Asylum
Author: Amy Cross
Date: 2012-01-01 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Mental Health; Ghosts; Fiction; Thriller; Paranormal; Suspense; Mystery; Psychological Thriller; Horror
Description: This is an alternate cover edition for ASINB009OKRB3Q. "No-one ever leaves Lakehurst. The staff, the patients, the ghosts... Once you're here, you're stuck forever." After shooting her little brother dead, Annie Radford is sent to Lakehurst psychiatric hospital for assessment. Hearing voices in her head, Annie is forced to undergo experimental new treatments devised by a mysterious old man who lives in the hospital's attic. It soon becomes clear that the hospital's staff, led by the vicious Nurse Winter, are hiding something horrific at Lakehurst. As Annie struggles to survive the hospital, sh
Publisher: Dark Season Books

Dark Season VII: Testament
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.

Other 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

Prologue

I can see it in their eyes: they're all terrified of me. It takes six of them to pull me from the bed: two on each arm, two on each leg, one to keep my head steady and a sixth standing by with a tranquilliser in case I manage to get free. As they carry me to the wheelchair, I start to struggle. I know what they're going to do, and I have to stop them. They don't understand, they'll never understand, what it will be like for me if they take me through that door. I can never leave this room.

As they try to put me in the wheelchair, I manage to get an arm loose. I grab the head of one of the orderlies, pull him towards me, then slam his face down into the arm of the wheelchair, breaking his nose and probably a few other bones. He falls away, blood pouring out of him, and I feel the familiar prick of a needle sliding into my shoulder from behind.

“Get him out of here!” shouts one of the orderlies, as the injured man is helped away.

The straps are tightened around my wrists and ankles. For a moment, just a moment, I feel the tranquilliser start to do its work, coursing through my veins. I'm supposed to sleep now, but it doesn't really work. They've tried everything, up to and including industrial elephant-grade drugs usually used by veterinarians to bring down large animals. It's cute, but they never really have any effect. If they want me to stop fighting, they'll have to kill me.

“We're going to take you to the observation room, John,” says one of the orderlies, leaning down to stare directly into my face. “Just for a short visit, do you understand? No-one's going to hurt you and it will all be over in less than half an hour”

I turn and stare at the door, which they've left open. They don't understand what's happening here. They don't understand how important the lead walls of this room have become to me.

“John, we have to take you to the observation room,” the orderly continues, speaking carefully and clearly, speaking close up into my ear this time. “There's really nothing to be scared of. Just relax and we'll be back in your room in no time, okay?”

The wheelchair is turned to face the door. I'm calm, but there's a reason for this: I'm gathering my strength, every ounce of my power, because one thing is very clear. There is no fucking way I am ever leaving this room.

“Okay, John,” says another orderly. “Calm down and enjoy the trip”. He starts to wheel me towards the door. At first, I don't do anything. I'm waiting until I have as much strength as possible. Finally, as the wheelchair is about to leave the room, I break free of the restraints, get to my feet, pick up the wheelchair and smash it into the faces of two of the orderlies. They crumple to the floor,.

I feel three or four little needles slide into my back, and I turn to face the final orderly, who has stabbed me with the last remaining syringes.

“Don't hurt me,” he begs. “Please don't hurt me!”

At this point, I make a mistake. I pause for a moment and regard him with something approaching compassion. I could snap his neck, or rip his head from his shoulders, but for just a split second I consider letting him live. And those few seconds are all he needs to run towards me, pushing me backwards and out through the door. By the time I hit the ground, the ringing has started in my head and the agony is so intense that I have to scream.

“Come on -” says the orderly, who has followed me out and is now sitting on top of me, “Don't be such a fucking baby”. He thinks he's going to drag me down the corridor. He thinks he's going to be the one who, after years and years, finally succeeds in getting me away from the room. Instead, I throw him into the wall and manage to crawl back through the door. I pull the door shut. The ringing has stopped now, and the only sound is the moaning of a few injured orderlies who I should have killed anyway. I crawl over to the darkest corner of the room. I need to rest. I need to recover my strength. When will these people learn? I must never leave this room. Not ever. All our lives depend on this.

1.

“Vampires are not real. Vampires are a fictional creation with their roots in 17th century medieval European mythology, updated periodically to reflect the fears of new generations. They exist only in books and films such as Dracula and Twilight, or in subcultures where people appropriate the identity of the vampire in order to modify their own sense of self. Do you agree or disagree with this statement?”

I stare at Dr. Penfold for a moment. He's a thin, old man with white hair and a kind but professional face. “Profoundly disagree,” I say eventually.

“Okay, Sophie,” he says, ticking a box on his form. “Next question. Belief in the paranormal, or supernatural, is a kind of emotional comfort blanket. It keeps us from facing the truth about existence beyond our mortal lives, which is that there is nothing else. Vampires and suchlike are in fact a secular substitution for the gods of old. Do you agree or disagree with this statement?”

I stare at him. I've been staring at him for half an hour now, and he still doesn't understand. “Profoundly disagree,” I say carefully, slowly, in the hope that he finally understands me.

He ticks another box. He opens his mouth to ask another question, but then he seems to have a different idea. “Sophie, I'm wondering if you understand the terminology that I'm using. Perhaps the concepts I'm introducing are a little above your level of education...”

“Profoundly disagree,” I say. “And I find your argument patronising, to say the least”.

He sighs. I feel like sighing, too. This is the third day in a row that I've had to sit here while Dr. Penfold reads out his lists of statements, most of which I disagree with. How much more of this am I supposed to take? It's as if he wants to drive me mad.

“Sophie, let me be clear about this,” Dr. Penfold says. “You won't leave this facility until you admit that your delusions about vampires are all in your head. I'm very serious on this point. Your parents were very clear on this -”

“My mother,” I say interrupting. “Not my parents. My mother. My father's dead”.

Dr. Penfold nods. “I'm sorry. Your mother was very clear, she's worried about you after what happened on Monday and she believes you need some time to readjust to reality”.

“What happened on Monday?” I ask.

He seems hesitant. “What happened on Monday doesn't matter. What matters is what happens today, and tomorrow”.

“I'm serious,” I say. “What happened on Monday?”

More hesitation. “Sophie, it's important that you consider the difference between reality and fantasy. What is happening to you now is real. The stories you tell about vampires are not real”.

“Vampire,” I say. “One vampire. Not vampires plural”.

