by Amy Cross
This is something I must change if I'm ever to find a way to defeat him. I must become like Patrick.
Nimrod
Today.
"Thank you," I say to the Flesh Weaver. "I trust you're happy with your payment?" The creature lets out a long, slow moan before turning and slowly walking away. An old debt has finally been repaid, and the Flesh Weaver can return to its home safe in the knowledge that it will never again be forced to play a role in the prophecy.
"Believe it or not," I say, turning to Sophie, "that's the happiest I've ever seen a Flesh Weaver."
Sophie isn't listening to me. With tears running down her face, she's holding Abigail in her arms, unable to stop looking at her. Abigail stares back up at her mother, and the pair of them are slowly bonding as they get to know one another.
"She's so beautiful," Sophie says eventually, her voice cracking as she tries not to sob. "I can't believe she's... I can't believe I'm her mother, but it feels so right. It just feels like -" She pauses for a moment. "There's no trick here, is there? This is Abigail, right?"
"I promise," I say. "You can trust me. Besides, can't you tell? Deep down, can't you feel that this is your daughter? I thought a mother could always tell such things about her child?"
She pauses. "I'm sorry I doubted you," she says, glancing at me.
"Completely understandable," I say.
She looks back down at Abigail. "I know this is gonna sound crazy," she says, "but I swear she's got my Dad's nose."
I smile. It's so strange seeing Sophie like this. It never occurred to me that I would find this part of the plan so emotional. I'm almost tempted to try to find a way for mother and child to be together for longer, but ultimately I know that the prophecy would never allow that. This is the last time that Sophie will ever be truly happy.
"There's a hint of your eyes too," I say.
"You think so?" she asks, still crying.
"Definitely," I say. I pause for a moment. "A hint of Patrick's too."
Sophie bristles at the mention of his name. "Is it too late to make sure she's nothing like him?" she asks. "I don't want her to grow up and remind me of her father."
"I'm sure that won't happen," I say.
"She's a baby," Sophie says, "and she's free. She doesn't have to be or do anything. As long as I raise her properly, and as long as I keep Patrick away from her, she doesn't ever have to know anything about her background. I'll tell her I had a one-night stand or something. Anything to avoid having to tell her the truth about Patrick."
"You might not be able to -"
"Don't say it!" Sophie hisses at me. "Look at her. She's got the whole world ahead of her, her whole life. Don't tell me there's some prophecy that says what's going to happen to her, or what she's going to decide to do. There's not. She's totally free. We're all free."
I open my mouth to respond, but then I realize I have nothing to say. Sophie truly believes she can sever the connection between father and child, and I don't see why I should tell her that this isn't true. Let her believe, for the final few hours of her life, that Abigail can have a long, happy and normal existence. The truth is: there's very little that's normal about this child, even if her true nature will only become apparent much later. Still, I can't help but feel a little resentful; after all, Abigail has been born with qualities that I have desperately wanted for so many years. If I could become her, if I could take her place, I would do so in a heartbeat.
"We should get moving," I say. "Patrick won't be far behind and we need to get away."
"Where are we going?" Sophie asks.
I smile. "I have everything worked out," I say, leading Sophie and Abigail back toward the town. Everything is working perfectly, and the plan is moving into the final phase. I want to smile, but I manage to keep a worried, earnest expression on my face. "It'll be okay," I add, "all you have to do is trust me."
Nimrod
1970.
"Please..." the whore whimpers. "Don't hurt me!"
I look down at her face. Is it possible that she's still alive, after everything I've done to her? I wait to see if she speaks again, but there's nothing.
"Did you hear that?" David whispers in my ear.
"A trick of the wind," I say, but as I drop the girl's body from the window of my apartment, she seems to turn her head to look at me. I watch as she plummets through the snowy evening and lands hard against the ground, her body exploding like a blood-filled bag. "She was barely alive when I met her," I say as I slide the window shut.
