Dark Season: The Complete Box Set

by Amy Cross

  "It's not me," the baby says again. "It's not me, it's not me, it's not me."

  "I know it's not you!" I shout at her.

  "It's not -" the baby starts to repeat, but then it turns and looks over at the door.

  I turn and see that Patrick is here. Covered in Nimrod's blood, he's breathing hard and deep. I've never seen Patrick out of breath before, and it's a terrifying sight. There's so much power coiled up in his body, so much rage and anger and fury.

  "I didn't know," I say, staring at him. "I swear I thought this was her."

  Patrick walks toward the crib.

  "She's far away," the baby says, grinning at me with big, dark eyes. "You'll never find her, not until it's too late. The real Abigail will never again feel her mother's touch."

  "What are you going to do?" I ask as Patrick gets closer. I look down at the baby, which is still grinning at me. "You can't kill her," I say. "She's not Abigail, but she's still a real -"

  At that moment, I see that the baby's skin is starting to turn black. Within seconds, pieces of black skin are starting to fall away like paper. Soon, her entire body collapses into a heap of black ash.

  "I thought it was her," I say quietly. I can't believe that Nimrod was able to fool me. Was I so desperate to be with Abigail that I ignored all the warning signs, or was the deception so complete that I never had a chance? "Where is she?" I ask, looking up at Patrick. "Where's the real Abigail?"

  He looks down at me and I see rage in his eyes. The same rage he had when he was destroying Nimrod's body. Instinctively, I turn and run across the room, heading out the door and back into the main chamber. I feel something crunch under my foot, and I see that there are more and more spiders. I rush over to the book and try desperately to read the final page. "The real child shall be hidden," I read out loud, "and the Age of Chaos shall begin." And that's it. That's the end of the book, although it seems there's one final page that has been torn away.

  Suddenly I feel something warm and wet in the corner of my eye. Checking with my finger, I find a spot of blood, and there's more coming from my nose.

  "This is my fault," I whisper. "I believed Nimrod. I let him trick us, and now..." I try to imagine where he would have hidden Abigail, but it's a hopeless task. She could be anywhere, with anyone. She could be fine and happy, or she could be locked in a dungeon. There's just no way of knowing. And -

  Suddenly I remember something. Something from a long time ago. Something that Vincent told me. Back when I first met Patrick, Vincent told me that the prophecy would happen and that I would be to blame.

  "Patrick knows that it's his destiny," he told me, "to one day kill you."

  I remember shaking my head, unable to believe it. "That's impossible", I insisted.

  "It's what will happen," Vincent said quietly, kindly but firmly. "One day, Patrick will kill you."

  I couldn't understand at the time. "Some kind of accident?" I asked, trying to make sense of it.

  "Not an accident," Vincent said. "He will kill you on purpose, and with great anger. He will be filled with rage. And..." He paused. I remember the look in his eyes, as if he felt he couldn't say the final words.

  "And what?" I asked, determined to make him tell me.

  "And it will be your fault," he said. "Something you do will make him so angry, he will kill you."

  At the time, it seemed impossible that I would ever do anything so awful, but now, with Abigail lost to Nimrod's schemes, and with no way to find her, I start to understand. If it wasn't for me, Nimrod wouldn't have been able to do this. If I hadn't believed that the child was Abigail, Patrick wouldn't have assumed it was true. It's my fault that Abigail has been lost.

  I hear something moving behind me.

  Turning slowly, I find that Patrick is walking closer and closer.

  "You can't..." I start to say, but the words won't come out of my mouth. "You can't..." I move away from him, but he keeps coming. "I'm sorry!" I shout at him. "I thought it was her!" Tears are streaming from my eyes. "I really really really thought it was her!"

  He just keeps walking toward me, with a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

  "It's not just my fault," I say, backing away from him as I feel more spiders crunch under my feet. "It's as much your fault as it's mine. You're the one who killed Nimrod. If you'd been smarter, if you'd kept him alive, we could still have found her. We still can. We just have to work together!"

