by Amy Cross
"Are you really going to let them burn him?"
"I think it's the right thing to do. And even if I didn't, there's no way I can stop them. I'm not like Patrick; I can't take on hundreds of people. I'm just a man, more or less." He smiles. "That's part of the problem, really. I'm just a man, like all the other men. I have very few distinguishing characteristics. There's very little that makes me special." He gazes down at Patrick. "I could have been more, but it wasn't to be. Perhaps if Patrick had made different choices, I'd be able to help him."
"Do you promise me we can find Abigail?" I say. "Do you promise you'll help me?"
Nimrod nods again. "I promise," he says. "I've lived for the moment when Patrick dies, and I always thought I'd die at the same time. Now that the moment arrives, I have to find something else to occupy my time. So I'll help you. If Abigail can be found, we'll find her, even without Patrick. I promise you." He heads to the door and looks out at the fire. "It won't be long now."
I look out at the fire and see that Cassandra's body has vanished into the flames. The others are standing and watching, but soon they'll turn and come for Patrick. I look around, hoping one final time to spot some way I can stop them, but there's nothing. All I see are a group of tents. I step toward the fire, feeling the heat against my face, and I look over and see the smiling faces of the others. It's almost as if they're enjoying this ritual, as if they're looking forward to carrying Patrick's body out and watching him die.
I stare at them.
Maybe I can't stop them burning Patrick.
But I can make sure that they don't get to watch him die.
I hurry over to one of the tents and grab one of the oil lamps, and then I grab some wood from near the fire. Holding the wood in one of the smaller fires that illuminate the rest of the camp, it takes me a moment to get it burning. As soon as it's ready, I hurry back to the tent where Patrick is still unconscious.
"What are you doing?" Nimrod asks, though he seems more curious than alarmed.
"This," I say, throwing the oil lamp into the tent. It smashes on the ground, spilling oil everywhere. "And this," I add, throwing the burning wood inside. There's a huge roar as the flame hits the oil, and within seconds there's a massive fire in the center of the tent. The heat is so intense, it forces us to step back, and within seconds the flames are up to the canvas roof and are burning through to reach the night sky. At this rate, the entire tent will be destroyed in a matter of minutes.
"Goodbye," I say under my breath, barely able to see Patrick's body beyond the flames.
"What are you doing?" shouts a voice from nearby. The others run over to see what's happening, but it's already too late and the tent containing Patrick is burning fast.
"That was brave," Nimrod says to me. "Brave and foolish. I don't think I can protect you from them."
"At least they won't get to watch at him as he dies," I say, staring at the flames and imagining them starting to reach Patrick's body. "At least, when we find Abigail, I won't have to tell her that I allowed her father to be burned to death by a baying mob."
Bowie storms over to me. "Did you do this?" he shouts. There's anger in his eyes. He was clearly looking forward to watching Patrick's body burn, and now I've denied him that prize.
I nod. "If he -" I start to say, but Bowie grabs me by the collar and pulls me close to him. He leans into my face, almost snarling with anger. "He's going to die anyway," I say, looking up at him. "But at least this way, you don't get to watch."
"You're very loyal to him," Bowie says angrily, "and very stupid. But if I can't watch Patrick's body burn, at least I'll be able to watch yours." Grabbing my arm, he pulls me toward the burning tent and throws me into the flames. I try to hold myself back, but it's no use and all I can do is close my eyes as I feel the heat engulf me.
Bowie
"Let her die," I say, staring at the flames as they consume the tent. The central pole collapses and the canvas comes down. No-one could survive in there. "She robbed of us our chance to watch Patrick die. Let her join him in hell. They can burn together forever."
The Elder, standing next to me, bows his head. "After all this time," he says, "we've finally..." He pauses, and I see that tears are coming from his eyes as he weeps.