"Your apartment is a mess," David says.
"It's always a mess after a kill," I reply. "Don't you have anything to do other than just standing there making obvious comments?"
"That's not a very nice way to talk to your brother," he says as I go and fetch some cleaning equipment. "Especially considering you're the one who killed me."
Ignoring him, I start wiping blood from the door.
"Do you think he was watching tonight?" David asks.
I pause. He means Patrick. "Perhaps," I say. "Yes, probably."
"Do you think he's proud of you?"
I sigh. "How should I know?" I ask, feeling a little impatient. "I'm sure he's watching, and I'm sure he's learning that I'm far more powerful and dangerous than he ever realized. I'm sure I'm making an impression." I turn to David, but he's gone. Typical. He always disappears just as I'm arguing with him, but everything I said is true. I don't know how, or why, but I'm absolutely certain that Patrick is watching my every move. He must be. He wrote me off as some pathetic failure, but I'm showing him that I have the necessary blood lust. Soon, when he's seen enough, Patrick will come to me and finally do what he should have done long ago. I will become a vampire.
Nimrod
Today.
"Patrick has spies everywhere," I say to Sophie as we walk through the outskirts of Dedston. "Trust me, if we try to leave town via any of the conventional routes, he'll be onto us immediately. That's why we have to be a little inventive and come up with something he'll never, ever expect." I'm lying to her. I'm giving her false hope. The truth is: I'm not trying to avoid Patrick at all; I'm trying to draw him toward us. My plan demands his arrival.
Sophie's barely listening to me. Cradling Abigail in her arms, she's totally transfixed by her child's face. There's nothing wrong with that, and I suppose I should let them be together while they can. Not that it'll do much good, of course, but I'm sure Sophie will feel a little better if she is able to tell herself that she spent time with her daughter. If only I could tell her the truth, and if only I could show her what I'm really doing. Perhaps she'd take some comfort in knowing that I'm working to defeat Patrick, but telling her would be a risk, because it would expose my plan to the danger of failure. No, I must keep her in the dark. It's sad, but she will have to die without understanding what is really happening.
"This might seem a little unconventional," I say, stopping as we reach a small building, "but I'm absolutely certain that this is the best way for us to leave Dedston without Patrick finding out." I pause. Of course I have no intention of us leaving Dedston without Patrick finding out. I want Patrick to know where we are, and this route that I've picked out is specifically designed to attract his attention. Even now, he might well have sensed where we are. He could be on his way at this very moment; if he's not, he will be soon. The prophecy demands that he finds us, and one should never try to go against a prophecy. Of course, that doesn't mean that one can't tweak a few minor aspects of how the prophecy manifests...
"The sewer?" Sophie says, her eyes widening as she stares at the sign on the small door that I'm opening. "There's no way I'm taking Abigail down into a sewer."
"It's an abandoned stretch," I say, having anticipated her concern. "It's as clean as being up here in the streets, and it's the only way to avoid Patrick."
"It's dirty!" she says. "Abigail might get sick. What kind of a mother do you think I am?"
"It's fine down there," I say. I knew this conversation
would take place, and I prepared for it almost word-for-word. "It's a part of the sewer system that was shut down years ago. The town flushed everything out. It's probably cleaner than most parts of Dedston. No-one's going to get sick, and it's our best chance to get away from Patrick."
Sophie pauses. I can see that she trusts me. Earlier today, she was clearly starting to doubt me, but now that I've delivered Abigail I guess I've earned a little faith. She trusts me to deliver them both to safety. I almost feel bad for leading her to her death.
We head into the building and down a spiral staircase, which leads into a long, dark brick tunnel. There are small electric lights set into the wall at regular intervals, and the tunnel is wide enough for us to walk along the small pathway without having to step down into the trickle of water that still runs its length. It's rather claustrophobic down here, but it's a convincing escape route even if it's also, ultimately, one that will prove to be ineffective. This is the perfect place for Patrick to find and corner us.
