by Amy Cross
Without saying anything, I turn and starting walking back to the facility. I can't spend all my time wallowing in self-pity and avoiding responsibility. Abby needs me, and I have to make sure I'm there for her. It's what Sophie would have wanted, and there's no way I'm going to let her down.
Abigail
Dedston, Today.
Once I've gone to bed, I stay awake until well past midnight. The facility is mostly silent, except for the hum of the air conditioning system. There's another sound, though: off in the distance, there's the sound of Patrick's pain. I can't explain how I feel it, but it's in me and it's palpable. As I start drifting off to sleep, my mind is filled with another strange image: I'm standing in what looks to be an old hospital; it's late at night, and I get a sudden sensation of someone standing behind me; turning around, I see a man covered from head to toe in horrific burns. Sitting up, the image fades and I realize I'm still in bed, but I'm filled with a sense of Patrick's fear. I can't handle this any longer: I have to help him.
I get out of bed and step out into the corridor. There doesn't seem to be anyone about; I figure a place like this will have staff working around the clock, but the night crew is probably smaller so this is going to be my best - perhaps my only - shot at getting Patrick out of here. I still don't really have a plan, but I figure all I need to do is get that thing out of his chest; if I understand the situation correctly, he'll be able to start healing and hopefully he'll be strong enough to break free. I guess I'll need to barricade the door to the control room and hope that I can keep the others out until Patrick's strong enough. It's not the best plan in the world, but right now it's all I've got.
When I get through to the control room, I find that there's just one technician on duty. He looks over at me as I enter, but he doesn't immediately say anything. I wander over to the door that leads into Patrick's chamber. So far, this all seems kind of easy. Too easy, in fact, and I have a strange feeling that maybe I'm walking into some kind of trap. Still, I can't give up now.
"Can I go in?" I ask, turning to the technician.
"Sure," he replies. I guess he doesn't think I'm any kind of threat... or he's been told to let me in. I fumble for the light switch for a moment, before the bulb flickers on and I'm faced, once again, with Patrick hanging on the opposite wall. The huge spike is still piercing his chest, with blood still dripping down onto the floor. I feel a cold shiver run through my body as I see what they're doing to him. I don't care what he's done: no-one deserves to be continually tortured like this. It's inhumane.
"Hey," I say as I approach him. "It's me." I look up at his face, but this time he doesn't open his eyes. "I need your help," I tell him. "I want to get you out of here."
No response. My first thought is that maybe he's asleep, or that he's too weak to respond. Blood is slowly dripping from his ever-healing chest wound.
"I'm gonna find a way to move this machine," I say. "Just hold tight. If I can get it out of your chest, can you do the rest yourself?" I wait for an answer, but he doesn't say anything.
I walk over to the dome in the middle of the room, from which the spike is protruding. Glancing around, I don't see any cameras but I'm sure there must be a few. A place like this is probably heavily guarded, so I've probably only got one chance to free Patrick. The problem is, I have no idea where to start. With no other options, I decide to try using brute force to move the spike. I figure there's a chance that maybe I've got some new strength thanks to my vampire side, but unfortunately I can't get the machinery to budge. I guess I must take after my mother more, and my -
I wince as, suddenly, the second heartbeat returns. I can hear it, hammering in my head, as if Patrick's heart is calling out to me. I want to turn to him, to tell him to stop it, but I can't help wondering if this is his way of trying to help me. It's like we have some kind of connection, as if this is his only way of communicating with me. I hold my head in my hands, trying to force the sound to go away. It's so loud, I can't even think properly, and it's starting to hurt.
"You can't help him," says Benjamin.
I turn and see that he's standing in the doorway. Slowly, the second heartbeat starts to die away. "What do you mean?" I ask, trying to play innocent.
