Dark Season: The Complete Third Series (All 8 books) (12 page)

"Maybe that's something you can help me with," she replies.

I shrug. The thought of hanging around here long enough to help with a big project doesn't really get my blood pumping. Still, leafing through this book about Tenderlings is kind of fascinating. It's hard to believe that these creatures could exist without being noticed by the 'regular' world. I can't imagine how the destruction of the diner got reported by the local news, but I suppose they came up with some kind of explanation. If only people knew the truth.

"I mean it," Constance says as she turns to leave. "I could use some help around here. If you change your mind and you want to keep busy, just come and find me".

As soon as she's gone, I close the book. I feel like every second I spend here, I'm getting dragged deeper into their world and I'll fine it harder to leave. I have to go and free Patrick so that he can take me away and help me learn the truth about myself. Maybe setting him loose is a bad idea, but he's my father and he's in pain, and I want to talk to him. Something tells me that Benjamin and his pals are going to keep Patrick confined for as long as possible, and I don't think they're being entirely straight with me. I can't really explain it, but I have this overwhelming desire to help my father. It's almost as if he reached into my mind and showed me where my loyalties should be directed. All my life, I've struggled to fit in. Finally, I've found someone who might understand me, and I'm not going to let anyone keep me from him. I'm going to find a way to get him out of here.

Chapter Four.

It's getting late, and I should be going back to the facility so I can see how Abby's doing. She's going through a lot, and she must have so many questions. Still, I can talk to her tomorrow, and right now she can spend some time with 'uncle' Todd. Tonight, I
really
need a drink, so I'm sitting here in a bar in downtown Dedston, staring into a pint of beer and drowning my sorrows. There's a part of me that wants to just get the hell out of this place and forget all about the past, but I know I have to stay. I have to help Abby, and I will. I promise. I'll start tomorrow.

"Why not today?" I imagine Sophie saying. All day, I've been having imaginary conversations with her in my head.

"She's fine," I imagine myself replying.

"She's not fine," she replies. "You can't trust those people. You've seen what they're doing to Patrick. They'll do the same thing to Abby".

"They won't," I imagine myself saying. "It's different. You know what Patrick's like. They can't trust him.
You
trusted him, and look how that worked out".

"Patrick would never hurt Abby," she says.

"I'm not so sure," I reply. "Maybe Benjamin's right when he says that Patrick's out of control. Maybe Patrick's lost his mind". I sigh. "Maybe I've lost
my
mind. After all, you're not really here, are you? You're just part of my imagination".

Suddenly I smell something really foul, and I feel someone bump into my shoulder.

"Hey, good looking," says an old drunk guy. "You want some company?"

I shake my head.

He stares at me for a moment. "I remember you," he says eventually. "You used to hang out here as a kid".

"That's right," I say with a heavy heart.

"What was your name again? We used to call you Andrew Jackson".

"Lovely".

"You know why we called you that?" He laughs. "It was 'cause you'd do anything for a twenty dollar bill". He leans in closer, and I'm almost overcome by the stench of alcohol, cigarettes and body odor. "I don't suppose you're still in the same business, are you?" He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some notes. "I've got two tens".

"No thanks," I say, almost gagging as I get a whiff of his gross breath. "I've retired".

"Come on," he continues, clearly not getting the message. "One for the road?"

"Leave her alone," says another voice. A familiar voice. The drunk guy turns and shuffles away, and I hear someone sitting next to me. I turn and smile as I see Dave.

"Was that guy bothered you?" he asks.

"I didn't think you'd show up," I reply.

"Of course I came," he says. It's been sixteen years since the last time I saw him, but he's aged more than I expected. He looks like an old, tatty man now, with most of the hair gone from his head. He's only got a few teeth left and he looks ill, with several layers of bags under his eyes and wrinkly, slightly yellow skin. "I got your message," he continues. "Why wouldn't I come?" he asks.

"You want a drink?" I signal for the barman to bring us two more beers.

"So how've you been?" he says. "You look good".

"I'm fine," I say. "I mean, I've been in New York, sort of working in design and fashion. Nothing major, but enough to pay the rent". I smile. "It's pretty cool there, you know?"

He starts to laugh, but ends up coughing. "Actually, I
don't
know," he says eventually. "I've never fucking left Dedston in my life".

"Well there's your first mistake," I say as the beer is brought over. I hand the barman some cash. "You've got to get out and see the world, Dave," I tell him. "There's more to life than this stinking old place. Have you seriously just spent the last sixteen years hanging out in this shit-hole?"