“One vampire is no more real than a thousand vampires,” he says icily. He looks at his papers. “You were mugged last year, I see”.

I nod.

“Was it traumatic?”

I think about it for a moment. The mugging was the incident that led to me meeting Patrick for the first time. If I hadn't been mugged, maybe none of this would have happened. Then again, I kind of get the feeling that Patrick was going to come into my life somehow, sooner or later. He seems to have been constantly loitering on the edges, waiting for the right moment to approach me. “It was definitely traumatic,” I say eventually. “It hurt a lot”.

“Yet you seem to have no major injuries”.

“It was a long time ago,” I say. “The only reason I reported it was because I lost my wallet and I wanted to see if it had been handed in”.

“Was it sexual?” he asks.

“Do you mean, was I raped?” I reply. “No. Patrick saved me before anything like that happened”.

“Patrick is the vampire”.

I nod. “Yes, he is”.

“And he lives in an underground cave, correct?”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I can tell he doesn't believe me and, to be honest, saying these things out loud is a little strange. “Correct,” I say.

“And he drinks blood, this vampire?”

“Not often,” I say.

“Does he turn into a bat?”

I shake my head. “He's not a cartoon character”.

“And are there other vampires?”

“There were,” I say. “But now he's the only one”.

Dr. Penfold nods, lost in thought. “And on the night of the mugging you were walking home alone, and it was past midnight when this happened?” I nod. “Sophie, doesn't that strike you as self-destructive behaviour? A pretty young girl like yourself walking home alone in a city, so late at night. Don't you think we're seeing a pattern of behaviour that is quite troubling?”

I hear the door open behind me. Turning, I see one of the orderlies waiting to escort me from the office. I guess the session must be over for now.

“What happened to your nose?” I ask the orderly, staring at the big bandage in the centre of his face.

“Our next session will be on Friday,” says Dr. Penfold. “Before then, I'd like you to think about what we talked about today, and perhaps try to come up with a list of reasons why we don't seem to have made very much progress. Perhaps try to work out what it is about your attitude that is maybe blocking us from reaching a point where we can find some common ground”.

I take a deep breath, then I sigh. “Isn't there anything I can do to prove this to you?”

Dr. Penfold looks around the room. “Is he here now?”

I shake my head. “He's not invisible,” I say. “And I can't just call him. He... He comes when he wants to come”.

“Perhaps he'll come to visit you,” Penfold says.

I stand up and head to the door. “There's no need for anyone to come and visit me. How long until I get out of here?” I ask, turning to face him.

He smiles, but it's a sad smile, one that seems to suggest he's not happy about the situation at all. I guess he's frustrated that I haven't started to break yet. I won't, either. “You'll be allowed to go home when you've shown progress,” he says vaguely.

“Which means?” I ask.

He sighs. “I think you'll have to admit that the whole vampire story was made up, before I can consider letting you return to the outside world. You'll have to come to me and tell me, directly and clearly, that the whole vampire story is something you made up”.

“I'll never say that,” I tell him. “Because it's not true”.

“We'll see,” he replies.

I turn and head to the door. I'm ready to go back to the ward anyway. These meetings with Dr. Penfold are boring and tiring at the same time. Not a fun combination. But before I go, I have one more thing to say to him. I look at him and smile. “If you don't believe me, all you have to do is give me a pregnancy test. I think he got me pregnant”.

He stares at me. “Okay,” he says finally. “I'll arrange it”.

2.

After lunch, I head down to the basement. After the events of yesterday, which resulted in five orderlies needing medical treatment for a variety of injuries, I feel it's time to check on Mr. Tarmey myself. Of course, this is the same ritual we go through every month: I order Tarmey to be removed from his room, he attacks and fights off my orderlies, and I end up coming down to try to persuade him to cooperate. So I imagine he's expecting me right about now.

I knock on his door before opening it. I've learnt to give him a moment to prepare for visitors. You never know what he's doing in there, hidden away in his little lead-walled room. He seems perfectly happy, reading and meditating and working out. In fact, were it not for the fact that he pointedly refuses to leave the room, I'd say John Tarmey is more or less perfectly normal.

“Come in,” he says.

I open the door and find he's sitting on the edge of his bed. It's very obvious that he was doing something else when I arrived, but whatever it was, he's tidied things away and is now waiting for me to enter.

“Do you know why I'm here, John?”

He sighs. “Because I broke the noses of half a dozen of your employees yesterday?”

“Actually, only two of them suffered broken noses,” I say. “The others suffered a range of injuries including a fractured cheek, two fracture eye sockets, several missing teeth, two broken arms and one lost earlobe. I think that's a record. You must be very proud”.

“You're the one who should be proud,” he says. “You're the one who keeps sending them in here”.

“So it's my fault?”

He shrugs. “We both know what happens when you try. You're the one who insists on pushing things”.

I walk over to his desk and look at the pile of books. Some Kafka, some George Bernard Shaw, and the complete Harry Potter series. He certainly has eclectic tastes. “Do you think I should give up?” I ask, picking up the books to take a look at them. “Should I let you rot down here alone?”

“Yes please,” he says.

I look at the papers on his desk. He has been writing again. I would dearly like to read his work, but I know that he would not allow that.

“Tell me,” he says. “You're in here alone with me. The walls are made of lead. No-one can hear a thing from outside. You've seen what I do to your men. Aren't you scared?”

I turn to him. “Scared of you?”

He nods and stands up. He's a tall man, with thick black curly hair and dark, menacing eyes. “Don't you worry that I'll turn on you? After all, this is a psychiatric hospital. Don't you worry that your patients are a little unstable?”

I smile. “We both know you're not unstable,” I say. “In fact, I think that's part of your problem. Everyone is a little unstable from time to time in their daily lives. But not you, Mr. Tarmey. You're absolutely the most stable person I've ever met”. I look over at the door. “Apart from when we try to take you out of this room, obviously”.

“Obviously,” he repeats.

I pick up another book from the desk. Dracula, by Bram Stoker. I thumb through the pages.

“You believe in vampires, Dr. Penfold?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “But I have a patient who does. She thinks she has made friends with such a creature”.

“Stupid kid,” says Tarmey.

“People believe what they want to believe,” I reply. I put the book down. “My job is to temper their fantasies with a little reality. It's a fascinating book, Dracula. The original, I mean. Back when vampires were creatures of horror. These days, they tend to be featured in fantasy stories rather than true horror. But when you think about it, they really are monstrous and horrific”.

