of which appears to have been partially dissected and then put back together. In each case, the stitching is slightly different; it's almost as if someone was experimenting on the bodies, trying out different methods to achieve some sick aim.

  "Thoughts?" I say, turning to Constance.

  "Whoever did this," she replies, staying a few paces behind me, "he or she had no specialist training. The stitch marks are erratic and undisciplined, as if someone was learning as they went along". She pauses, looking around the room. "Any surgery performed in a place like this would have been almost certainly fatal. It doesn't look as if the environment could possibly have been sterilized. There's no equipment. I don't even see any method for delivering anesthetic". She looks back at the bodies. "Whatever was done to these people, it must have hurt. A lot".

  "You think they were alive when they were sewn up?" I ask.

  She nods, pointing carefully at the nearest body. "There ar
e signs that a healing process began, even if it wasn't completed. I'd say this specimen lived perhaps twenty-four hours after whatever was done to him". She moves a little closer, to get a better look. "It's hard to say how long ago all of this happened, but we're talking at least a decade. It's hard to be certain with just a visual exam, but if we can get them back to the lab, I can be more specific".

  I stare at the bodies for a moment. "I don't think we're going to be taking anything back to a lab," I say, before looking up as I hear a noise coming from the upper floor of the house. It sounds as if something is scratching at the wood.

  "Termites?" I say hopefully, turning to Constance.

  "Let's get out of here," she says, grabbing my arm. Her panic, which has been bubbling under the surface since we found Patrick, is now close to boiling over.

  "Not yet," I say. "There's something he wants us to understand".

  "Over there!" she replies suddenly, pointing at one of the other bodies.

  "What about it?" I ask.

  "I could have sworn its hand was resting on its waist a moment ago, but now it's down by the side".

  "Maybe it slipped," I say, although I don't really believe the explanation myself. To be honest, I didn't notice much about the way the bodies were positioned, and I'm not convinced that Constance is a reliable witness. In her panic, she's probably just imagined that something changed.

  "I really don't like this," she says, her voice wavering.

  I look over at Patrick. Once again, he walks through to the next room as soon as he's sure that I've seen him. "He wants us to go with him," I say, heading across to the door. Constance sticks close to me, even though she clearly wants to get out of here as fast as possible. I guess the one thing more scary than exploring this place with me would be to stand around alone outside. As we go through to the hallway, I see that Patrick has started going up the stairs. He's walking slowly, as if he wants to make sure that we keep up.