"Don't act as if you pity him," I say, my eyes transfixed by the flames. "Remember the days when we were strong. Remember the days when we held power, when we thought we would live forever, and then remember the day when he came and took our power and made us become lowly humans. That feeling of weakness has remained ever since, but tonight we have power one final time, because tonight we've destroyed him. He deserved to die."
"Are you sure about that?" asks a voice from nearby.
I turn to find Nimrod standing in the shadows.
"What do you know about anything?" I ask. "Perhaps you should be careful, or you might end up in the fire with them."
Nimrod smiles. "Do you know Patrick at all?" he says. "Do you really believe that he can be killed so easily?"
"All creatures have a weakness," I reply.
"True," Nimrod says. "Including you, Bowie. And if I might be so bold, I would suggest that your weakness is pride. Unfortunately, you seem to take pride in all the wrong things."
"She's alive!" shouts a voice from the other side of the tent. I turn to see one of my brothers pulling Sophie clear from the flames. She's unconscious, but she doesn't look badly injured.
"How did she get out?" I shout. "Throw her back in!"
As I'm about to go over and deal with her myself, I notice that the Elder is stepping back, with a look of fear on his face.
"What's wrong with you?" I ask. I turn and look at the flames, and immediately I see a figure stepping out of the inferno. It takes me a moment to accept what's happening, but finally I find myself just standing and staring as Patrick - naked - walks straight toward me.
"You're dead," I say, my voice faltering. "You have to be dead..."
"It takes more than flames to kill a vampire," Nimrod says, sounding almost pleased to see Patrick. "All the flames did was wake him up. I've got to admit, I was worried for a moment. I thought maybe your dumb little plan might actually work."
"You deserve to die," I say as Patrick reaches me. "You deserve to burn in the fires of hell."
"You're wrong," says the Elder. "Patrick had a choice of killing us, or making us mortal. He killed thousands of our brothers, but he allowed a few of us to live on as humans. Perhaps we should thank him for showing us mercy, and..." He pauses. "I'm afraid I don't believe for one moment that he killed Cassandra."
As I stare at Patrick, my heart filling with rage, he reaches out a hand and places it on one side of my head, and then he does the same with his other hand. For a moment, I feel sure that he's about to break my neck; instead, he simply pushes down and forces me onto my knees. Looking up at his naked body, I find myself experiencing the same weakness that I've felt ever since I became human.
"Return me to my former self," I say. "Let me be a vampire again."
Patrick just stares at me.
"It's not possible," Nimrod says. "One can't simply flit between the two species."
"He's right," says the Elder. "The change is permanent. We would do better to accept it, than to fight for our old life."
"I won't accept it," I say. "If I can't be strong, I refuse to be weak. I demand that you kill me."
Patrick doesn't respond.
"Kill me!" I shout at him.
Patrick stares at me, and then he turns and walks over to where Sophie has been dragged from the flames. He leans down, picks her up, and starts carrying her away into the forest.
"Kill me!" I scream, but he doesn't even turn back to me.
"Here," says Nimrod, passing me a small flint knife. "If you're so keen to die, do it yourself."
I position the knife above my chest, ready to plunge it into my heart and end this miserable existence. I can't live any longer as a human; I can't live as such a weak creature, not when I remember what i
t was like to be so strong. No matter how hard I try, however, I can't bring myself to drive the knife into myself. The same weakness that drives me insane, also prevents me from taking the only honorable route out of this misery. Finally, I throw the knife to the ground.
"Someone," I say, staring at the others. "Someone do it. Someone kill me."
The others just stare back at me.
"We leave at dawn," says the Elder. "We can't stay here, living like vagrants. We must go and find real lives. We must integrate into the human world and enjoy the years that we have left. It would be a waste to remain here, rotting and remembering what life used to be like."
"I won't accept such weakness," I say, staring at the knife. "All I ask is that before you leave, you end my misery."
I wait, but one by one they all walk away until only Nimrod is left beside me.
"You let him go," I say, staring at him. "You wanted him dead, just like I did, but you let him walk away with that pathetic human girl in his arms."
