Dead End (Dark Season VIII)

by Amy Cross

  Dark Season VIII: Dead End

  by Amy Cross

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

  Published by Dark Season Books

  This edition first published: February 2012

  http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

  Books in this series:

  Dark Season: The Last Vampire

  Dark Season II: Sentinel

  Dark Season III: Army of Wolves

  Dark Season IV: The Civil Dead

  Dark Season V: The Life, Death, Life, Life and Death of Martin Keller

  Dark Season VI: Gothos

  Dark Season VII: Testament

  Dark Season VIII: Dead End

  Coming Soon:

  Lupine Howl

  Prologue

  Neratovice, Eastern Europe – Two thousand years ago

  The knock on the door came in the middle of the night. Slowly, groggily and slightly aggrieved at being woken, Hanmar rose and listened to the noise outside his home. You could never be too careful, with so many bands of killers and raiders in the area. Then again, killer and raiders tended not to knock politely. They tended to just smash down the door and take whatever they wanted. Hanmar looked over at his axe. If this was a bunch of raiders, he knew he would have no chance of surviving, but at least he might be able to take a few of them with him. He reached over to take the axe...

  Another knock.

  Hanmar relaxed. Anyone looking to do him harm would surely not knock on the door like this. It must be an idiot. “Who's there?” he called out.

  “Open the door!” returned a woman's panicked voice.

  Hanmar raised his eyebrows. This was odd. He didn't know any women. He walked to the door, unbolted it and pulled it open, at which point a woman in a shawl rushed in, carrying something in her arms. She turned and pushed the door shut, reaching down and pushing the bolt back across, then she turned to Hanmar and revealed what she was carrying: a newborn baby, wrapped in a few sheets, its face not even cleaned from birth.

  “You have to hide this child!” she said to Hanmar, desperation in her voice. “You have to raise it as your own, and treat it as if it is just another little...” She began to sob. “Treat it as if it is your child. Do you promise?”

  Hanmar looked down at the child, and the child looked back up at Hanmar. It was a curious, non-crying child, with a gentle smile. It seemed fascinated by Hanmar's face, though Hanmar was somewhat unsettled by its expression.

  “I don't want a child,” Hanmar said. “I don't need a child”.

  “The child needs you,” the woman said. “If you don't take it in, they will hunt it down and slaughter it”.

  Hanmar tried to hand the baby back to the woman. “No-one would slaughter a child,” he said.

  The woman backed away, unbolted the door and looked out into the dark night. “They would if they understood what it was going to become,” she said. She turned back to Hanmar. “Just raise the child. Once it reaches adulthood, once it turns thirteen, it will be more than capable of looking after itself, long after you are dead and in your grave”.

  “Why can't its father take care of it?” Hanmar asked. “Or are you a whore? Do you not know the father's name?”

  The woman closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, calmer now. “The child's father must never know that the child exists,” she said finally. “Or there will come a dark season upon us all, and... On the battlefield, and at Gothos, and finally at the Door of Compassion, it will do the child no good to know its father's name”.

  “This child would do better elsewhere,” said Hanmar, desperate to avoid the responsibility.

  The woman sighed. “The child will be a good strong worker for you, and you will be glad of him. But...” She looked out into the darkness for a moment, as if concerned that someone might have followed her, then she returned her gaze to Hanmar. “When the child approaches his thirteenth birthday, you will begin to see differences in him. Do not fight those differences. He is what he is, and it will do no good to try to deny his nature. Just let him grow and, when the time comes, let him embrace his identity”.

  And with that, the woman turned and ran. Hanmar stepped forward to follow her, but he realised he could not run while holding the baby. Sighing, Hanmar looked down at the child. “I don't even know your name,” he said to the little thing that wriggled as it looked back at him. “My father was named Patric,” Hanmar said finally. “It's a good name, and he was a good man. You shall be called Patric too”.

  After taking one more look out at the cold night, Hanmar shut the door and carried the baby over to the other room, to find somewhere for it to sleep. He was not sure how to raise a child, but he felt it could not be too difficult. He would do the best he could, and trust that the child would soon enough have some common sense of its own. So he made suer the child was warm, and he found some simple food for it, and eventually – against his better judgement – he tried to sing a song for it. Finally, as darkness closed around the little house, the child began to cry.

  Prologue 2

  Dedston - Today

  “Open your eyes,” says an unfamiliar voice in my head.

  I open my eyes and stare into the darkness of my room, and I listen to the sound of him breathing next to me. Did I fall asleep? Damn, that wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to just rest for a little while and then get on with the things I have to do.

  His hand, resting on my naked thigh under the bedsheets, moves a little. He's awake, I can tell that without even turning to look at him. I can tell from the sound of his breathing, and the energy in the room, and the fact that his crotch is pushed up against me.

  Eventually I roll over to look at him. “Adam,” I say. “I know you're awake, so stop pretending to snore, okay?”

  He opens his eyes and smiles. “I knew you were awake too,” he says. “And I'm really glad you are”. He moves his body closer to mine, and I feel the head of his erect cock pushing against my thigh. “I missed you,” he says, trying to be seductive.