"Your father is here for a reason," he replies, stepping into the room. "Forgive me, but I knew you'd try to set him free. It's a perfectly natural response for a girl who has just met her birth father for the first time, especially if she's being nudged along. Believe me, if I didn't want you to get this far, you'd have been stopped before you even got out of your room." He pauses for a moment. "I must admit, though, I thought you'd have a better plan."
"You can't leave him like this," I say. "Look what you're doing to him!"
"And how would you rather see him?" he replies. "Tearing his way through the facility, killing everyone in his path? You look at him and you see a man, but he's really just a beast. When he's under pressure, his violent side emerges and people get hurt. Innocent people, sometimes. I'm sure that's not how you'd like to see your father, is it?"
"He's not a monster," I say. The truth, though, is that I have no direct experience of my father at all. I want him to not be a monster, but how do I know? He might be a horrific creature. Looking at the huge spike that pierces his chest, I find myself wondering whether I was naive to try to let him go. Maybe this is the best place for him, after all. Even Shelley, the only one of these people I actually trust, seems to be cautious around Patrick, as if she's scared of him.
"He's a killer," Benjamin continues. "I've lost track of the number of people who've died by his hand, including some of my own men. When he's backed into a corner, he lashes out."
"Then don't back him into a corner," I say.
"It's not as easy as that," he replies. "Patrick is volatile, and he makes bad decisions. He can't be trusted. Believe me, I've watched him closely for many years. I've seen the things he's done."
"Then why did you bring me here?" I ask. "Why did you bring me all the way to this town, just to coop me up underground, and then you introduce me to my father and tell me all I can do is look at him?"
"You're here because it's not safe for you to be anywhere else," he says. "You saw those Tenderlings at the diner. They were just the beginning. You have no idea of the creatures that will be looking for you. Creatures from your worst nightmares, roaming the streets because they want to sink their teeth into the daughter of the last vampire. I appreciate that this must be a frustrating experience, but please have a little patience. When the time is right, Patrick will be released and you'll be able to speak to him, to learn from him before it's too late." He pauses for a moment. "You must trust me, Abby. Even if you don't like me, even if you think I'm too harsh, you must trust me. Don't act entirely on instinct. I've got you this far, but your journey is far from over."
"Is that what Patrick would do?" I ask. "Act on instinct?"
"You're not like him," he says. "You have a human mother. It makes you different."
I stare at him. I want to believe him, and I want to trust him, but there's something not right about Benjamin; I just have this feeling that I need to be careful around him. Deep inside, I can feel that second heartbeat again; it's dull this time, but it's definitely there, as if Patrick is transmitting it to me. "Who put you in control?" I ask eventually. "Who let you choose what happens to people?"
"For better or worse," he continues, "I'm in charge of the Watchers. I make decisions based on information and experience, not based on emotion or on what I'd like to happen. If Patrick were set loose right now, there would be chaos. He's your father, but you don't know everything about him. Please, be logical about this."
"He's in pain," I say.
He shakes his head. "As far as our scans show, he's unconscious and he doesn't feel -"
"He's in pain," I say firmly. "Trust me. I can feel it. I can hear it. He's in agony up there and it's not right. You might be able to persuade the others that this is justified, but..." I sigh, real
izing that there's no way I can win this argument. Benjamin has all the power, and as far as he's concerned I'm just a helpless teenage girl. I might not like what's happening here, but I can't do a damn thing to stop it. I wish Shelley was around, so I could talk to her. She seems different to the others, and she's the only one who might know what to do.
"I understand your concern," Benjamin says, "but please recognize that the Watchers have far more experience when it comes to these things. You must trust us." He walks over to Patrick and looks up at his face. "I've spent almost my entire life watching him. Studying him. I know so much about him. Sometimes, I feel as if I can even hear his thoughts." He turns to me. "Now that he has chosen to die, I have to make sure that he's kept under control, but I promise you that his death will not be painful, nor will it be in vain. You'll have the contact with him that you crave, but not yet. He must sleep like this, just a little longer."
"What if he's not asleep?" I reply.
