by Amy Cross
"I don't see what -" I start to say.
"I want to join the Watchers," he says, pulling his chair closer to me. "I've heard about you guys. I know what you do. I'm damn good at my job, and you need someone like me. I get how your organization operates. You hire smart people, and then you train them up so they're tough. Why not take on a guy who's already tough?" He holds out one of his arms, flexing the muscles. "See that? If we met one of those werewolves out there, I could fucking rip its head right off its body".
"You could, could you?" I say, impressed by his enthusiasm.
"With ease, man," he says. "With fucking ease".
"I've been looking for a way into your organization for years. I've been trying to find out how to apply, but I can't find nothing. When I saw you, though, I could tell immediately that you're one of them, so I figured I might as well try. Can't you put in a good word for me?"
"I don't know if it works like that," I tell him.
"I'm tough and I'm smart," he continues, sounding as if he's offended. "Why the hell wouldn't you take me on? I mean, you're like this top secret organization, but I found out a little bit about you. That must show I'm good at ferreting out information, right? I'm good with weapons, too. Crack-shot, every time".
I look over at the gun he left on the table. "You are, huh?"
"I know every fucking thing about every fucking gun in the world," he says. This guy clearly takes himself very, very seriously. It'd be amusing, if it wasn't so tragic. "That there is a semi-automatic Spillsbury Special. One of the finest fucking handguns in the whole world. Not many people have even heard of them, and I'm a fucking expert on them". He reaches across and grabs the gun. "They don't make many of these," he says, clearly in awe of his weapon. "I consider it a matter of pride to pack this every time I go out that fucking door. You want to take a look at it?"
"Sure," I reply.
He hands me the gun. It takes me a few seconds to determine that this particular Spillsbury Special is loaded with three bullets; I know this, because I've handled these guns extensively and I know that they weigh six hundred and twenty grams when they're empty, but this one weighs more like six hundred and eighty, which means it has two or three bullets inside. Maybe two, probably three. There's no safety catch.
"Impressive, huh?" he asks.
"Yeah," I reply, a little sadly. I pause for a moment, before deciding that I might as well get on with what I've got to do. "Cool little gun," I say, handing it back to him.
"Damn fucking straight," he says, holding it again. "So what do you say? Give me one chance? Like an audition?"
"I don't know, man," I reply. There's a pause. "What's your name?" I ask.
"Thomas," he says.
I smile. "Hi, Thomas". Suddenly I grab his hand, twisting it toward his face and shoving the end of the gun into his mouth before pulling the trigger, blowing the back side of his head away. He slumps down in his chair, with blood, brain matter and pieces of skull sprayed across the canvas wall behind him. My heart's beating like crazy, and it takes me a couple of seconds to regather my composure.
"Sorry, Thomas" I say, getting to my feet and walking to the door. At that moment, a solider comes running through to find out what caused the noise.
"Holy fuck!" the soldier says.
"Guy killed himself," I say, by way of an explanation.
"No fucking way," the soldier says, his face white as a sheet as he steps back. "There's no way he'd -"
I hold up my I.D. badge.
"Right," the soldier says as he realizes who I am and who I work for. "I'll... tell the coroner we've had a suicide".
Walking away, I hear a distant explosion somewhere on the other side of the city. Benjamin warned me that I might meet a 'fan-boy' out here, someone who'd taken a little too much interest in the Watchers; he warned me, also, that I'd have to neutralize any such interest, which is what I've done. As Benjamin has told me a number of times, it's sometimes necessary to remove people who are a threat. It wasn't easy to kill a guy in cold blood like that, but part of my training is learning to eliminate threats in any situation. In other words, I'm forcing myself to become a heartless bastard; I'm forcing myself to become more like Benjamin. Reaching my quarters, I sit on my bed and look down to see that my hands are shaking.
Chapter Seven
Dedston, Today.