“That they are,” says Tarmey.

I head to the door. “I have to get back to work,” I say. “Are you sure you wouldn't like to come up with me?”

“No thank you,” he says, watching as I head out.

I start pulling the door shut. “I'll get your out of this room one day, Mr. Tarmey,” I say.

“We'll all suffer if you do, Dr. Penfold,” he replies, as the door slams shut.

3.

“Why aren't you afraid of clocks?” asks Alex, the nice but clearly mentally unwell guy who has decided to sit next to me as I stare out the window. He seems to be about my age. Young, messed up. “Horrible things,” he continues. “Always ticking, always counting down towards the end”. I ignore him, but he keeps talking. “Do you know what it means when all the clocks stop?”

I turn to him. “What does it mean?”

He leans close to me. “It means you're dead”.

I smile and nod. “I'll remember that”.

He grins. “It's not important,” he says. “It's potatoes for dinner today. I saw them bringing in sacks of potatoes. What do you think it means?”

I open my mouth to say something, but instead my name is called out from across the room. “Sophie Hart!” shouts an orderly. “Visitor!”

I haul myself to my feet. “Sorry, Alex,” I say, heading over to the orderly, who escorts me the short distance to the visiting room. There, I'm not particularly surprised to find my mother waiting for me. She looks sombre and sad, and very tired. The room doesn't help: it's small, pretty bare, and has no furniture other than the table in the middle and a few chairs.

The orderly shuts the door, remaining in the room as I sit opposite my mother.

“How are you getting on?” she asks.

“Not bad,” I say, “considering you committed me to a loony bin”.

She's clearly unhappy with the term 'loony bin'. “It's a psychiatric hospital. And I didn't have you committed, I had you brought here for an extended evaluation”.

“I think you'll find,” I say carefully, “that forcing me to be here is kind of the same thing as committing me. Even if you don't want to say the words”.

My mother sighs. Over the years, I've become so accustomed to her just sitting on the sofa watching TV, it's actually something of a surprise to find her out and about in the real world. She seemed to be increasingly disconnected, but now she has apparently reconnected in the most annoying way possible.

“Mom,” I say. “What happened on Monday? How did I end up here?”

She nods, seemingly unsure of how to answer the question. “You don't remember?”

“No,” I say. “Pretty obviously not”. The truth is: I don't remember anything since I left Gothos with Patrick. We'd escape from the old mansion of the vampires, just after Patrick and I made love. Well, we didn't so much 'make love' as he climbed on top of me and... well, it was still good.

“Things just got too much for you,” my mother says. “And you... acted out. The doctor thinks it's grief from your father's death. All this talk about vampires”.

“What's that got to do with Dad dying?” I ask.

She shakes her head. There are tears welling up in her eyes, but I don't really feel much sympathy for her. Years and years of us barely communicating can't be undone in a few minutes.

“Get me out of here,” I say. “You know I'm not crazy. I'll shut up about vampires, but get me out of here”.

“It's not about shutting up,” she says. “You can talk about them if you want. You just have to admit that it's all made up. It's all stories”.

I shake my head. “I'm not going to lie,” I say.

“Then you're going to have to stay here a little longer,” she replies. “They think they can cure you, honey. And it'll all seem better when it's over and done with”.

I put my head in my hands. No-one is listening to me.

“Sophie,” says my mother, reaching over and putting a hand on my shoulder. “We were terrified when you went missing. We thought... You could have been killed, honey”.

I look at her. “Missing?” I ask. “I never went missing!”

“Honey, you vanished for nearly a year!”

I stare at her. What's she talking about? I was at home this time last week, then I went to Gothos with Patrick, and then... well, then things get a bit fuzzy, but there's no way I was missing for a year. No way at all.

“And then with what happened on Monday -”

“What happened on Monday?” I ask. “Come on, Mom. You're scaring me. What happened? What are you talking about? I wasn't missing for a year! Just because you were too busy watching General fucking Hospital to notice me, doesn't mean I was missing!”

“Everyone was out looking for you, honey,” she says. “Even that trampy friend of yours was worried!”

Trampy friend? What the hell is she talking about? Oh, okay, she means Shelley. But... I saw Shelley last week. And everyone. I saw everyone. There's no way anyone could think I was missing. Hell, I don't think I've gone more than a couple of days without seeing Shelley since I was in fourth grade.

“I wasn't missing,” I say. “I was at home. I didn't go anywhere”.

“That's what we want to work out,” she says. “Where you really were”.

I stand up. “I want to go back to my room,” I say. “Do you mind if I go?”

She looks at me with a mix of desperation and sadness. She clearly doesn't know what to do. I kind of understand. After all, anyone would be worried if their daughter went missing for a year. Even my useless mother would have to spring into action. But the fact is: I didn't go missing for a year. I was away at Gothos for – at most – a couple of days. There's simply no way someone could go missing for an entire year and not remember it.

The door opens. I turn to see that the orderly has opened it up to let me out.

“Bye Mom,” I say, heading out of the room. I don't wait for her to say anything in return. I just want to go to my room, to try to work out what's going on. More than anything, I need to find a way to contact Patrick.

4.

There's a knock at my door and Dr. Lucas pops his head into the room. “Got a minute?” he asks, in his usual happy and energetic manner. I swear, I can't deal with Dr. Lucas before I've had five or six cups of coffee in the morning. He reminds me of myself forty years ago when I first started out in this job: hopelessly enthusiastic and determined to help people. Part of me can't wait to see him in ten years' time, worn down by the job and unable to do much more than shuffle pieces of paper around. He'll have bags under his eyes, he'll be exhausted all the time, his marriage will be shot to pieces, his kids won't talk to him, he'll be teetering on the edge of a drinking problem... He'll be like me.

“What is it?” I ask, looking back down at my papers. Hopefully he'll see that I'm busy. This had better not be another attempt to get me to authorise the purchase of a pool table for the games room. If he thinks I want a group of mentally ill people wandering around with pool cues and balls, he must be insane himself.

“It's about John Tarmey,” he says.

Great. This tired old conversation. I'm more than aware that the other doctors here think I'm taking the wrong approach with John, but they haven't been here as long as I have. If they'd seen what we tried in the 70s and 80s, they'd understand that John is a very special patient who can't just be electro-shocked back to normality. He's a special case, and I'm the only one who really understands him. The slow approach is the only way to deal with him.