  No response. He just keeps coming.

  "This doesn't have to be the end!" I shout at him. "We can still find Abigail. She might be safe. We might be able to get her back, and she'll need us both. Don't give up!"

  I suddenly find that I'm backed up against the wall. I see the door at the far end of the room, but I have no idea if I could get to it in time.

  "You're angry," I say through the tears as Patrick gets closer and closer. "Don't make decisions when you're angry. Don't just use violence every time."

  He keeps coming.

  I have to make a decision.

  I run.

  I duck past him and run across the chamber. Everything seems to be going in slow motion, but finally I get to the other side of the room. I grab the door and to my surprise it comes open. I glance back and see Patrick running after me, and there's a look of pure anger in his eyes. I slip through the door and pull it shut, and then I keep on running.

  I find myself in a long tunnel. Making my way up a set of stone steps, to my surprise I find myself finally back in the cave where Patrick and Vincent's house used to stand. I keep running, heading toward the exit. I know Patrick must be right behind me, and I'm certain he can outrun me, but I have to keep going. I have to find a way out. I have to -

  Suddenly I spot something off to one side. It takes me a moment to realize that it's Vincent. He's staring at me with a look of great sadness in his eyes. I stop, shocked to see him. For a moment, I try to work out how he could be here, but then I realize he's a ghost.

  There's a noise behind me.

  A roar.

  I turn and see that it's Patrick.

  "You're angry!" I shout. "Don't do this!"

  With anger in his eyes, he throws himself at me, lashing out. It's like being attacked by a wild animal. He crunches into me, side-swiping me, hurting me, and then falling to the ground, leaving me standing. He gets to his feet and turns back to me. The anger is still in his eyes but then, quite suddenly, something changes. All the anger seems to fade away and there's a look of horror.

  I'm in pain.

  Pain in my belly.

  I look down and see that there's blood everywhere, pouring down my legs and onto the ground. It takes me a moment to realize that Patrick has ripped my body open.

  All I can hear is my own heartbeat pounding in my ears.

  I reach down to try to stop the blood from pouring from the huge hole in my belly, but it's no use. There's blood everywhere, and my intestines are falling out, flopping onto the floor.

  I start to collapse, but Patrick catches me. He lowers me to the ground. I look up into his eyes and see an expression of anguish. It's as if the anger has gone now and he's presented with the true horror of what he's done to me.

  I reach up and try to push him away, but I've barely got the strength to keep my eyes open. All I can think about is Abigail. I don't know where she is, but I know she's in danger. If I'm gone, Patrick's the only person left who can save her, but she needs more. She needs someone who can actually look after her.

  "Find her," I whisper, as my mouth fills with blood.

  Everything's starting to go dark now. I feel weak. I try to look down, to see my body, but I can't move my head at all. My heartbeat is still pounding in my ears as I slowly close my eyes. I can feel Patrick's arms holding me. The heartbeat keeps going in the dark, pounding away, and I try to imagine what it would have been like if I'd found the real Abigail, if Patrick and I had somehow managed to make things work.

  My heartbeat suddenly stops.

  All that's left
is darkness, and then even that slips away to nothing.

  Epilogue

  One Day Ago. New York.

  It's midnight. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. A plane passes overhead. The lights of Manhattan shine in the distance.

  The old woman is down by the banks of the Hudson, scavenging for anything she might be able to sell. She's looking for metal, mainly; old bits of scrap that merchants will buy. She'll only make a few dollars for anything she finds, but a few dollars are all she needs for a cup of coffee and a slice of pizza.

  Tonight, though, she's having no luck. The banks of the river are muddy and sludgy, and she's been out here for hours without finding anything. If her luck doesn't turn, she'll have nothing to sell and that means she'll have nothing to eat the next day. She's getting desperate, but there are still a few hours until dawn. There's still a chance.