Opening my eyes slowly, I struggle for a moment to understand where I am. The last thing I remember is being in Louisiana with Constance, and now I'm in some kind of hospital room. There are various wires and tubes leading from my chest to a machine that beeps constantly next to the bed. When I try sitting up, I find that I'm far too weak to move, and something feels wrong, as if I'm somehow lop-sided; after a moment, I look down and see that my left arm has been amputated just below the shoulder. All that's left is a bandaged stump.
"How much do you remember?" asks a familiar voice.
I look over at the door and see that Benjamin is watching me.
I open my mouth to reply, but I have no idea what to say. My mind is still pretty foggy, although I'm getting impressions drifting back into my consciousness.
"You were injured," he says. "Do you remember the circumstances?"
I pause for a moment. "There was an explosion," I say, remembering what happened when Constance tried to use the digital flare. "Patrick..." Everything comes flooding back to me, right up to the moment when I saw Sophie's ghost. After that, I'm not sure how I ended up being found and brought here. "My arm..." I say, looking down at the stump. "Did you really have to take my arm off?"
"It was infected," Benjamin says calmly. "You'd have died if we'd left it on. You'd have developed sepsis".
"What else?" I ask, looking down at the rest of my body. "Where else have you been hacking parts off?"
"You have far too many injuries for me to list," he replies. "It's a miracle you survived, and you're only alive now because we hooked you up to that machine. Frankly, I've never seen someone pull through after being in such a bad state. One might even say that it's a miracle".
"How long have I been unconscious?" I ask.
"Twenty-five days," he says. "We kept you in an induced coma for most of that time. It was by no means certain that you'd wake up when we stopped the drugs, but I felt it was important to give you a chance. I hope you'll appreciate the time and money that has been spent trying to get you back into shape".
I take a deep breath, trying to get my head around the fact that I've been out cold for almost a month. "Where are they?" I ask eventually.
"Where are who?" he replies, even thought he must know what I mean.
"Patrick and Abby," I say firmly, starting to worry. "What happened to them?"
"We're still tracking Patrick," he says. "Surprisingly, he's not dead yet, though he's moving much more slowly. It's quite remarkable to see how he's managing to cling on to life. He rests for days on end, before exhibiting brief flurries of activity. I dare say we could probably swoop in and pick him up, but he's no longer the focus of our operations. There's no point going over to snuff out a flame, when it's about to burn out of its own accord. I'm not a believer in wasting energy. Patrick's irrelevant now. He can't hurt us. He's history".
"There was something he wanted me to see," I reply. "Something in that house".
Benjamin smiles. "Yes, I rather think he'd been doing a little digging into some of my earlier experiments. I imagine he mis-interpreted what I did at the house all those years ago, and thought to warn you. I have all the relevant documents in my office. I'll have to show you some time".
"What about Abby?" I ask.
"Why don't you ask her yourself?" he says, smiling as he steps aside. Moments later, Abby walks into the room. My first instinct is relief to see her, but then I realize that there's something different about her; there's a calmness in her eyes, but also a sense of darkness. The way she stares at me, she looks more like Patrick than I ever thought possible.
"Where did you find her?" I ask. I'v
e got a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is very, very wrong.
"We didn't," Benjamin replies. "She came and found us. It seems she spent a few weeks alone out in the wild, before she realized she needed help. Her father isn't an option, so she came to us and we struck a deal".
"Are you okay?" I ask, turning to her. "Abby, say something".
"I'm fine," she says, smiling weakly. "Don't worry about me. I'm not the one whose arm got cut off". She pauses. "Does it hurt?"
"Not really," I say. "I guess I'm pretty drugged up". I take a deep breath. Something about Abby doesn't seem right, but i can't pinpoint the problem. I need to get her alone, away from Benjamin's influence. "Where were you?" I ask. "We were looking for you everywhere".
"Patrick took me to Gothos," she replies. "It was... interesting. I finally came to realize that he's a destructive force. All he does is use people, and then kill them when he doesn't need them. He wants me to be the same, like him, but I can't end up like him. He's alone and he's hurt. Hopefully he'll die soon. I think it'd be best for everyone if he wasn't around any more".