“I know you don't want to talk about it,” Lucas continues, “but the fact is, while we're debating what to do with him, he's cooped up in that little room with no windows and no company. It's inhumane”.

“It would be inhumane to release him prematurely,” I say, taking my glasses off and setting them down on the desk in front of me. “It would be inhumane to inflict his behaviour on the other patients or on the general public”.

“It would be inhumane to stop trying to rehabilitate him,” Lucas says. He's so sure of himself, so cocky... so wrong.

“Some people can't be helped,” I say. “John Tarmey is a case in point. He's perfectly happy so long as we leave him in the lead room. I genuinely think he would prefer to spend the rest of his days in there, rather than being dragged out and forced to interact with the rest of the world. Damn it, sometimes I think I'd like to live in a lead room. He's fine down there for now”.

“I know, but -”

“Have you heard the way he screams?” I ask. “Every time we try to get him out of that room, he screams like some kind of wild animal. Have you heard that?”

“Yes, of course -”

“Do you really want to inflict that much pain on a man?” I ask. There's silence for a moment. “If he really wants to spend his life in a small lead room, and if we genuinely believe that to be the best solution for him right now, is there really a problem?”

“You can't just leave him in there and forget about him,” says Lucas. I admire his passion, but I do wish he'd grow out of it. He's supposed to be a doctor, not a social worker.

“I'm running out of orderlies,” I insist. “I send them in to haul him out, and he damn near kills them. Rumours are getting out, it's almost impossible to hire any new staff around here”.

“So your solution is to just leave him in his room?”

I'm tired of talking about this every few days. “If you want to get him out of that room,” I say firmly, “you may go down there right now and attempt to get him out yourself. Haul him out, or die trying. Otherwise, please leave me to make the key decisions because ultimately I'm the one who has to answer if something goes wrong”.

I can tell he's not convinced, but he shuts up and drops a bunch of files on my desk. “Moving on,” he says, sounding annoyed and clearly planning to return to the topic of John Tarmey at a later date, “I have Sophie Hart's medical exam reports. She's healthy, and there was no sign of drugs or alcohol in her system”.

I open the folder to take a look. “No sign at all?”

“Nothing,” says Lucas. “You were wrong. She's not on anything. Whatever's wrong with her is psychological, not pharmaceutical”.

I take a deep breath. I really expected to find that she'd been using something. Then again, it's possible to disguise your habit, if you know what you're doing. From my contact with her so far, I'd say she's more than smart enough to slip something past us. “This doesn't confirm anything,” I say. “Young girls don't just start behaving like that with no inciting incident”.

“I'm just telling you what the tests told us,” Lucas replies, somewhat coldly. He's clearly annoyed with me. “The tests show no kind of substance. From what I can tell, she doesn't even take painkillers when she gets a headache”.

“She drinks?” I ask.

“Not heavily. Her liver's healthy enough”.

I leaf through the pages of the report.

“And she's not pregnant,” I say.

He shakes his head. “No”. There's a pause. “But she has been”.

I look up. “What do you mean?”

“She's not pregnant now,” he says. “But according to the medical exam we did when she was admitted, she has been. She's carried a baby to term. She gave birth some time in the past month. And... I don't think she remembers”.

5.

“Two people are sitting in a room,” says Alex, who seems to have attached himself to me and now follows me around the recreation room whenever I decide to be social. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” I say, walking over to the window and looking out at the depressing little garden. It's early morning. I spent all of last night staring at the ceiling, trying to work out what's going on. I didn't get very far.

“Okay. Two people are sitting in a room, and one of them says to the other one: You're crazy. And the other one replies: No, you're crazy. And the first one replies, No, you're crazy. Do you see where this is going? It's a cycle of negativity and attempts to use subjective viewpoints as facts. Do you see how fucked up this whole place is?”

I nod. “It is,” I say, staring at the trees in the distance.

“It's seriously wrong. It's... bureaucratic and it's vicious. They put power in the hands of these assholes who get off on labelling other people as crazy. Then they wonder why nothing improves and why everything just turns to shit. Do you understand?”

“Why are you in here?” I ask.

“I stabbed my best friend seventeen times,” he says, matter-of-factly. “During a three-legged race at school”.

I turn and stare at him. “Was... No, I don't want to know. Did your friend survive?”

Alex shrugs. “I don't know. It's all propaganda, anyway. Like those pills they make us take. Do you take yours?”

“I do,” I say.

“I put them in my mouth,” he says. “But I get rid of them so they don't work”.

“How do you do that?” I ask.

“I swallow them”. He looks at me, clearly expecting to be called a genius. “That way, they don't stay in my mouth and start affecting my brain”.

“That's brilliant,” I say quietly.

“The only one here who's got it all sorted out is John Tarmey,” Alex says. “He makes them do what he wants them to do. He has them all under control. They'll never tell John Tarmey what to do. Do you understand?”

I look around the room. Half a dozen fellow patients are scattered about, all looking as if their souls have been ripped from them and burnt. “Which one's John Tarmey?” I ask. “The guy in the wheelchair? The guy on the sofa? The guy hiding behind the plant who thinks the rest of us can't see him?” I wave at that last guy; he kneels down behind the plant.

“Tarmey's underground,” says Alex.

“Explains why I haven't met him,” I say.

“He's in the box. He never comes up. And they're scared of him. He's broken all their noses, and that's just the lucky ones. Some of them end up in hospital because of what he does to them. But it's their own fault, because they shouldn't keep trying to make John Tarmey come out of his box. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Alex, I understand,” I say. “I understand everything you say, you don't need to keep asking”.

“Okay,” he says.

I hear my name called by the woman at the nurses' station. Without really saying anything, I head off across the room. I'm fully aware that Alex is following me, but I have no intention of stopping or acknowledging him. I figure I'll just wait it out, and eventually he'll get bored of me.

“Pills,” says the nurse, handing me a small plastic cup containing there pills. They're little green-and-turquoise capsules. I don't even remember what they're called, but I swallow them anyway. “You want some water with those?” the nurse asks, after they've gone down the hatch.

“No thanks,” I say.

“You have to go and see Dr. Penfold,” she says. “He's waiting for you in his office”.

“I'm not seeing him until tomorrow,” I say, turning to leave.

“You have to go now,” says the nurse. “He has someone with him to see you”.