"It's just water," I say, noticing the look of concern on Sophie's face. "A small underground river flows through here, that's all. The water's absolutely clean. You could drink it if you wanted."
"No thanks," she says, peering ahead into the gloom. "So what now? How far do we have to walk?"
"The abandoned sewer leads past the town limits," I say. That's a lie. "I've arranged for us to be picked up by someone who's on our side." That's also a lie. "We'll just follow this route, and we'll be fine." Again, a lie. The truth is, we've come down her for one reason only: this is Patrick's territory. Instead of coming into the sewer to get away from him, we've come here to make sure he finds us.
"Okay," Sophie says, as we start hurrying along the tunnel. She seems to recognize that she has no option but to trust me. After all, if she rejects me and goes her own way, she can have no hope of ever escaping Patrick. Like all humans, she retains a sense of hope even in the most difficult of circumstances. I almost admire her, although ultimately the only true emotion I feel is pity.
"So this prophecy," she says after a moment. "Is it -"
"Let's not talk about it right now," I say, looking back over my shoulder. There's no sign of Patrick yet, but he must be close.
"But I need to know if -"
"Not now!" I say, almost raising my voice. "There's a time and a place for everything, and right now we have to focus on getting away from Patrick."
"Sorry," she says, sounding rather pathetic.
At some point I'm going to have to pretend that the plan is going wrong. I'm going to have to act as if something unexpected has happened, and I'm going to have to pretend that I want to help Sophie get away. At that moment, Sophie's happiness will end forever. For now, though, I can give her a few more minutes with Abigail; I can let her think a little longer that there's a chance they can get away and live together far from Patrick. The truth, though, is that you can't beat Patrick by running away from him; all you can do is run toward him and hope for the best.
"You're coming with me, aren't you?" Sophie asks, glancing at me as we walk. "I need you to come with me."
"I'll try," I say. Another lie. "I might have to wait behind. If Patrick catches up to us, I'll have to stay and stop him. If that happens, I'll probably never see you again. But we might be lucky, he might not appear, and then yes, I'll come with you." It's all a lie. The whole point of this plan is that neither Sophie or I will get out of here alive. The prophecy demands that she must die, and I have decided that I must die too. The plan demands my own sacrifice, but when I breathe my last breath I will know that in doing so I am forcing Patrick to condemn himself to disaster. It will be a good death, because it will bring me a victory of sorts.
I wish I could say the same about Sophie's death. Hers will be painful, slow and heart-breaking. She'll know, in her final moments, the true horror of being torn to pieces. She might even understand the truth about what is happening to her, about what I've done. Meanwhile, little Abigail will be abandoned forever, and finally the Watchers will be in control.
My thoughts are interrupted by a subtle sound in the distance. Glancing over my shoulder at the tunnel behind us, I half expect to see Patrick has caught up with us already, but there's no sign of him. Still, I heard something. It must have been him. The endgame is beginning, and there's no turning back. I must ensure that all fear is stifled, that all thoughts of changing the plan are ignored. I have waited for this moment. It's time to face Patrick one final time.
"Go on without me," I say suddenly, stopping in my tracks.
Sophie stops and turns to me. "Why?" she asks, with a look of concern in her eyes.
"I thought -" I look back again. There's still no sign of him, but I know he's coming. "I thought I heard something," I say. "I'll wait here and see if it's him."
"You said he wouldn't find us so fast," Sophie says.
"Maybe," I reply, "but I can't take any risks. It might be him. If it is, I'll hold him off for as long as possible."
"Not if -" she starts to say.
"Don't argue!" I say, raising my voice a little as I interrupt. "The most important thing is that you get Abigail away, far away, so that Patrick can never get his hands on her." It's hard not to laugh. After all, there's absolutely no chance that Sophie can get Abigail away from Patrick. The fun is in making Patrick believe that he's hunting us down, because only when he thinks he's won will he realize that he's made a terrible, tragic mistake. By that point, it'll be too late for him to do anything about it. Prophecies might be fixed, but with a little ingenuity it's possible to make subtle changes that can have big consequences.