"Abby and I cut a deal," Benjamin says. "I'm going to help her discover the extent of her abilities, and in return she's going to help me with some of my work. I'll be able to study her and find out how she's different to Patrick".
"Let's be honest," Abby says. "Benjamin's acting more like a real father than Patrick ever could".
"I want to talk to her alone," I say to Benjamin. "Just a couple of minutes".
"Of course," he replies. "Abigail, I'll be in my office when you're done".
"Okay," she says, staring at me as Benjamin leaves the room. It's almost as if he expected me to make this request. I get the feeling he's spent the past couple of weeks manipulating Abby while I was in the coma. Undoing that level of control isn't going to be easy.
"We have to get out of here," I say, trying again to sit up. A twinge of pain hits my shoulder and I realize there's no way I can get out of here right now. "You'll have to go without me. You have to get free from this place".
"I am free," she replies, coming closer. "I can leave any time I want. Benjamin promised me that. It's just..." She pauses for a moment. "Right now, being free means being alone, and I don't want to be alone. You understand that, don't you? At Gothos, I saw what happens to people when they're left alone for too long. They go crazy. Did you know I had a half-sister?"
"At Gothos?" I ask. "No. Gothos is the one place we've never been able to penetrate. The Watchers have very little idea of what goes on there". I stare at Abby, realizing that I have no proper idea what she's been through. "I had no idea Patrick had another child," I say finally.
"I had a half-sister," she continues. "Her name was Gwendoline. She basically spent her whole life alone, trying to become what Patrick wanted her to be. She felt totally inadequate all the time, but she wouldn't stop trying to please him. I don't know what she was like when she was younger, but by the time I met her she'd become twisted and bitter, and she still couldn't stop trying desperately to be the perfect daughter. Do you know how he repaid her?" She takes a deep breath, and I can see that she's close to tears. "He put his boot through her skull. He killed her like she was an annoying insect". She sniffs back the tears. "Is that what he did to my mother as well? Did he kill her because she disappointed him? Did he swat her aside because she was inconvenient?"
I sigh, trying to work out how to help Abby. It's clear that she's running from Patrick, and I'm fine with that, but I'm worried that she's making a mistake by running toward Benjamin. "Abby, listen," I say. "I can't help you right now. I can't even get out of this bed, but I can tell you the truth. Benjamin can't be trusted. Out in Louisiana, he set us up. Constance is dead -"
"I know," she replies quietly.
"Benjamin tricked us," I continue. "We found this house. It was full of dead bodies, and there was a creature. Patrick was there, and it was like he was trying to show us something. I don't understand what was going on, exactly, but I'm going to keep digging until I uncover the truth". I wait for Abby to react, but she just stares blankly at me. "Benjamin had given Constance this explosive device", I continue, trying to get through to her, "except he told her it was a digital flare. Whatever he -"
"Benjamin's a good person," Abby says suddenly, interrupting me.
"He's not," I say firmly. "He's dangerous, and you have to get away from him. He only wants you here so he can use you. He wants to carry out experiments, and he wants to control you. That's what all of this is about. Control. He sees you as something to be possessed and used for his own purposes".
"He doesn't control me," she replies, but the pain is evident in her eyes. She's lost and alone, and she's latched on to the one person who offers her any kind of structure and hope.
"Where's Shelley?" I ask, glancing over at the door to make sure no-one's listening to our conversation. "You have to get out of here, and go find Shelley".
She shakes her head. "This is where I belong right now. You were one of the ones who came and got me in Callerton. You helped Benjamin bring me here. If Benjamin's so bad, why did you work for him?"
"Because I didn't understand how dangerous he can be," I say, trying to get her to understand. "I let him talk me into doing things I should never have done. I killed people for him. I did his dirty work". Once again, I attempt to sit up, but this time the effort causes a sharp pain to jolt through my body. Exhausted, I collapse back on the bed.