I turn back to her. “I'm tired. I just took my pills”.

“Orders are orders,” she says, then she looks at something that's just behind me. “And Alex, you can't go with her. Go and sit down”.

I hear Alex shuffling away. “Thanks,” I say. “He was kind of getting on my nerves”.

As soon as I'm led into Dr. Penfold's room, I realise this is going to be uncomfortable. My mother is there, with her usual concerned face on, but sitting in the corner is an entirely unexpected person: Shelley, my best friend, the one person who has actually met Patrick and knows that my story is completely true.

“So you're here to apologise and let me out?” I ask, kind of knowing that this is unlikely.

“Sit down, Sophie,” says Dr. Penfold.

I take a seat, glancing over at Shelley. She smiles at me but looks away. She seems tense.

“Are you okay, honey?” my mother asks.

I nod. There's no point trying to explain anything to her.

“We thought you'd like another visitor,” says Dr. Penfold. “Your friend Shelley was kind enough to come up today with your mother”.

I look at them. “You two shared a car?”

Shelley smiles, my mother looks annoyed.

“Sophie, you said in one of our sessions that your friend Shelley experienced some of these... unusual happenings while she was with you. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” I say. “That's what happened”. I look at Shelley. She doesn't seem to want to make eye contact with me. Somehow, I don't think she's going to corroborate my story so we can get out of here.

“You said...” Dr. Penfold looks down at his papers. “You said that she went down to the vampire's lair with you and helped you defeat a man named Martin Keller who was trying to kill the vampire. Is that right?”

I nod. “That's what happened,” I say.

“A modern day Van Helsing,” says Dr. Penfold, smiling. “And you believe your friend here actually met the vampire and saw him in action”.

“She did,” I say. I don't bother to look at Shelley. I can tell she's avoiding looking at me, so I don't want to exacerbate an already uncomfortable situation.

Dr. Penfold turns to Shelley. “Did any of this happen?” he asks her.

Shelley shifts awkwardly in her seat. “Well...” she says. “I mean... We are friends and all. I don't want to call anyone a liar...” She drifts off, clearly not sure what to say.

I turn to her. “Did it happen, Shelley?” I ask.

She looks at me, her eyes filled with... what is that look? Sadness? Concern? No, it's pity. “I just want you to get well,” she says eventually.

“Are you saying none of it happened?” I ask.

She takes a deep breath. “None of it happened,” she says. “I'm sorry, Sophie. I want to believe you. I really do. But all this stuff you're saying I saw, I didn't see any of it. None of it happened at all. It's just...”

“In my head,” I say flatly, with no emotion in my voice.

“It's stuff you need to get over,” she says. “I just want you to get better and get out of here. I've missed you”.

“I've only been here a few days,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says, “but you were missing nearly a year”.

“I didn't go missing!” I say, starting to get annoyed. Why do they all keep saying this?

“I was worried about you,” she says. And the thing is, looking at her now, I believe her. She seems genuine. But then there's the stuff she's saying about having never met Patrick, and I know for a fact that's not true. So how have they got her to lie?

Dr. Penfold looks at my mother, then back at me. “I would like a moment alone with Sophie, if that's okay with everyone?”

I don't look at them, but I hear the chairs move as my mother and Shelley get up and head to the door. Once they're gone, I try not to look at Dr. Penfold. There's something deeply strange going on here, and I can't work out what it is. But people are saying things that I know aren't true. I know Patrick is real, and I know I wasn't gone for a year. I remember everything that's happened to me over the course of these crazy few months.

“I have to discuss something delicate with you, Sophie,” says Dr. Penfold. “I asked your mother and your friend to leave the room because this is a medical matter and it's entirely up to you whether you want to tell them the nature of what I'm about to discuss with you. There's no right or wrong answer, you just have to decide for yourself. Do you understand?”

I look at him. “Yeah,” I say. I'm starting to get worried. This sounds serious.

“We performed a pregnancy test on you,” he says.

I swallow hard. “Am I?”

“No,” he says. “You're not pregnant. We double-checked to confirm”.

I relax a little. After what happened with Patrick last week at Gothos, I was convinced I would turn out to be carrying his child.

“But Sophie...” Dr. Penfold continues, “we did find some other indications. I went back over the results of the medical exam you had when you were first brought here, and it's absolutely clear that at some point in the past month you have in fact given birth to a child”.

I stare at him. “I've what?”

“You've carried a child through a full pregnancy, and you've given birth. Do you remember any of this?”

I shake my head. “I haven't had a baby,” I say. “There's no way. I'd remember having a baby!”

“You don't seem to remember anything from the past year,” he says.

“There's nothing to remember!” I shout back. I stand up. “I haven't been missing, and I wasn't pregnant!”

“Please calm down,” he says. “Haven't you noticed any breast tenderness? Anything unusual about your menstrual cycle?”

I look away. The truth is, I have noticed some tenderness in my breasts, perhaps even some swelling. But that doesn't mean I've given birth. You can't give birth without noticing.

“There's an additional consideration, Sophie,” he says. “If you've given birth, I'm required by law to notify the authorities. There's the very serious question of where the baby is now. If you really don't remember, I'm going to have to assume that there's a real possibility that the child is at risk. I'm also inclined to believe that your amnesia might be your way of covering up the trauma of whatever happened”.

I sit back down. “I can't have given birth,” I say. There's no way I could have lived an entire year, including a pregnancy and childbirth, and forgotten it. Is there?

“To start with,” says Dr. Penfold. “I'm going to need to know the child's father's name, if you know it. It's possible that you left the child with him. And please, we must be serious here, Sophie. None of this vampire talk now”.

“Patrick...” I mutter.

“Sophie, please!” He seems annoyed, as if he's losing patience with me. “There is a child's life at stake here. You have to at least tell me who the father might be. If there are a number of possibilities, you must let me know all of them”.

“Patrick,” I say. “Only Patrick”.

“Patrick doesn't exist,” says Dr. Penfold. “Or... if he does exist, then he's not a vampire. He's an ordinary man. You must tell me how I can reach him. If he has that child, it's important that we track him down”.

I think about it for a moment. “If he has a child,” I say, “there's no way he'll let you track him down”. Could it really be true? Did I have a child with Patrick, and then I forgot all about it? And if that's what happened, did Patrick take the child? And how did I end up here?

“What happened on Monday?” I ask.

“What do you mean?” Dr. Penfold says.