  I feel some kind of sadness welling up inside me. I never should have called Adam tonight, but the truth is I was lonely and a little scared and I wanted someone here with me. Okay, I was horny too. So I called Adam and we made love, and I tried really hard not to think about Patrick, I swear I tried, but... I can't help it. He's in my head now, and no-one – not Adam, not anyone – can change that.

  “You seem distant,” Adam says, bringing me crashing back down to Earth. “Anything wrong?”

  “No,” I say. “Nothing. I just... It's weird, seeing you again. When Shelley told me you'd moved away, I kind of thought that was it, you know? I thought you were gone for good. I mean, who comes back to Dedston once they've managed to get away?”

  “I'm sorry I didn't come round and say goodbye,” he says. “But I didn't think you really wanted me to. It seemed like you were busy with other people after your Dad died”. He looks sad for a moment. “I guess I was selfish. I should have come and told you... well, shown you... how I feel. I just didn't think it was the right moment”.

  I smile. “That's probably true,” I say. “But I'm glad you're here now”. I should tell him about Patrick, of course, but I don't know how to do it. He'd probably think I'm insane. I don't know if Adam believes in any of that kind of stuff. He seems so strongly anchored to the real world, I kind of find it hard to believe he'd ever be interested in the idea that vampires are real.

  “I heard you went missing,”
he says. “Your mom called, and Shelley, they were worried about you. They wanted to know if I had any idea where you might have gone? I said maybe Los Angeles, where your dad died, but I wasn't really sure”.

  I smile. “I wasn't missing,” I say. “I was just... away”.

  “Where?”

  I shake my head. “Long story. Nothing interesting. Just some new friends”. Liar. I'm a dirty liar.

  “So why did you call?” he asks, slipping a hand over and stroking my left breast, thumbing the nipple to try to turn me on again.

  I think about it for a moment. After all the stuff with Patrick and the missing year, I'm kind of finding it hard to work out who I really am these days. “Do I seem different?” I ask eventually. I'm genuinely curious. I think I've lost all ability to understand anything about myself.

  He smiles. “You seem more open,” he says. “More willing to talk about serious stuff. Less like your head's in the clouds all the time”.

  “Anything else?” I ask. “Do I seem different physically?”

  He looks confused. “Er... I don't know. No? Not really. Why?”

  I look over at the window. Every night, I wonder if Patrick might be out there, watching me. Every night now, I leave the curtains open, just in case he might come to watch me again. I know that's what he used to do. Some nights he'd knock on the window, for me to let him in, but some nights he'd just stand out there, observing me. But I don't think he comes anymore. Is that part of my life over? Is Patrick gone forever? Did he just use me, and my body, to get what he wanted? Or is this just a lull, just a calm moment in the centre of the storm? Will I ever see him again?

  “I love you,” Adam says.

  What the fuck? I turn to him. Oh God, am I supposed to say it back? I don't love Adam. I don't at all. Not even slightly. Not now, not ever. But he's looking at me so expectantly. I hate myself for this. “I love you too,” I say, the words making me feel sick. Wow, I always swore I'd never say those words unless I meant it, and here I am spraying them around like they don't mean anything. Damn it, what kind of a bitch am I?

  He reaches over and hugs me. Seriously, what the hell did I just do?

  “I have to drive home tonight,” he says. “I have to pick up some stuff, I need to see my family and sort a few things out. But I'll be back tomorrow. Can you wait until then? I want to ask you something”. He stares at me. “It's kinda important”.

  I nod. “Okay,” I say, filled with fear about what this means.

  He pulls away from the hug and kisses me passionately, his tongue entering my mouth. It's a long, passionate kiss, much more so than I had planned, and soon I find that he has rolled me onto my back and has climbed on top of me. I don't resist; I just lay there and let him insert himself inside me again. It used to hurt so much when guys penetrated me, but these days it's just a dull ache and I'm kind of used to it. I told Adam that there's no pain at all, and I think he believes me. As he starts fucking me on the bed, I wrap my legs around him and let him reach down to suck on my nipple. But I can't help glancing over at the window, wondering if Patrick could be out there, watching us right now, watching me get taken by Adam like this. If he is watching, is he jealous? And if he isn't watching, then why not? And then, as Adam grunts and empties his load deep inside me, I realise that I always think about Patrick while I'm having sex with Adam. When did I become such a terrible person?

  Prologue 3

  With a screaming metal sound, the car lands upside down, bounces along the forest floor and finally smashes head-first into a large oak tree. Glass flies everywhere and metal twists, making a terrible crunching sound, and the dark of night is briefly lit up by a blinding flash of flame from somewhere behind the drivers' seat, and somewhere in all of this I feel my left leg jolt and I get this terrible pain in my hip, and some kind of liquid sprays all over my face. Finally, though the engine is still revving and the wheels are still spinning, the car comes to a halt with me hanging upside-down in the seatbelt.