"You're in no fit state to be moving," Abby says calmly. "You need to rest".
"I need to get you out of here!" I insist. "Abby, you're in danger. I know you're scared of being alone, and you're scared of your father, but this isn't the place for you".
"You don't know what I'm scared of," she says, with a hint of anger in her voice. "You might be my uncle, but you don't know me, and you have no idea what I want. I'm old enough to make my own choices, and right now that means being here and working with Benjamin. I can't just go out into the world and sit around brooding like some kind of gargoyle. Right now, this place is... home".
I stare at her. "Then you need a better home. Wait until I've started to heal up, and we'll get out of here together. We'll go and find Shelley. She and I can look after you. You can be free without being alone".
She shakes her head.
"Abby, you have to get out of here!" I insist. "Look at me! This is Benjamin's fault! It's not safe for either of us, but at least you can run. He's dangerous. I don't even know why he bothered to..." I pause, suddenly realizing that I have no idea why I'm still alive. Something about this whole situation doesn't make sense. If Benjamin wanted me dead, why would he go to all the trouble of saving me, bringing me here and nursing me back to health? A cold chill spreads through my body as I realize that there's a very dark look in Abby's eyes, almost as if she's struggling with some great inner demon. "You have to run," I say to her, but I know in my heart of hearts that everything I say is going to fall on deaf ears. I have a horrible feeling that Abby already knows what she's going to do.
"I'm not running any more," she says, looking over at the blank white wall. "I tried running, and it didn't work".
"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do," I say, hoping I can find some way to get through to her.
"Benjamin says that..." She takes a deep breath, before turning to look at me again. "Benjamin says that sometimes it's necessary to..." Her eyes are filled with tears.
"Necessary to what?" I ask, but I think I already know the answer. "Necessary to remove people who are a threat?"
She nods.
"And necessary to prove your loyalty?"
She nods again, her bottom lip trembling.
"You really don't have to do this," I say, my heart pounding. "You still have a choice. You've already rejected Patrick. Don't make the mistake of letting someone else control you".
She stares at me, saying nothing.
"I don't..." I pause, trying not to panic. "Abby, I don't want t
o die," I say finally. "Not here, not now. Not because of Benjamin. We're family". I reach out and put a hand on her arm. "I'm the only family you've got".
"That's not true," she says, her voice trembling. "Benjamin and the Watchers are my family now. They're more like a real family than anyone else".
"That's not true," I say. "It's what Benjamin wants you to think but it's not true at all. Don't you see how he's tricking you?"
She closes her eyes, but the tears keep rolling down her cheeks.
"How can you trust him?" I ask. "How can you trust someone who tells you to kill your own flesh and blood?" I wait for her to answer, but she just sits there with her eyes closed. "If you do this," I say finally, "you're no better than Patrick. In fact, you're worse. At least he makes his own decisions".
Slowly, she opens her eyes. The tears have stopped, and there's real anger in her expression. "Benjamin told me you'd say something like that," she says. "He told me you'd try to manipulate me by playing on my fear of becoming like my father". She moves closer to my face. "He warned me not to listen to you". She opens her mouth wide, and I see her two razor-sharp, glistening white fangs.
"I don't want to die," I say firmly, trying to stay calm. "Please, Abby, I don't want to die. Not here, not like this -"
She lunges for my neck and I feel the two fangs slice through the flesh. The pain is intense as I feel her slowly sucking the blood from my body; reaching out, I grab hold of her shoulders and try to push her away, but she's too strong and there's nothing I can do. Finally, in an act of desperation, I try to punch her, but I'm starting to get weaker and weaker. As she continues to feed, I can feel her hot breath against my skin, and it feels as if she's getting warmer and warmer while I'm getting more and more cold. It's too late to stop her, though. It's too late to do anything. I close my eyes and wait for the final moment. Determined not to scream, I hold my breath and wait for my life to ebb away; when death comes, though, it's more like a sudden stop and a plunge into nothingness.