by Amy Cross
"Here," Abby says suddenly, stopping outside a large hotel in the center of town.
"Here?" I ask, totally shocked. Looking up, I realize that this is a grand, exclusive kind of place. I'm pretty sure you have to be a multimillionaire to even get through the door.
"Here," she says firmly. "I'll be outside for a while. Someone's in there waiting for you".
"Who?" I ask. "Todd?"
She pauses. "Just go inside. Go to the bar and wait".
"Don't you think that's kind of sad?" I reply. "I mean, a woman, waiting in a bar all alone... It's kind of desperate, isn't it?" I sigh. "Is Todd coming? Is that who I'm meeting?"
Abby stares at me for a moment. "Someone's waiting for you," she says.
Sighing, I realize there's probably no chance I'll ever get a sensible answer out of her. She seems distracted, almost as if she's in pain. Looking closer, I see that the metal collar around her neck has a number of small jagged points sticking into her skin.
"Abby," I say slowly, "does that thing hurt?"
"Just go inside," she says firmly.
"Abby, take it off! If it hurts, you shouldn't wear it!"
"It doesn't hurt!" she insists. "It just... It's part of me. I need it".
"Is that what Benjamin told you?"
"It helps me to focus on what I really need to do," she replies. "It helps me remember who I am".
"This isn't you," I tell her.
"Go into the fucking building," she snaps, almost spitting the words at me. "Someone's waiting for you".
I want to reach over and pull that collar from her neck, but something tells me it wouldn't be a good move. Instead, I walk up the steps that lead into the hotel, and then I turn and look back at Abby. She seems almost scared, as if she knows what's going to happen and she doesn't like it. I'm starting to think that Todd probably isn't going to be in there; in fact, I'm starting to think that maybe Todd's out of the picture altogether. I wouldn't be surprised if Benjamin and his gang of thugs have started tying up 'loose ends' now that they've got hold of Abby, and in that case I'm probably next on their list. I should probably turn and run, but I wouldn't get far, not with Abby on my trail. The truth is: I have to go into the hotel and face my fears. Maybe what happens next is set in stone, like Patrick told me all those years ago, but I still have control over how it happens and - ultimately - over what it means.
Chapter Six
Dedston, 16 years ago.
I stumble toward the light, looking around for Shelley and Patrick. The floor starts to give way, and I have to jump to one side as the stones I was standing on crumble into darkness. Finally I spot Shelley and Patrick on the other side of the chamber, with Patrick covered in blood as he continues to devour what's left of Dexter.
“This way!” I shout to them.
Shelley grabs Patrick and tries to pull him away. Patrick lets go of Dexter's destroyed body, which falls into the dark hole in the floor.
“Come on!” I hear Shelley shouting as she tries to tug Patrick towards me. But Patrick seems hesitant, as if there's something he still needs to do.
In my heart, I get this sinking feeling. I know that Patrick could just come with us, but I also realize that nothing he does is ever simple. From the look on his face, I can tell he has something else planned. As he stands looking at me across the burning chamber, his bare torso still ripped and torn from Dexter's punishment, blood still around his mouth and on his hands, there's a strange expression in his eyes. I've often tried to read his expression, and I've rarely been successful, but this time I feel like I understand what he's saying: he's saying goodbye.
“Come with me!” I shout at him.
He stares at me, not responding.
“Patrick!” I shout. “If you don't leave, I won't leave and we'll both die here!”
He looks so sad as he turns towards the fire, then he stops, looks at me again, then goes back to Shelley. And then, as I watch, Patrick leans in to Shelley's ear and he whispers something to her, and as she listens, her face goes white with shock and her eyes and her mouth open wide.
Chapter Seven
Wyoming, Today.
"May I take your coat, Madam?" asks the doorman as I step into the hotel foyer.