“People keep saying 'what happened on Monday', as if I did something on Monday. I don't remember anything. What happened?”

“It's not important right now,” says Dr. Penfold. “Your health, and the health of your child, must take priority. Please, Sophie, as a mother, think of your child”.

I shudder at the words he uses. As a mother? There's no way I'm a mother. I'd know. It might sound crazy, but I feel sure that I'd sense if I had a child. I'd know he, or she, was out there somewhere. Wouldn't I? Isn't that something mothers can do?

“You have to talk to me,” says Dr. Penfold.

At that moment, there's a knock at the door and an orderly enters. He seems to be pretty flustered. “Problem with John Tarmey,” he says. “He's starting banging on the walls of his room”.

“I'll come,” says Dr. Penfold. “Take Sophie back to her room”. He turns to me. “You need to think about whether this continued denial of reality is worth maintaining if it risks harming your baby”.

Once he's gone, I follow the orderly to the door. Outside, my mother and Shelley are sitting waiting.

“What did he want to talk to you about?” my mother asks.

“Nothing,” I say.

“I'm sorry about what I said in there,” says Shelley. “I just wanted to tell the truth”.

I look at her. “You really don't remember meeting Patrick?” I ask.

She sighs. “No. And you really don't remember where you've been for the past year?”

I start walking away. As I head to my room, I start to hear some kind of banging in the distance. I turn to the orderly. “Who's John Tarmey?” I ask.

“Freak in the basement,” he says, letting me into my room. “Fucked up my face. Fucks up everyone who goes near him”.

“Must be pretty strong,” I say.

The orderly says nothing. He just pushes the door shut, leaving me alone in the room. I walk over to the mirror, lift up my shirt and look at my belly. It looks normal, maybe a little larger than normal. Is it possible that I really gave birth without remembering it? And if I did, what has Patrick done with the baby?

6.

This has never happened before. John Tarmey has always been a problematic patient, one who refuses to tow the line and often acts up. But he always has a reason for his bad behaviour, whereas this... Well, this just seems like attention-seeking. He's banging on the walls of his room, making as much noise as possible, which seems completely at odds with his stated desire to just stay down here and rot without anyone paying him any attention.

“John, can you hear me?” I ask, calling through the door. Usually I'd go into his room, but given the circumstances I've decided such a move would be too dangerous. “John, answer me!”

The banging stops.

“He's here,” John says.

I peer through the little glass window. The light is off inside, but I can just about see John. He's on the far side of the room, naked.

“Who's here?” I ask.

John walks over to the door. “Earlier, when one of your idiots opened the door to bring me some food, I sensed him. He's here. I could smell him. I could smell his scent. What is he doing here? How did he find me?”

I stare at John for a moment. “I don't know who you're talking about,” I say.

“Tell him to come down here and fight me,” John says. “Tell him I'll take him on. Tell him I'll fucking kill him if he comes anywhere near me. Do you understand?”

Finally, I start to realise part of the mystery concerning John Tarmey. He wants to stay down here in this lead-lined room because he's scared of something. Or someone.

“John,” I say, trying to soothe him by keeping my voice calm, “why don't you tell me who it is that you think is here. I can check, but I need a name. I need to know”.

“Patrick,” says John.

“There's no-one named Patrick here,” I say. I turn to the orderly. “Are there any members of staff named Patrick?” He shakes his head. I turn back to John. “You're mistaken. But I'm very keen to learn more about this Patrick person, and the reason you fear him”.

John stares at me. “If he's not here,” he says, “then someone here has his scent. Someone here has been with him. And that means he'll be here himself soon enough”.

This is all very strange. John Tarmey might be many things – a genius, a thug, an egomaniac, a psychopath, an enigma – but he's not delusional, nor is he mad. And I have never, ever seen him lose control until now. But he seems genuinely panicked, as if he can't keep control of his thoughts.

“Would you like to schedule a session?” I ask.

“Fuck you,” he spits back at me.

“Would you like me to open the door and come inside with you?”

He grunts and walks away from the door. I pull the key from my pocket, open the big lead door and enter the dark room.

“You have to be more careful,” says John, staring at the wall.

“More careful about what?” I ask.

“You have to make sure he doesn't know I'm here,” John replies, still not looking at me. “Please, it's the only thing I ask you to do”.

I sigh. “John, we have to work through this. We have to get to a point where we can start to understand your irrational fears so that we can roll them back. Don't you want to ever get out of this box?”

“No,” he says. “Not until... Just no. I don't. I'm happy here”.

I turn and head back to the door. “I'll come down again tomorrow,” I say wearily. “We'll talk about it some more, and you can tell me about this Patrick fellow”.

“Just keep the door shut as much as possible,” says John. “And if there's anyone new here, get rid of them. I don't want them attracting unwelcome attention, even if it's indirect”.

“I'm sorry, John,” I say, “but I'm afraid you don't have the power to tell me how to run this facility. I will take your words into account, of course, but other than that, I won't take orders from you regarding the way I keep this place in order. You can't tell me what to do”.

John laughs. “You sound just like your grandfather”.

“Excuse me?” I ask, genuinely surprised.

John smiles broadly. “Ennis Penfold. Your grandfather. He had that same sense of self-important arrogance that you carry around every day. Even when he as tying yellow ribbons around oak trees, and hauling black men to secluded spots for a private lynching. You remind me of him”.

“I don't think you know what you're talking about,” I say tersely.

“Your grandfather wasn't a very nice man, was he?” John stares at me. “I guess you loved him when you were a kid, but I'm sure you've read about him since then. One of the most feared men in the state, and with good reason. But the books don't even scratch the surface. There's so much more to know about him, more than the books could ever tell you. Do you want to know more? Do you want me to let you in on a few little secrets about your grandfather? The kind of things you've always suspected, always feared, but always hoped weren't true?”

I turn to walk out. Patients are strictly forbidden from such personal information about staff members. I have been far too generous with John Tarmey, allowing him to have all the books he wants. There will have to be restrictions from now on. I can't allow him to try to gain any kind of leverage over me. For the sake of our doctor-patient relationship, it is vital that I retain some kind of dominance over him.

“Did I hit a nerve?” John asks.