"He is," Benjamin says. "Our scans prove it, and I can sense it." Smiling, he walks to the corner and grabs a set of steps, dragging them back over to Patrick. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a syringe; removing the cap, he climbs the steps. "Trust in my experience."
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Taking a blood sample," he replies. I watch as he sticks the needle into the side of Patrick's neck. He slowly pulls the plunger back, and the syringe fills with blood. "We have to monitor him closely," he explains as he removes the needle and replaces the cap, before climbing back down the steps. "Vampires aren't myths. They're not ghosts or fairytale characters. They're flesh and blood, and there's a science behind them. If you cut him open, you can see how he works. We're slowly starting to understand that science. Patrick is the first vampire we've ever been able to study so closely. You have no idea how our understanding of his species is advancing every day."
I swallow hard. It's not difficult to imagine that the day will come when Benjamin will want to 'study' me as well. Is that the real reason he's brought me here? Am I going to end up hanging from a wall with a giant spike through my chest? I look up at my father and feel, more than ever, that I have to get us both out of here. Despite everything that Benjamin says, I can still feel Patrick's mind reaching out to me. "Is that what you're going to do to him when he's dead?" I ask eventually. "Cut him open?"
"Wouldn't -" he starts to say, but then he pauses. "This isn't the right time for such a discussion, Abigail. You must be tired. Go to bed."
"And what about me?" I say. "Do you want to cut me open as well?"
He shakes his head. "I want to observe you. I want to help you. This is going to be an unprecedented scientific opportunity. I truly believe that as you grow older, and as you continue to develop through puberty, your true nature will become more apparent. When you were a child, you were able to pass for human. Perhaps you sensed you were different, but you were at least able to maintain the illusion. Now, though, things are changing. Tell me something, Abigail. Where you bullied at school?"
"Maybe," I say.
"The other children could smell the difference," he continues. "They didn't know what was wrong with you, of course. It was an instinctive reaction, but they sensed a quisling in their midst. They were afraid of you, so they reacted with hatred. I imagine some of the bullying was probably very brutal, perhaps even physical. You're lucky that we came and saved you. If you'd stayed in Callerton, there's a strong chance that one of your bullies would have overstepped the mark and killed you before you become strong enough to fight back. The human reaction to difference can be shockingly violent at times." He turns and walks to the door. "Don't worry, Abigail," he says as he leaves, "we'll get to the bottom of it soon. We'll find out what you are, and we'll work out what's best for you."
As soon as he's left the room, I walk over to Patrick and look up at his face. "Why do you let them do this to you?" I ask. I know he's awake, and I get the feeling he's stronger than Benjamin and the others realize. It's as if he's willing to let himself be held here, even though he's in such excruciating agony. How can he hide all that pain? "I tried to set you free," I tell him, "but you've got to do it yourself. I'm not strong enough. Not yet, anyway. But I need you. I need to know what I am."
He doesn't respond. He doesn't even look at me. I turn and walk away, finding that Benjamin is in the next room, adding Patrick's blood to a glass vial. He smiles as he sees me. "Can I show you something, Abigail?" Without waiting for a response, he walks over to the far corner of the room and removes the cover from a small box. "Come and see," he says.
Cautiously, I walk over and look into the box. I see a group of chicks, and I watch as Benjamin takes some meat from a nearby container, chews it for a moment, and then spits it out for the chicks to swallow.
"Nice," I say, wondering why he's showing me something so disgusting.
"This is life," he replies, turning to another box. He takes out another chick, one that looks different to the others. It's slightly larger, its head is a different shape, and it has a different type of beak. "This one was born with certain abnormalities," he says. "I've kept it separate from the others, but now I think it's time to let nature take its course." He carefully sets the chick in with the others. "Let this be a valuable lesson, Abigail," he says. "People are picked on for being different. They get hurt, or thrown out of the community, or worse."