Shaking my head, I walk across the marble floor. This is by far the poshest place I've ever been; for me, a hotel is usually a dodgy little place where rooms can be rented by the hour. For a small-town girl who grew up in Dedston, this is the pinnacle of social climbing. Everything about the whole damn place reeks of money: the foyer is large and tall, with a reception desk over at one side; rich-looking people are going about their business, probably cutting multimillion dollar deals, and they're all exuding class from every orifice. Damn it, there are paintings on the walls, and they're not even screwed in place!
Spotting a sign leading to the bar, I wander past the reception desk. There's a lady nearby, old and fat and very well-dressed, and she gives me a brief, snarky look that makes it clear she thinks I don't belong here. I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror, and I guess I can see the old bag's point: the cheap clothes don't do me any favors, but what really gives me away is the look of fear in my eyes. I'm clearly out of place and out of my depth. Hell, if I saw someone like me in a place like this, I'd assume that I'm a hooker heading up to a room where I can service a client. I guess some people are just born with the kind of face that 'fits' in high society, and some people are born looking like me. Then again, if I have to die today, I guess doing it in a fancy hotel isn't too bad.
"Can I help you?" asks a girl standing at the entrance to the bar. She's well-dressed and polite, and - here's the kick to the gut - she's younger than me. Much younger than me. She smiles at me with courtesy, but I can see in her eyes that she thinks I shouldn't be here.
"I'm meeting someone," I tell her, glancing into the bar. I don't see anyone else in there, other than a couple of older guys and a girl in a dress. Definitely no-one who'd be waiting for me.
"Very good," the girl says. "If I can assist you in any way, please don't hesitate to let me know".
"Sure thing," I reply, glancing at her name badge. "Thanks, Debra".
"My pleasure".
Walking toward the bar, I'm very aware that the other patrons have noticed me. I've been in a lot of bars in my life, but they've all had jukeboxes and pool tables and sticky floors. This place, on the other hand, is the height of sophistication. Soft, mellow lift music is playing in the background, and there's an extremely hot barman smiling at me.
"Hi," I say, suddenly realizing I probably can't afford anything here. I reach into my pocket to count my change. A glass of tap water might just about be in my price range.
"Is your name Shelley?" the barman asks suddenly.
"Yeah," I reply cautiously, glancing around.
"I've been instructed to tell you that everything is on the house," he says, still smiling. "Can I take your order?"
I stare at the huge array of different colored bottles behind him. "You mean I don't have to pay for anything?"
"Your bill has been taken care of," he says.
I take a deep breath. This is like some kind of dream. "I'll take a whiskey," I tell him after a moment. "On the rocks. Make it a double".
"Certainly," he replies. "We have fifty-seven types of whiskey. Is there any one in particular that you'd like?"
I open my mouth to reply, but I immediately realize it's hopeless. He already knows I'm out of my depth, so why bother pretending? "Just a good one," I say with a smile. "That's all I want".
"Certainly," he says, turning and grabbing a glass. I look back at the other patrons again, and see that they're chatting away happily. I guess they don't find me that interesting. Turning back toward the bar, I watch as the barman pours my whiskey. As he grabs a serviette, I look over at the mirror next to the bar, and to my shock I see there's someone standing behind me. It's an older-looking guy, wearing black clothes and with dark, soulful eyes. It takes a moment before I recogniz
e him: it's Patrick. I turn, and find that there's no-one there. Looking back at the mirror, though, I can still see him. It's as if he exists only as a reflection.
"Your drink, Madam," the barman says, smiling as he sets my glass on the bar.
"Thanks," I say, distracted by the image of Patrick in the mirror. He looks so much older than before, as if he's aged a hundred years in just a few weeks. He always looked so young before, but now he looks ancient and sick, with pieces of skin hanging from his face. It's kind of a shock to see so clearly that he's dying, as if his body is literally breaking down right before my eyes.
"You're welcome to drink at the bar, or to take a seat," the barman continues.
"Great," I say, transfixed by the image of Patrick. "Thanks". After a moment, I realize that the barman is still watching me. Turning to him, I smile weakly. "I'm fine," I tell him. "Thanks for your concern".
"Glad to be of service," he replies, finally walking away and leaving me alone.