"You'll come after us, right?" Sophie says.
"If I can," I reply. "Meanwhile just keep going, and when you get to the other end of the tunnel there'll be someone waiting for you. Someone you can trust." All lies. There's no-one waiting to help her, and there's no chance she'll get to the end of the tunnel.
"You have to catch up to us," she says, and I can see that she's terrified of going on without me.
"I'll try," I say, suddenly realizing that this is it: this is the last time I'll ever see her again. "I'm sure Abigail is in the best possible hands. Just look after her, and do everything in your power to keep her safe."
"We'll see you soon," Sophie says. "Both of us. And -" Suddenly she stops speaking and a look of horror comes across her face. I understand immediately what she's seen. Turning slowly, I see the unmistakeable silhouette of Patrick in the darkness behind us.
Nimrod
1985.
"Come back!" I scream into the night, but he's gone.
Gone forever.
I look down at Gladys Hoult's dead body. Why did I even bother killing her, if Patrick is going to continually ignore my efforts? The only reason I kill these whores is so that Patrick will understand my true nature. Yet I've been killing them for years and years, and still he doesn't seem to realize that I'm ready to become a vampire. I've lost track of how many women I've murdered, but it must be close to a hundred. To avoid detection, I've traveled the world and killed in different cities: London, New York, Paris, Rome, Istanbul... the list is endless. Sometimes Patrick appears, as if he's interested in watching me, but most of the time I am alone as I sink my teeth into the girls' flesh.
Has it all been for nothing?
"It's over," David says.
"No," I say firmly. "It's not over."
"He's rejected you," David points out. "You've tried over and over again to show Patrick that you can be like him, and he just ignores you."
"But he hasn't killed me," I reply. "If he truly disapproved of me, he could easily end my life, so why does he leave me alive? Why does he let me continue to kill like this?"
David says nothing. He clearly doesn't have an answer.
"Perhaps if he won't give me what I want," I say slowly, taking a deep breath, "I'll have to take it by force."
"You want to go to war with a vampire?"
"Not war," I say. "Execution. I'll t
rack him down and destroy him. And then, as he dies, I'll take his face and I'll rip open his mouth and I'll force him to turn me into a vampire. It's the only way."
"You're delusional," David says.
"You're dead," I reply.
"Good point."
"Maybe I'm delusional," I continue, "and maybe not, but if I can't get him to change me, then I'll just kill him. Or I'll torture him. Either way, I'll make sure he sees that he can't just ignore me. After all the things I've done, he can't just walk away and pretend I don't exist." I look down at Gladys Hoult's body. "This will be the last kill," I say. "The last like this, anyway. I don't need to kill any more women."
There's a pause. I look over at David, half expecting him to be gone, but he's still there. "I can't watch this," he says finally.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"I can't watch you degenerate like this," he explains. "When I thought you had a passion for change, I was willing to overlook the fact that you killed me. But now, you're just pathetic. You're giving up."
"I'm not giving up!" I shout at him. "I'm changing my plan! I'm going to destroy him!"
"And that's what I can't watch," David says. "I wish you luck, Charles, but I can't watch you do this. You won't see me again."
"So you're going to abandon me," I say. "Just like mother and father abandoned us. Just like Patrick abandoned us. You abandoning me because you can't go along with everything that I'm doing. Is that it?"
"I suppose it is," he replies. "I can't watch my own brother descend into madness."
I stare at him. After all this, am I really going to be betrayed yet again? He's been there for me, always, and yet now that things are set to get more difficult he decides to abandon me? What kind of brother is he? "Fine," I say. "Go. I don't care. I don't need you. You're no use at all."