  After a while, she spots something down by the water's edge. A basket has washed up. It's not particularly promising, but she figures it might be worth a look so she heads over. Only when she gets closer does she realize that there's a sound coming from the basket. The old woman slows down, worried that there might be a wild animal in there, a raccoon or something else that could bite her.

  And then a baby starts to cry.

  The old woman stands absolutely still, frozen in the moonlight. She has no idea what to do. She can't sell a baby, so her first instinct is to just leave it alone. Why cause herself trouble? There'll be questions. She's already been harassed by the cops more times than she cares to remember, so why endure more of the same? They'll accuse her of kidnapping the child, or they'll claim she was going to try to sell it. She turns to walk away. This isn't her problem.

  Once the old woman has left, Abigail continues to cry for a few minutes before stopping. Stranded on the muddy, dirty banks of the river, the baby looks up at the night sky and sees the moon. She's calmed for a moment, feeling some kind of connection. She's spent so long being cared for by strange creatures, she finds the sudden peace and quiet strangely relaxing. All alone, and with no idea of the fate awaiting her, she happily stares up at the sky.

  This is how the Book of Gothos ends. But this page was ripped from the book long ago, before Patrick ever got hold of it. Beyond this point, there is no more prophecy. As Gothos himself noted, this is how the Age of Chaos begins.

  Dark Season III

  Book 1

  Abigail

  Prologue

  She's gone.

  I start to collapse, but Patrick catches me. He lowers me to the ground. I look up into his eyes and see an expression of anguish. It's as if the anger has gone now and he's presented with the true horror of what he's done to me.

  The snow is several feet deep, but I have to keep moving. I have to get as far away from Dedston as possible, to get away from everything I've done. Even up here in the mountains, I won't be safe from my own thoughts, but at least I can try to get away from the world. The image of Sophie's dead body haunts me, although her soul itself is long gone.

  I reach up, putting my hand on the side of his face. I try to speak, to say "Find her" and to let him know that she must be out there somewhere, to make sure he won't give up on Abigail, but no words come my mouth, only blood.

  I knew this day would come. I fought against it; I did everything I could to keep from fulfilling the prophecy, and for a time I thought I had a chance. I should have known better. When a prophecy is recorded in blood and handed down by generation after generation, it becomes too strong for anyone to break. I've done what I was always going to do, and the only thing left for me now is to wait sixteen years until Abigail is ready to take my place.

  Everything's starting to go black now. I feel weak. I try to look down, to see my body, but I can't move my head at all. My heartbeat is still pounding in my ears as I slowly close my eyes. I can feel Patrick's arms holding me. The heartbeat keeps going in the dark, pounding away with a frantic rhythm, and I try to imagine what it would have been like if I'd found the real Abigail, if Patrick and I had somehow managed to make things work.

  I lost track long ago of how many people I have killed in my lifetime. Thousands and thousands, certainly. Death is inevitable for all creatures, even those of us who claim to be immortal. Nothing can truly live forever. I know this now, as the Age of Chaos draws close around me.

  My heartbeat suddenly stops.

  What if I had not killed her? What if I had stood firm and denied fate its prize? Would everything be okay now? Or would the forces of darkness have broken through? The spiders were already coming, and I have no doubt that they were just harbingers for a greater threat. Even now, I feel something approaching; something waking in the shadows. It feels almost as if... But that's not possible. They're dead, all of them. There is nothing in the world that could ever bring them back. They have been sealed into a death so deep, they can never return to the land of the living.

  All that's left is darkness, and then even that slips away to nothing.

  Stopping in the snow, I look down at my fists. I've kept them tightly closed ever since I left Dedston, but the time has come to open them. Slowly, I extend my fingers and see that it's even worse than I'd feared. There's dried blood all over my hands, covering the skin completely.

  Her blood, spilled when I ripped her to pieces. No matter how hard I try, this blood will always be with me.