He shrugs. "It's not so bad".

"You could have done more," I say. "What happened to that band you were in?"

"Too late now," he replies. "I'm an old man". He smiles, flashing me his gap-toothed grin. "I've got..." He pauses for a moment. "I've got lung cancer anyway, so I can't really go too far, you know?"

I take a sip of my beer, making sure to show no sign of emotion. "How long?" I ask.

"How long have I had it?" He smiles. "Found out about a year ago".

"And how long have you got left?"

"No idea. I take it as it comes. I was getting treatment, but I couldn't really afford the good stuff and it was just making me feel worse, so I decided to come off and let God decide my fate".

"Are you serious?" I ask, shocked that he's just sitting here, waiting to die. "How much is the treatment?"

"Too much," he says. "Don't worry. I'm fine. I'm not scared or nothing. If this is how it's gonna be, then this is how it's gonna be. I don't wanna spend my last years hooked up to machines. I'd rather have a good final year, rather than five years of feeling like shit".

"But you've never -" I pause for a moment. The truth is, his life has been terrible. He's never left this crumby town, and he's never really done anything of note. When he dies, no-one's gonna really care too much and it'll be like he was never here. A whole life, lived in such a way as to make it completely pointless. "Fuck," I say under my breath. "You never even smoked".

He smiles, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a packet of cigarettes. "I started after I was diagnosed. I figured, fuck it, I might as well have some fun, you know?"

I reach into my pocket and pull out my last packet. There's no way I can carry on smoking now, so I slide them over to him. "Enjoy," I say.

"You want to finish me off?" he asks as he takes them and puts them in his pocket. He smiles. "So why'd you stay away so long, Shelley? I kept thinking you'd show up, but you never did".

"I wanted to get away from Dedston," I tell him. "I didn't want to be around here".

"I figured," he says, taking a sip from his beer. "I heard about your friend Sophie. It was in the paper years ago. Did they ever catch the guy who killed her?"

"Not really," I say, figuring it'd be too complicated to explain.

"Fucking tragedy," he replies. "She was a nice girl. I remember when I used to see you and her playing in the park when you were kids. You were, like, best friends all the way back. It was, like, fucking idyllic in a way".

I smile, remembering what it was like when Sophie and I were children. We were inseparable, spending all day together. Later, there were times when we didn't see each other so much and we drifted apart, but in high school we came back together and we were a good fit. If she'd lived, we'd have been friends forever, I'm certain of that. We were a good team, and I miss her every single day.

"You got a man in your life?" he asks, interrupting my train of thought.

"No chance," I say with a smile. "I mean, there have been men, but nothing..." My voice trails off. "Nothing serious, you know?"

"Kids?"

I shake my head.

"Never wanted any?"

I take a deep breath. "Couldn't have them, actually," I say. Damn it, why am I telling him this stuff? I hate getting personal with people. "I got pregnant a few times," I continue, "but it always self-destructed. I had tests. The chances of me ever having kids are small. Something about a misaligned womb or some medical bullshit I didn't really understand". I think about Abby, and I realize it's probably a very good thing that I never managed to have children of my own. I'd be a terrible parent. Not as bad as Patrick, maybe, but still terrible. Sophie would have been a good mother if she'd lived, though. Damn it, she'd have been brilliant. "I've got to go," I say suddenly, realizing that I have to check on Abby.

"You off so soon?" he asks.

"Sorry," I say, standing up. I push my half-empty beer over to him. "I'm a busy girl these days, Dad. You can have the rest of this if you want".

He nods. "Got a hug for the old man before you go?"

I pause for a moment. I don't want to hug him. To be honest, he disgusts me and I'd rather not touch him at all, but I figure I owe him something, so I give him a quick hug.

"Look after yourself," he says.

"You too, Dad," I tell him.

I turn to walk away, but he grabs my arm. "You not gonna ask about your Mom?" he says.

I take a deep breath. "No," I reply, pulling my arm free.

"Your uncle Joseph died," he says.

I feel my chest tighten, as if someone just whacked me with a hammer. "Good," I say.

He smiles. "I figured you'd say that. Shelley -"

"Seeya around," I say, interrupting him. With that, I walk out of the bar, out into the cool night air. It's weird, but when I was a kid I felt like I belonged in seedy bars like this, and I thought I'd still feel at home after all these years. But something's changed in me. Looking over at the curb, I imagine Sophie standing there.

"I need you to go and make sure Abby's okay," she says.

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.

Chapter Five

Once I've gone to bed, I stay awake until gone 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, 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, and 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 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.