Dark Season: The Complete Third Series (All 8 books) (47 page)

Chapter Five

Wyoming, Today.

"So where are we going?" I ask as we walk through an unfamiliar part of town. I'm still not entirely certain that I can trust Abby, and I can't stop thinking about the words Patrick spoke to me all those years ago. It's almost as if, even back then, he could look ahead and see this moment. But if that's true, why didn't he try to change things? Why would he allow Abby to end up in such a terrible way: with a metal collar around her neck, indebted to Benjamin's dubious schemes. I thought parents were supposed to protect their children, but Patrick seems to have accepted the bad things that will happen to Abby. Damn it, he makes
my
crappy parents seem pretty decent.

"I can't tell you," Abby replies, glancing back over her shoulder. She seems nervous and edgy, as if she thinks we're being followed. Either that, or she's a good actress. "Benjamin has contacts everywhere," she continues. "We can't be sure we're not being overheard".

I smile. Abby still seems to be clinging to the idea that Benjamin isn't tracking our every move. I can't decide whether it's cute that she's so naive, or terrifying. After all, if she's so easily fooled, I don't see how she's ever going to break free. Suddenly I stop, feeling a cold shiver run through my body.

"What's wrong?" Abby asks, stopping a few paces ahead of me.

"Nothing," I say, but the truth is: I suddenly realized what's going to happen today, and what I'm walking into. Can I really do this? I never signed up to be part of Patrick's insane scheme. I mean, Sophie loved the bastard, so that explains why
she
made some pretty dumb decisions. Why am I here, though? I could just walk away, or at least
try
to escape. Instead, I seem to have been sucked into this mess slowly until, finally, I realize there's no going back. Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down. "I just..." I pause, the words catching in the back of my throat.

"Do you want to know how you'll end up, Shelley?" a familiar voice asks in the back of my mind. It's a voice I haven't heard for many, many years, and one that I'd always hoped to never hear again. "You'll end up as some diseased pus-bag tramp, dying on the streets somewhere with a needle poking out of your arm". All these years later, I can still hear the glee with which she spits out each vicious, hateful word. "You're going to have a miserable, pointless life and then you're going to die a horrible, meaningless, agonizing death. People will walk past your body, and they'll be glad that they're nothing like you. You'll be buried in an unmarked grave, and no-one will come to your funeral because no-one will like you. Maybe they won't even bother to bury you; they might just burn your body and toss your ashes into the trash. And then you'll go to Hell, where you belong, and you'll suffer for all of eternity"

"Shelley?" Abby asks, staring at me.

I sigh. There's no point dwelling on that old bitch's words. It's been years since that day at school, and in some strange way I've been waiting for everything she said to come true. Right now, I feel I'm on the edge of slipping into the kind of darkness that old Mrs. Hard-Ass predicted.

"I need to use a phone," I say suddenly, almost surprising myself with the request. "I need to call someone. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Abby says, looking a little puzzled.

"I don't have anything with me," I say. "I need a payphone".

It doesn't take us long to find a battered old payphone on a street corner. While Abby waits cautiously outside, I head into the booth and slip some money into the slot. I dial the number for directory services, and wait until someone picks up.

"Directory Services," a woman says suddenly.

"Hi," I say, stumbling for the right words. "I need the number for a woman named Katherine Hardstone. She lives in Dedston".

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "I have one result," the woman says eventually. "I can put you straight through for a two dollar rate".

"Sure," I say. "Do it".

There's a ringing sound. Moments later, someone picks up the phone. "Hello?" asks the voice of an old woman. It's strange, but even though she sounds ancient and creaky, I can still tell it's her. I haven't heard Mrs. Hard-Ass speak for a couple of decades, and she must be pushing close to eighty, but it's definitely that old familiar voice.

"Hi," I say, feeling my throat starting to dry up. I've always fantasized about confronting the old bitch, but suddenly I'm not sure what I should say. I guess I thought I'd rip into her and tell her how much I hate her, but wouldn't that just make me as bad as her?

"Who is this?" she asks, sounding impatient.

I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out. I've been carrying this rage around for decades, and suddenly - just as I have a chance to express it - I feel strangely calm and peaceful. "Is this the same Katherine Hardstone who used to teach at Dedston Junior School?" I ask.

"It is," she replies. "May I ask to whom I'm speaking?"

"You won't remember me," I say, "but I remember you". I take a deep breath. "You once told me that I'd end up dying alone and sad and forgotten. You told me I was a worthless piece of trash. I just thought maybe I'd let you know that you were wrong. I'm about to do something that terrifies me, something that I might not even survive... but I'm doing it because I owe it to my best friend, even though she'd dead, and..." I pause as a sudden thought strikes me. All these years I've hated Mrs. Hardstone, and now I realize I owe her so much. "I just wanted to thank you," I say. "If it wasn't for you, I might never have met my best friend. I might never have met Sophie, and then I'd never have been given a chance to do what I'm about to do".

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she replies.

"Of course you don't," I say, tears in my eyes. "That's okay. You don't need to. I just wanted to say the words". Without waiting for her to reply, I put the phone down. It was so strange talking to her again, but now I can't help thinking about that day when she made me go to the 'naughty corner'. If she hadn't done that, I might never have met Sophie. What would my life be like? I guess I'd be doing normal stuff, and I'd probably have wasted the past few decades. I certainly wouldn't know anything about Patrick and Abby. Turning, I look over at Abby. She looks so lost, and there's a sense of sickness about her; suddenly I realize that I have to make sure she's okay, and that I have to do whatever it takes to ensure she breaks free from Benjamin. For the first time in my life, I realize that I'm part of something that's much bigger than me, and I understand that I have an important role to play.