I don't bother replying to him. Once I'm out of the room and the door has been locked, I head back upstairs. It has certainly been an odd day, with the links between Sophie Hart and John Tarmey becoming increasingly apparent. I suspect it would be wise to keep the pair of them apart. If they start talking, they could just end up forming some kind of connection, and that's the last thing that I want. For now, John Tarmey serves his purpose just fine as he is, especially since we secretly removed a small section of lead protection. Slowly, imperceptibly, his scent has been escaping. And somewhere far off, a vampire is sure to have picked up on that scent.

7.

The next morning, straight after breakfast, Alex pushes the door open and we peer down the corridor. There's no-one about, which is odd in itself: every part of this entire building is usually swarming with orderlies, nurses, doctors and other patients. To find a peaceful area, where no-one seems to be doing anything, is something of a privilege. I'm tempted to just abandon the plan and sit here instead. It'd be nice to have the peace and quiet for a change.

“Down here,” says Alex. “Do you understand?”

“I understand, Alex,” I say, pushing past him and leading the way, even though I'm not the one who really knows where we're going. “I always understand. You don't need to keep asking me”.

“I understand,” he says. “This way”.

He leads me down another corridor. It's strange being down here in the basement. For the past four days, I've basically shuffled between the same three rooms: Dr. Penfold's office, the recreation room, and the room where I sleep. I haven't even been out in the garden.

“There,” Alex says finally, as we stare at a door at the far end of another corridor. “Reinforced lead walls. No-one's allowed down here except members of staff with special clearance. John Tarmey isn't even mentioned on most of the patient lists. He's like a ghost patient. Someone who doesn't really exist, but then sometimes you hear him yelling at night so, er, I think he is real. I don't know. It's hard in a place like this, you never really know if maybe you're imagining stuff, but I've seen other people have heard Tarmey yelling. Or maybe I imagined that too. It's complicated. What do you think? Do you understand?”

I start walking towards the door. “I understand, Alex,” I say. “Are you coming?”

“I'll wait here,” he says. “Do you understand?”

I keep walking.

“Sophie!” Alex shouts.

I turn to look at him.

“I said I'll wait here. Do you understand?”

I nod. “Yes, Alex. I understand”. Then I turn back and walk up to the door. I can tell immediately that it's a thick, sturdy door designed to keep something inside the room. There's a small glass window in the door, but it looks like it's dark inside. I try the handle, but of course the door is locked.

“Hello,” I say, not too loud. I wait. If there's really someone in the room, will he even be able to hear me? “Are you there?” I wait a little longer. “John Tarmey, are you there? My name is Sophie Hart, I came to talk to you”.

After a moment, I hear a noise from inside the room. I can't even tell you what the noise is. It's a kind of shuffling sound, like someone moving about but... There's something odd about it, as if he's struggling with every step.

“Can I talk to you?” I ask. “It's just... I've heard some pretty interesting things about you. And this place is pretty boring, so I guess I've come to find out if you're as interesting as people say you are”.

I stare into the darkness visible through the little window, and suddenly I see a face emerging from the gloom. He's older than I expected, maybe in his 40s, with dark eyes and an intense stare.

“Can you hear me?” I ask.

“I don't get many visitors,” he says. “Where are the guards?”

“I don't think there are any,” I say, looking along the corridor. “You're in luck”.

“Luck?” he asks. “I need guards. I need more guards. But... even then, they won't be much use”.

“My name is Sophie,” I say. “Your name is John, right?”

“What do you know about me?” he asks.

“Just your name,” I say, “and the fact that you're down here and almost no-one upstairs talks about you or seems to know about you. And judging by this door, it looks like someone's really keen to keep you locked in this room. Why are they so determined to keep you locked up?”

“They're not,” he says. “They want me to come out of here, but I won't. You must tell them to stop trying to get me out. I'm staying here forever. Until the whole fucking planet crumbles to dust and is blown away on the solar winds”.

“Pretty dramatic,” I say. “What's so special about that room, anyway?”

“You wouldn't like the perfect room?” John asks. “If you found the one perfect room in the whole universe, the room with everything that you could possibly want, would you ever want to leave?”

I think about it for a moment. “I don't think I'd want to live in a room all my life,” I say eventually.

“You don't understand,” he says. “But you will. You all will. Because sooner or later, this whole fucking place is going to come tumbling down, and you'll all die unless you give him what you want. Then you'll understand. You'll all be begging for mercy. Not from me. From him. But I'll be watching. And I'll be safe, in here. I'll be watching you die from this little window”.

I look into his eyes. He seems to really believe what he's saying, though that doesn't mean too much. Upstairs, there's a guy who constantly talks about aliens who landed in the garden last week and put a probe up his butt. He seems to really believe what he's saying too. Then again, the difference with John Tarmey is that he doesn't seem to be trying to sound convincing. In fact, John Tarmey sounds so far 'out there', it's impossible to entirely dismiss what he's saying. Plus, there's the question of why Dr. Penfold and his colleagues have apparently agreed to let John stay down here. Why haven't they just hauled him out of the room and made him face his fears?

“I just want to talk,” I say.

“There's no-one here,” he replies. “I died a long time ago. I'm just waiting for the rest of the world to catch up”.

“You remind me of someone I know,” I say. The truth is, he reminds me a little of Patrick. But at least this guy can, or will, talk to me.

“That's not a good thing,” he replies. “You should get out of here. It's not a safe place for you to be”.

“Having fun?” asks a voice from behind me.

I turn to find Dr. Lucas has crept up. I look back and see John Tarmey's face withdrawing into the shadows.

“You're not supposed to be down here,” Lucas says. “But I kind of feel like you know that already, don't you?”

I look back along the corridor. Where the hell is Alex? He was supposed to warn me if anyone was coming. “Well...” I say, mumbling slightly. “I didn't say any signs specifically telling me not to come down here”.

Lucas puts his arm around my shoulder and leads me away from John Tarmey's door. I like Lucas; he's fairly young and he doesn't seem to have that cold, hard demeanour that defines Dr. Penfold. “John Tarmey is a very special patient,” he says. “We don't talk about him much because, well, we don't really know what we're doing with him. And to be honest, we treat him differently to how we treat the rest of you. And we can't let people know that, because consistency is the key thing”.

We get to the end of the corridor, and Alex is waiting around the corner.

“Sorry,” Alex says. “He snuck up on me. Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” I say. “He snuck up on me too”.

“You can't come down here again,” Lucas says to us. “John Tarmey is completely off limits. And this whole basement area is off limits. You're not allowed in this area, and you have to obey the rules”.