I stare at the chicks as they start pecking at the new arrival. Moments later, one of them draws blood. The new chick lets out a squeal as the others all pile on, and within a few seconds the new chick is dead. Their work done, the others leave the body alone.
"The quisling has to defend itself, or be defended, if it wants to survive," Benjamin continues, putting a lid back on the box. "In this case, the quisling was too young. Be in no doubt that your bullies in Callerton would have done to you what those chicks did to the intruder in their box, because they would have seen you as the quisling in their midst. They could sense that you're different. It's a survival mechanism, a way of keeping the community stable. It's how things should be, but fortunately we were able to rescue you before you were in any real danger." He pauses for a moment. "It's late. You really should get some sleep. I have some pills that will help if you're having difficulty."
"I'm fine," I reply, heading to the exit. I feel kind of freaked out by what I've just seen. "Tomorrow," I say, turning back to him, "will you tell me about my mother?"
He pauses. "What do you want to know?"
"What she was like," I reply.
"She looked a lot like you," he says. "Slightly taller, and her hair was a shade darker. Her eyes -"
"That's what she looked like," I say, interrupting him. "I want to know what she was like as a person."
He shrugs. "I didn't really know her. You'd be better off asking Shelley questions like that."
"I want to know how she died," I tell him.
"Do you?" He smiles. There's a curious look in his eyes, as if he's observing me keenly. "I suspect it would be better if we hold off on this discussion for a while," he says after a moment, but I get the feeling that he almost told me the truth.
"I want to know," I insist.
"All in good time."
Realizing that he's hiding something, I walk back over to him. "I want to know now," I say. "Not later. Not tomorrow. Now. I don't care if it's complicated, I just want to know."
He finishes setting Patrick's blood in the vial. "It might upset you to know the truth. We'll discuss the matter another time." He turns to leave, but I push a table in front of him to block his path.
"Tell me now!" I say, starting to feel a rising sense of anger in my blood.
"Interesting," he replies, looking down at the table. "Abigail, are you aware that this table was bolted to the floor?"
I look down and see that the table has been ripped away from a set of four metal mounts. "They must have been loose," I say, finding it hard to believe that I could have done such a thing.
"I do
n't think so," he replies. "You're stronger than you realize. You must be careful in future. Your body is changing. Don't you feel it yet?" He pauses for a moment. "Perhaps you're ready for the truth after all, but... Do you really want to know?"
"Tell me," I say.
"Are you sure? Can you handle the anger?"
"Tell me."
"She was murdered," he says.
I take a deep breath. I never met my mother; I've never even seen a photo of her, but the thought of her dying in such a brutal way is almost too much to take in. "Why?" I ask. "Who killed her?" Suddenly a sickening thought hits me, deep in the pit of my stomach. I can't even bear to think about it, but it's as if suddenly I can see exactly what happened. In my mind, I have the image of a girl who looks like me, but a little older; she's facing Patrick, and he's turning to her and...
"You see it, don't you?" Benjamin says.
"He wouldn't do that," I reply, tears streaming down my face. "Why would he..."
"You must stop judging him as if he's human," he continues. "Your father is incapable of feeling love for another creature. It's not his fault, it's just the way he's made. He's like an animal, really. Brutish and strong, but with no real soul. Love is an alien concept to him. He uses power and strength to get what he wants."
"He wouldn't kill her," I say, refusing to believe that it's true. Still, the image is clear in my mind: my mother falling to the ground, blood pouring from her body as my father stands over her.
"I wish I could tell you it was otherwise," Benjamin says, "but what you're seeing is the truth. Your father killed your mother." He puts a hand on my shoulder. "Do you still think he should be set free?"
Shelley
Dedston, Today.
"Where's Abby?" I ask as I walk into the main room and find Benjamin and Todd working at a set of computers. It's late, but I feel I'm finally ready to talk to her about the past.
"In bed," Benjamin replies, before frowning. "Shelley, what's that smell?"