I turn back to the mirror, and Patrick is still standing there. Taking my drink closer, I look into his eyes and see great pain staring back at me. Sophie told me about Patrick years ago, about how he's ancient and how he's the last of his kind, but despite all of that he's always looked so young; today, finally, I can see the age in his face, and I can totally believe that he's hundreds, or even thousands, of years old. I want to reach out and touch him, but I'm not even certain that he's really here. Is it possible that I'm imagining his presence? After all, this whole bar seems so strange, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that it's all in my head.
"Are you dead?" I say quietly, hoping that no-one overhears me.
Patrick stares back at me. I guess it was dumb to think he'd actually answer; then again, it seems I'm the only one who's ever heard him speak, so it's worth a try. I don't know why he chose me all those years ago. I guess it was just because I was convenient, but it feels as if he entrusted me with a secret he knew I could keep. Maybe he saw something in me that no-one else has seen; maybe he recognized that, despite all my faults and failings, he could tell me something important and trust me to keep it to myself. Whatever the truth, I guess his words are finally coming true. After all these years, everything is going to happen just as he said it would.
"Cheers," I say quietly, taking a sip of my whiskey. It tastes damn good, though to be honest I wouldn't know a good whiskey from a bad one if my life depended on it. I don't have what you'd call a sophisticated palate. "So is everything going according to plan?" I whisper. "Is this how it's supposed to be? Or has it all gone wrong?" I wait for an answer, but none is forthcoming. "I mean, are you in control, or is Benjamin in control? 'Cause I don't know if you've seen Abby lately, but she's in a bad place. She's -"
I pause, glancing over my shoulder and seeing that one of the other patrons seems to have noticed me talking to myself. I stare at him, and he looks back down at his drink.
"She's got this collar around her neck," I say, lowering my voice a little further as I turn back to Patrick. "She's totally fucked up. If this was all part of your plan for her, I'd like to respectfully suggest that you come up with something else. If the idea was that you'd leave her alone and she'd be fine, you have to accept that it hasn't worked. It's time for plan B. She's your daughter. You need to help her!"
Patrick stares back at me impassively, as if he doesn't care.
"How much further are you going to let her go before you do something?" I hiss, becoming frustrated at his passivity. "She thinks you're incapable of loving anyone," I whisper. "She thinks you didn't love Sophie, and that you don't love her". Looking at him right now, I can totally understand why Abby thinks these things, and how Benjamin has been able to manipulate her. At the same time, I still think that Patrick is capable of love; it's just that he hides it away. Sophie saw his true self, and she felt his love; at least, she thought she felt it. "You're wrong about all of this," I say. "You think Abby can do this by herself, but she can't. She needs help. She needs your help. She's outside right now. Go to her".
No reply. He just stares at me.
"You're making a huge mistake," I say, before taking another sip of my whiskey. I pause for a moment. "I'm not here to meet you, am I?" I add finally, realizing that Patrick seems to be here to observe rather than to actually do something. "You're not the one I'm waiting for, are you?"
He shakes his head slowly.
Sighing, I look down at my whiskey and see that the glass is almost empty.
"Refill?" asks the barman. I didn't hear him coming back over, and I guess he must have seen me chatting away to the mirror.
"Yeah," I say, handing the glass back to him. "Thanks". I glance back at Patrick, but he's gone. Turning, I start to wonder if he was ever really here. Maybe I'm imagining all of this, but then why would I imagine Patrick? Why wouldn't I imagine Sophie? There's a part of me that's been expecting her to come back. I mean, I don't believe in ghosts, but I still wouldn't be that surprised to catch at least a glimpse of her. Todd claimed that he was certain he'd see her again before he died. I don't know where he is right now, but if he's dead, I hope he got what he wanted first; I hope he got to see his sister.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," says a voice behind me.
I pause, immediately recognizing the voice. It's the person I was expecting and, to be honest, it's the only person it could ever have been. Turning slowly, I find Benjamin smiling at me. He's wearing a smart suit, and he looks as if he's dressed for a business meeting, or perhaps a funeral. Either way, he has a slightly sad look in his eyes.