Nimrod smiles. "We're playing different games, you and I," he says. "I want Patrick dead, yes. But I want him dead in a certain way, and burning to death at your hands was never going to satisfy me. I wanted him to take Sophie, and that's exactly what he did." He pauses. "You have to learn to live, Bowie. You have to learn to find things that give your heart hope."
"There's nothing," I say. "I can't forget the power I used to have."
"You must," Nimrod replies. He picks up the knife. "Is there nothing you want? Is there no-one you love?"
I shake my head.
"Then you must find these things," he says. "You must go into the human world and explore. If you focus only on the body, you'll never escape your feelings of weakness, but if you focus on the human experience, you'll feel powerful again. Well, that's what they tell me."
I stare into the darkness. "There was a girl," I say slowly. "When Cassandra and I used to go into town to scavenge for food, there was a girl I saw once or twice. We never made eye contact, and I only saw her from afar. But I still think about her. Why is that?"
"Perhaps you could fall in love with her," Nimrod says. "Go and find her."
I get to my feet. "I can't believe that anything can ever make me feel strong again," I say.
"But you'll try?" he asks.
I nod reluctantly.
"Then you have hope in your heart," he says.
I pause. "Perhaps," I say.
"Excellent," Nimrod says. "Then you may die." And with no warning, he thrusts the knife straight into my heart, twisting it briefly and then pulling it away.
I drop back down to my knees. Looking down, I see blood pouring from the wound, and I feel my body becoming weaker and weaker. "Why did you do that?" I gasp. "Why did you give me hope, and then..."
"It would have been no fun killing you when you wanted to die," he replies, throwing the bloody knife to the ground, "but once you wanted to live, I felt like it might be enjoyable." He smiles. "I was right."
As he turns and walks away, I try to get to my feet, but I fall back to the ground. Too weak to walk, and too weak to call for help, I roll onto my back and stare up at the stars. I was once a powerful creature. I fought great battles and I made men fear me, but now I'm reduced to this pathetic state, murdered for another man's enjoyment. I watch as the stars start to fade away, and everything around me becomes black. I used to believe I was immortal, but now I find myself experiencing death. It's neither as terrifying, nor as cold, as I expected. I simply feel myself slipping from my body.
The last thing I see is a strange shape appearing in the darkness, looking down at me. It's swiftly joined by another, and then another. The ghosts have come to watch my final moments.
"Get away!" I shout at them. "I don't want you here!"
They ignore me, of course. If anything, more and more of them are gathering around me. My final thought is: should I die with my eyes open, or should I close them? By the time I've decided to close them, it's too late and I'm already gone.
Book Three
The Ghost of the Girl in the Well
Prologue
He drags me screaming through the forest. Although I fight and fight and claw at his hands, he won't release his grip on me. He just keeps walking, dragging me along the ground. I twist around and bite into his flesh, but he doesn't even seem to notice as my teeth sink in and draw blood. Of course, his blood tastes different to other blood: older, richer and less sweet. I feel bad biting him; I know I shouldn't do it, but I don't know how else to stop him. Finally, as we approach the well, I decide to try a different tactic.
"Let me go!" I shout. "I'll give you anything! You know I have power; I can get things for you that you'll like! Anything! Everything! Just let me go!"
He responds by slamming me to the ground, shattering one of my ankles. I howl in pain as I hear him sliding the heavy stone lid off the top of the well. Looking down, I see a sharp splinter of bone protruding from the skin just above my foot. That'll never heal properly; I'll be crippled for life.
"Why are you doing this?" I hiss, looking up at him. There are tears in my eyes, but I refuse to cry. I won't give him that satisfaction. After everything I've done for him, he's treating me like trash. "We were friends once. We worked together, you showed me so much. Why have you turned on me?"
He reaches down and hauls me up, and then he drags me to the very edge of the well. I look into his deep, dark eyes and where once I saw compassion and sympathy, now I see nothing but hatred and malice.