  Sixteen years later.

  Abigail

  Callerton, New Mexico.

  "That's her!" calls out a distant voice.

  Damn it, I was starting to think they wouldn't find me today. I know what's coming next. I can already hear the thunderous footsteps of three, maybe four girls running across the park toward me. I don't know how they manage to find me every single day after school, but I never seem to be able to escape them. It's like they can sniff me out. I guess I've become their new hobby, and I don't really blame them; this town is so dull and boring, you have to work hard to get your kicks. Until they're old enough to drink, bugging me is probably the most exciting thing for these idiots to do.

  "Hey Abby!" shouts the lead girl, Donna, as she shoulder-barges me to one side. "Whatcha doing down here by the river?"

  I stare at her, wishing I could just make her vanish into thin air. I hate having to deal with her stupidity every day. I just want to be left alone to get on with my own boring existence.

  "What's wrong, Abby?" she continues, carefully stepping in my way no matter how I try to walk around her. "Cat got your tongue?"

  "It's almost like she can't talk," says one of the other girls, Emma.

  "That's right!" Donna says, pretending to be surprised. "I almost forgot! How are the braces going, Abby? Can I see them?"

  I turn and try walking the other way, but Donna and her three friends quickly get in front of me, blocking my path. There's no point trying to get away from them. They won't leave me alone until they get bored, and fighting back will just keep them entertained for longer. I just have to wait this crap out. They're not dangerous. They're just annoying.

  "Come on," Donna continues, "show us your teeth!"

  I take a deep breath, wondering how much more of this I have to take. Finally, I open my mouth so Donna and the other girls can see the thick metal braces I've been wearing on my teeth for the past few months. It's not like they haven't seen them before; in fact, this same ritual happens almost every day. I guess they're not smart enough to come up with new ways to taunt me, so they stick to the classics.

  "Do they hurt?" Donna asks. For a moment, it's almost as if she cares, but I know better. She's a good actress, and this is all part of the game.

  I nod.

  "I'm sorry," she says, "I didn't hear that. I asked you a normal question. Do they hurt?"

  I nod again.

  She stares at me for a moment. "Why are you so fucking rude?" she says finally. "Everyone else talks. It's just common courtesy, Abigail. If someone asks you a question, you should answer them. Were you raised by monkeys or som
ething?" She narrows her eyes for a moment, as if she really, truly hates me. "Do you just think we're a bunch of morons or something?" she asks, her voice filled with spite. "Do you think you're better than us?"

  I shake my head.

  "Then why don't you talk to us?" she asks, stepping closer. This happens every time. She starts off taunting me, and then she gets a little physical. "Just one word," she continues. "Just say 'yes' or 'no' to a simple question. Okay? Can you do that? Show us some fucking respect."

  I just stare at her. There's no point responding to anything she says or does. She already had this whole encounter planned out long before she called out my name. I've found out before, the hard way, that it's generally better to let her do and say what she wants. Eventually she gets tired and bored, and leads her little gang of pals away. It's not easy holding back from retaliating, but I know that I'll just get in more trouble if I lash out. I've always been strong, stronger than other girls, even though I look pretty weak and scrawny. By the time I turned sixteen, I'd discovered that I could hurt people if I really wanted to get back at them. I know that with very little effort I could make Donna scream and cry, but it's not worth the hassle. I've got to be smart, rather than giving in to my emotions.

  "Why are you so ugly?" Donna asks suddenly.

  I raise my eyebrows. That's new. She's never tried this line of attack before.

  "I mean, you're not ugly exactly," she continues, "but you're just so boring and frumpy. No offense, but you dress like one of the librarians at school." She stares at me. "If you bothered to sort yourself out a bit, and if you got your head out of your ass and started talking, you might even be able to hang out with us sometimes." She reaches a hand out to touch my hair, but I pull away. "Stand still, bitch!" she says. This time, when she reaches out, I don't resist.