"It's okay," I say as the barman brings my second whiskey over. "I was just..." I glance back at the mirror. Is Patrick still here, somewhere?
"I hope you're not intimidated by the surroundings," Benjamin says. "Please, won't you join me over at my table?" He leads me to a table in the corner of the bar, far away from the other patrons. "I felt we should talk face to face, Shelley. A lot has happened since the last time I saw you, and not all of it has been good. I'm sure you've seen Abby -"
"Why are you doing this to her?" I ask, interrupting him. I sit down, feeling an intense anger start to rise through my body now that I'm confronted with Benjamin's smug, calculating face. "She's just a teenager, and you've fucked with her head and put a metal collar on her neck. Why are you trying to destroy her?"
"I'm not trying to destroy her," he replies calmly. "I'm trying to save her. Do you really think she'd still be alive without my help?" He smiles. "In an ideal world, her father would have looked after her. He would have taken care of her, and taught her how to deal with her abilities. Unfortunately, as I'm sure you're aware, we don't live in an ideal world. We live in a world where parents abandon their children, and that's what Patrick did with Abigail. I don't know why, especially after all the agonies of her birth, but clearly he was willing to let her die". The barman places a whiskey on the table for him. "I wasn't willing to let the girl die. I see potential in her. Her father is the last vampire, but Abigail can be the first of a new breed".
"And you want to control her," I point out, not convinced for a moment by his words.
"I want to guide her," he replies. "I want to give her the support she needs while she works out who she really is. I'm quite certain that, in return, she will show gratitude, and I'm sure that over time we'll help one another. But I certainly don't intend to control her. She'll be free to make her own choices".
"Only after you've fucked with her head so much, she doesn't know what's real any more," I say. "That collar isn't setting her free. It's reminding her every second that she's your property. She's in agony".
"Pain is under-estimated," he replies. "Most people spend their whole lives trying to avoid pain, but ultimately pain is something that comes to us all. I doubt there's ever been a single person on this planet who has lived a life completely free of pain. It's better to confront pain, to face it head-on and learn to master it, than to keep running". He takes a sip from his whiskey. "I'm sure you've felt pain i
n your life, Shelley. I'm sure it hasn't all been a bed of roses".
"Is this why you wanted to meet me?" I ask. "So you could deliver a lecture on the value of pain?"
"I wanted to meet you because I think we can still help one another," he says. "I know we've got off on the wrong foot, repeatedly, but I still think we can work together if we take a moment to recognize our mutual needs".
"Where's Todd?" I ask, determined to cut through Benjamin's bullshit.
"He's dead," he replies. "He was badly injured in a confrontation with Patrick, and I'm afraid his injuries were too severe for him to survive. In the end, Abby chose to end his life in order to save him from more suffering".
"Abby killed him?" I ask, shocked.
He nods. "It was entirely her decision. Personally, I think she was a little harsh, but I wanted to give her the freedom to make her own choice". He smiles. "Or do you think I should have told her what to do? Surely you want her to have these freedoms, don't you? After all, one of the greatest freedoms is the freedom to make mistakes". He smiles. "You want her to be free, yet you want me to stop her from doing things. I'd respectfully suggest, Shelley, that you make your mind up".
"There's no way Abby would have killed Todd unless you..." I pause, taking a deep breath. If Abby killed her uncle, I guess that explains the haunted look in her eyes. "He was the only family she had left," I point out. "She's not a monster".
"I'm her family now," Benjamin replies. "You can be, too, if you decide to help her. Everything is about Abby. She must be supported, and I recognize that I can't do it alone. I can be a substitute father, but she needs a mother". He smiles. "It's a role I've reserved for you, if you're interested".
"She has a mother," I point out.
"A dead mother," he replies. "What use is that? She needs someone to take the role of a mother and give her the things only a mother can give her. Blood ties aren't important. What matters is -"