"Whatever it is," I say, trying not to betray my fear by shaking, "I didn't do it. You know me. I'd never betray you or your people. There's been some kind of mix-up; we just need to talk about it."
He pauses. For a moment - just a moment - I think I see a flicker of doubt cross his face, as if he's briefly considering the possibility that I might be innocent. Have I managed to fool him? Is he going to let me go? I wait, not daring to speak, hoping beyond hope that he'll decide to show mercy, but he just keeps staring at me. What the hell is going through his mind?
"Please..." I whisper eventually.
Suddenly he pushes me backward. I try to grab hold of the side of the well, but it's no use and I tumble into the darkness. It feels like I fall forever, but eventually I slam into the wet, hard stone at the bottom. Feeling more broken bones, I try to get up, but it's too painful. I let out a scream of frustration. Trying to hobble forward, I collapse back onto the stone floor. I try to get up again, but it's useless. All I can do is lift my head and look up at the circle of light that's ten, maybe twenty meters above me.
"Get me out of here!" I shout up to him, my words echoing.
He just stares down at me. What's he waiting for?
"Please..." I whisper one more time, the tears finally rolling down my cheeks. I know he can't hear me. He doesn't even care. "Please don't do this to me, Patrick... I tried to be a good daughter."
As I stare down at the stone floor, I hear the sound of him pushing the stone covering. I look up just as the circle of light is blocked off, leaving me alone in the damp darkness of the well. I'm in agony, with bones broken all over my body. They'll heal, over time, but I can't afford to stay down here for too long.
"Help me," I say, listening to my voice echo in the confined space.
Listening to the darkness, I hear a squeak and realize that there's a rat in here with me. My first thought is fear, but then I realize that rats are likely to be my only source of food. This is good; at least I'll be able to eat while I come up with some kind of plan to get out of here. My mother once told me that no matter how bad things look, no matter what kind of mess you're in, there's always a way out. You just have to be smart enough to come up with a plan, and strong enough to put that plan into action, so I just have to focus on thinking of something. There's a way out of here, if only I can work out what to do.
Another squeak.
I'm hungry, so I wait as the squeak comes closer and closer. I've always hunted primarily by sight, so it
takes me some time to adjust to hunting in the pitch-black darkness, but soon I feel the rat's fur as it hurries along the side of my neck. Listening to it scurrying about, with only the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears, I wait for the perfect moment and finally I pounce, grabbing the rat between my hands. To my surprise, I find that I'm successful, but the rat starts biting at my hand in exactly the same way that earlier I was biting Patrick. Patrick showed no mercy to me, however, and I shall show no mercy to the rat.
Tiring of the biting, I lean down and bite the rat's head off. Its hot blood floods into my mouth as I chew and suck on the meat of its neck, spitting out the occasional bone. Surprisingly, the taste isn't too bad. I wouldn't choose to eat rat if I still lived up there in the mortal world, but I don't mind it too much while I'm down here. Finally, after I've eaten the entire rat, I sit back in the darkness and feel its bones between my hands. It's so strange that life can be extinguished with such apparent ease.
I wait.
Seconds pass.
And then minutes.
And then hours.
And then days.
And then weeks, and months, and years.
And still, Patrick doesn't come back for me.
And then, one day, just as I'm finishing eating yet another rat, I hear the stone covering slide open. I look up as the covering is removed, but I'm quickly blinded by the sun and I have to retreat to a corner, covering my eyes. I listen to the sound of something being dragged up to the edge of the well, and then there's a pause before a heavy item plummets down the hole and lands in the water that has recently flooded the very bottom of the pit.
"Patrick?" I call out, my voice sounding hoarse. "Father?"
I hear the covering being slid back across, and finally I'm back in darkness again.
I wait.
Time passes.
I crawl forward.
There's something else in here with me now. Something bigger than a rat. Something with shallow, halting breathing. I think it might be unconscious, though I can't be certain, but whatever it is, it's here. It's definitely here. It's so close, I could reach out and touch it.