  I try to unbuckle myself, but in the dark it's impossible to find anything. I think the buckle is wrecked. Feeling around, trying to find the release button, I find instead something large and hot and wet. It takes me a moment to realise that it's my own leg, and the hard thing I feel in my hand is a jutting piece of bone. The pain is intense but I'm in so much shock, it's hard to think about anything. I guess it's the survival mechanism kicking in. I have to get out of here. I'll worry about the damage later. I turn and try to get the door open, but it seems to be jammed.

  I suddenly become aware that there's someone outside the car. Although it's dark, I can see a shape moving around the car, and the shadow of a person briefly moves across the windshield.

  “Help!” I shout against the sound of hissing, broken machinery. “Help!”

  I wait for the person to help me. Surely any second the door will open and the rescuer's arms will reach in and save me. Then again, how did this person get down here so fast? I grimace as the pain in my leg intensifies. The CD player starts to spark, and gives me enough light to see my mangled leg. Fuck, I think I might lose it. And I'm covered in something wet, which I think is gasoline. Something is hissing behind me. I turn and see that flames are starting to ripple across the rear passenger seats.

  “Help!” I shout again. “Get me out of here! It's gonna burn in here!”

  For a moment, I can't work out where the person has gone, but suddenly a face appears next to me on the other side of the driver's window. At first I can't make the face out, though it looks vaguely familiar. Finally, though, I stare in shock at the grinning, skeletal image staring back at me, its face burnt and twisted, with bright white round eyeballs twitching in a blackened, charred skull. It's the same face I saw a moment ago, the same face that I swerved to avoid. And it's just staring at me, making no move to try to help me. It's as if it just came to watch me die.

  “Help,” I plead. “Please help me. Please get me out of here”.

  Still the face just stares at me impassively. And then, slowly, it seems to smile and I see a row of perfectly white teeth.

  “Get me out of here!” I shout. “I'll die if you don't help me!”

  I hear a rushing sound. Turning, I see that the whole back of the car is now in flames. I look back at the window and the face is still there, watching me like I'm a goldfish in a bowl.

  “Get me out of here!” I scream, twisting and tugging and trying to force my way out of the seat.

  I feel an intense pain on my back and shoulders. Turning to look, I see that I've caught fire. I scream as the car is filled with a bitter smell, and something nearby starts to hiss. I look straight ahead and see fresh flames starting to spread over the whole of the front of the car. Opening my mouth, I find I can't scream anymore, but that face is still outside, still staring at me. Then, finally, there's a blinding white flash and a rush of heat and my entire body is consumed with pain until finally, mercifully, everything just stops, and I'm dead before the final scream has left my body.

  1.

  There wasn't much of Adam left. When the firefighters found the car, it was just a metal frame with a few charred bones still trapped in the passenger seat. Experts were puzzled about the intensity of the heat, since even a full tank of gas couldn't have generated such a fire. Eventually they decided that – unlikely as it sounds - he must have had a load of spare cans in the trunk. They also decided that he must have been drunk, which is bullshit. But these lies persist, so the funeral is a subdued affair, with most people believing the official explanation. There's a even a coffin, even though we all know that there wasn't enough left of him to bury. This whole funeral is just a pageant of lies and misinformation.

  “Do you have a tampon?” Shelley whispers to me.

  I turn to look at her.

  “Don't make me explain,” she says, frowning.

  “I do have one,” I say quietly.

  “Cool,” she says. She waits a moment. “Can I have it?”

  “No,” I say.

/>   “Why the fuck not?” she asks.

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “Oh,” she says, turning her attention back to the priest who is speaking by the grave.

  I can't help wondering if everyone knows who I am. After all, I was the last person to see Adam alive. We'd been at my house until 2am, having sex. Before that, I hadn't seen him for so long, it was almost like meeting a stranger when I finally sent him a message asking if he wanted to meet up. But Adam and I always seemed to get on pretty well, and we fell into bed pretty easily. Sure, the sex hurt, but it always hurts for me. I've learnt to accept the pain, so long as there's enough pleasure elsewhere.

  “This is fucked up,” Shelley whispers to me. “Adam wasn't religious. Why have they got priests and shit like that here? When I die, I want to be left out for wild animals to rip me apart. Circle of life and all, you know? Or just toss me in a volcano”.

  I shrug. “Funerals aren't for the people who died,” I whisper back. “They're for the family. And Adam's parents are like Catholic or something, so...”

  Shelley sighs. “It's crazy,” she says. “That's not even him in the coffin. Just a few bits of ash that they think -” She sees the way I'm looking at her, and she stops. “Sorry”.

  “It's okay,” I say. The priest is still talking. “Did you read the report into the accident?” I whisper.

  Shelley shakes her head.

  “Part of the car survived the fire,” I whisper. “Part of the back. And guess what? It had scratch marks all over it”.

  “It was in a wreck,” Shelley says. “It probably had a lot of scratch marks”.

  “Not those kind of scratches,” I say.

  “Oh, come on,” says Shelley, sounding tired of the conversation. “Why would Patrick kill Adam?”

  “Because he saw us together!” I whisper back at her. “I slept with Adam about an hour before the crash happened. The curtain was open. If Patrick saw what we were doing, and he got jealous -”