"Let's go," I say, stepping out of the booth. We walk on in silence, as I contemplate what's going to happen. When Sophie used to talk about a prophecy, I used to smile politely while thinking that she was insane. I thought she was crazy to even
consider
the possibility that parts of her life were pre-ordained or were out of her control. Now, though, I can see that it's all true. Sometimes, bigger things are happening, and you have to accept your role.

"Here," Abby says suddenly, stopping outside a large hotel in the center of town.

"Here?" I ask, totally shocked. Looking up, I realize that this is a grand, exclusive kind of place. I'm pretty sure you have to be a multimillionaire to even get through the door.

"Here," she says firmly. "I'll be outside for a while. Someone's in there waiting for you".

"Who?" I ask. "Todd?"

She pauses. "Just go inside. Go to the bar and wait".

"Don't you think that's kind of sad?" I reply. "I mean, a woman, waiting in a bar all alone... It's kind of desperate, isn't it?" I sigh. "Is Todd coming? Is that who I'm meeting?"

Abby stares at me for a moment. "Someone's waiting for you," she says.

Sighing, I realize there's probably no chance I'll ever get a sensible answer out of her. She seems distracted, almost as if she's in pain. Looking closer, I see that the metal collar around her neck has a number of small jagged points sticking into her skin.

"Abby," I say slowly, "does that thing hurt?"
"Just go inside," she says firmly.

"Abby, take it off! If it hurts, you shouldn't wear it!"

"It doesn't hurt!" she insists. "It just... It's part of me. I need it".

"Is that what Benjamin told you?"

"It helps me to focus on what I really need to do," she replies. "It helps me remember who I am".

"This isn't you," I tell her.

"Go into the fucking building," she snaps, almost spitting the words at me. "Someone's waiting for you".

I want to reach over and pull that collar from her neck, but something tells me it wouldn't be a good move. Instead, I walk up the steps that lead into the hotel, and then I turn and look back at Abby. She seems almost scared, as if she knows what's going to happen and she doesn't like it. I'm starting to think that Todd probably isn't going to be in there; in fact, I'm starting to think that maybe Todd's out of the picture altogether. I wouldn't be surprised if Benjamin and his gang of thugs have started tying up 'loose ends' now that they've got hold of Abby, and in that case I'm probably next on their list. I should probably turn and run, but I wouldn't get far, not with Abby on my trail. The truth is: I have to go into the hotel and face my fears. Maybe
what
happens next is set in stone, like Patrick told me all those years ago, but I still have control over
how
it happens and - ultimately - over what it means.

Chapter Six

Dedston, 16 years ago.

I stumble toward the light, looking around for Shelley and Patrick. The floor starts to give way, and I have to jump to one side as the stones I was standing on crumble into darkness. Finally I spot Shelley and Patrick on the other side of the chamber, with Patrick covered in blood as he continues to devour what's left of Dexter.

“
This way!” I shout to them.

Shelley grabs Patrick and tries to pull him away. Patrick lets go of Dexter's destroyed body, which falls into the dark hole in the floor.

“
Come on!” I hear Shelley shouting as she tries to tug Patrick towards me. But Patrick seems hesitant, as if there's something he still needs to do.

In my heart, I get this sinking feeling. I know that Patrick could just come with us, but I also realize that nothing he does is ever simple. From the look on his face, I can tell he has something else planned. As he stands looking at me across the burning chamber, his bare torso still ripped and torn from Dexter's punishment, blood still around his mouth and on his hands, there's a strange expression in his eyes. I've often tried to read his expression, and I've rarely been successful, but this time I feel like I understand what he's saying: he's saying goodbye.

“
Come with me!” I shout at him.

He stares at me, not responding.

“
Patrick!” I shout. “If you don't leave, I won't leave and we'll both die here!”

He looks so sad as he turns towards the fire, then he stops, looks at me again, then goes back to Shelley. And then, as I watch, Patrick leans in to Shelley's ear and he whispers something to her, and as she listens, her face goes white with shock and her eyes and her mouth open wide.

Chapter Seven

Wyoming, Today.

"May I take your coat, Madam?" asks the doorman as I step into the hotel foyer.

Shaking my head, I walk across the marble floor. This is by far the poshest place I've ever been; for me, a hotel is usually a dodgy little place where rooms can be rented by the hour. For a small-town girl who grew up in Dedston, this is the pinnacle of social climbing. Everything about the whole damn place reeks of money: the foyer is large and tall, with a reception desk over at one side; rich-looking people are going about their business, probably cutting multimillion dollar deals, and they're all exuding class from every orifice. Damn it, there are paintings on the walls, and they're not even screwed in place!

Spotting a sign leading to the bar, I wander past the reception desk. There's a lady nearby, old and fat and very well-dressed, and she gives me a brief, snarky look that makes it clear she thinks I don't belong here. I catch a glimpse of myself in a nearby mirror, and I guess I can see the old bag's point: the cheap clothes don't do me any favors, but what really gives me away is the look of fear in my eyes. I'm clearly out of place and out of my depth. Hell, if
I
saw someone like me in a place like this, I'd assume that I'm a hooker heading up to a room where I can service a client. I guess some people are just born with the kind of face that 'fits' in high society, and some people are born looking like me. Then again, if I have to die today, I guess doing it in a fancy hotel isn't too bad.

"Can I help you?" asks a girl standing at the entrance to the bar. She's well-dressed and polite, and - here's the kick to the gut - she's younger than me.
Much
younger than me. She smiles at me with courtesy, but I can see in her eyes that she thinks I shouldn't be here.

"I'm meeting someone," I tell her, glancing into the bar. I don't see anyone else in there, other than a couple of older guys and a girl in a dress. Definitely no-one who'd be waiting for me.