Realising that it's pointless to argue with him, I nod and act all passive. “Sorry, Dr. Lucas,” I say. “We won't come down here again”.

I'm not sure he entirely falls for my attempt to seem innocent, but eventually he turns to Alex and pats him on the shoulder. “Scoot off upstairs, Alex. I need to show Sophie something in private”.

“Okay,” says Alex, turning and walking away. Now there's a display of passivity that's completely genuine.

“Come on, Soph,” says Alex, leading me along a corridor. “It's alright if I call you Soph, isn't it?”

“I prefer Sophie,” I say. After all, it's only one extra syllable.

“Okay, Sophie,” he says as we reach a set of steps and head up. “We're going to try something different with you today. That's why I came to find you. And I think it's going to be fun”.

When we get upstairs, Dr. Lucas opens the back door and indicates that I should go out into the garden. But as soon as I step outside, I realise there are four rather large men waiting for me, with a van. I turn back to Dr. Lucas.

“Don't be alarmed, Sophie,” he says. “They're just going to take you to another facility for some treatment that we can't give you here. You'll be back with us by dinner time. It's just a little road trip for a few hours. Is that okay?”

I look at the men. They don't look particularly friendly. Dressed all in black, they seem kind of intimidating.

“I'd rather not,” I say, turning to go back inside. Inevitably, Dr. Lucas puts a firm hand on my shoulder.

“I'd like you to go by choice,” he says, “but if you refuse, I can have these gentlemen take you by force”.

“Does Dr. Penfold know about this?” I ask.

“It's Dr. Penfold's idea,” Dr. Lucas says. “He's always been a proponent of electro-shock treatment and -”

“Electro-shock?” I ask, interrupting him. “You're not doing that to me!”

“Relax,” he says. “It's not like you see in movies. It's not big jolts of electricity to your head. It's a series of very thin wires inserted into your brain and stimulated with relatively small currents. You'll barely notice it”.

I look at the four men waiting for me, and the large, dark van.

“I don't think I want to go,” I say, trying to stall for time while I think of a more effective way out of this.

“You'll be glad of it once it's over,” says Dr. Lucas.

At that moment, something strange happens. Something I never expected, something I never saw coming. As I look at the van, I start to cry. It's completely irrational, it makes no sense at all. I've never been much of a crier, but tears start rolling down my face. “I don't want to go,” I say, trying to sound firm despite my lower lip starting to wobble. I turn and try to walk back inside, but Dr. Lucas grabs me and then the four other men come over and start pulling me towards the van.

“No!” I shout. “No!”

“See you this evening, Sophie,” says Dr. Lucas, smiling. “It'll be fine, I promise you. I wouldn't let them take you if I had any doubts that this is the best course of action for you”.

Though I struggle as hard as I can, I can't stop the men getting me to the van and throwing me into the back. They then slam the door shut and lock it before they go around to climb in at the front.

Dr. Lucas walks up to the van door. “Please don't cry,” he says. “We have to think about the baby as well now. If you've given birth, there's a baby out there and God knows where it is or who's looking after it. We have to get your head in gear so we can help you and help your baby”.

“Patrick has it,” I say through the tears.

“Patrick's not real,” says Dr. Lucas. “Therefore, Patrick doesn't have your baby. Therefore, there's a big problem. Let's just hope that someone is taking care of it, okay? There are...” He pauses, seemingly a little uncomfortable. “Well, Sophie, there are consequences for you if it turns out that you gave birth and then you allowed any harm to come to your baby. So it's in your own best interests for us all to get this resolved as quickly as possible”. He bangs the side of the van. “If we don't do this, something bad might happen”.

The engine starts and the van starts to pull away. I stare at Dr. Lucas as he, and the facility, recede into the distance. There's no way I can allow this to happen. I can't have electro-shock therapy. There's nothing wrong with me, apart from maybe a spot of amnesia... well, okay, a whole year of amnesia. But I don't need electro-shock to get me out of this mess. I need to find Patrick and find out what the hell he's done to me. As the van speeds away from the facility, I start banging on the sides. They have to let me out of here. They have to let me go and find Patrick. They have to understand!

8.

Ennis Penfold, my grandfather, was most certainly a racist, murdering old bigot. But he was also the man who sat me on his knee, told me stories about his life, and taught me to hunt. He was in many ways a good and decent man. To those he loved, he was true and loyal. He would have given his life to save me, or to save my mother. So although he had his bad sides, he was very much a product of his time. He went too far, obviously, when he lynched those men. But despite all of that, despite everything that the history books say... He was not a bad man.

“Any sign of the child?” asks a voice from behind me.

I turn suddenly, midway through pouring myself a glass of whiskey. I had no idea there was anyone else in my office. But he's here. He's standing in the corner, behind the curtain.

“Not yet,” I say. “I've sent her off for some special treatment at another clinic. Electro-shock therapy”.

Silence for a moment. My visitor, though familiar, chooses to remain behind the curtain so that I can't see his face properly. “How's that gonna help,” he says eventually. He takes a sip from his own glass of whisky. Nice. Obviously he helped himself to my drinks cabinet while he was waiting for me.

“If it unblocks her amnesia,” I say, trying to explain everything clearly, “it could help us to discover where she left the child”.

I hear laughter from behind the curtain. “Dr. Penfold, I don't think we're going to have much luck even if we do track the child down. Not at first, anyway. I think you know why”.

I take a sip of whisky. “Patrick,” I say.

“He's dangerous,” says the voice. “He's unstoppable. Well, not completely unstoppable. I stopped him, once, but he managed to get going again. But if he's got that child, we sure ain't gonna be able to just waltz in and take the little angel”.

“So what's your plan?” I ask. “If you don't think you can do anything to stop him, or to take the child, what's the point of all this?”

There's silence for a moment. “If we can get that child, we can use it as the seed to start a new race of vampires. No need to cut it up and figure out how it works, we can just breed it with humans and wait for our little army to arise”.

“And that's really what you want?” I ask. “A new race of these... creatures?”

“Of course, doctor,” says the voice. “It's been decades since the vampires were wiped out. It's high time we got ourselves a new generation, only this time they won't be skulking around in the shadows. They'll be the dominant species on the whole damn planet and that's when we'll be able to control everything”.

I pour another whiskey and glance at my watch. It's almost lunchtime. Sophie should be almost finished at the other facility by now. The van should be ready to bring her back, and then we can see how the electro-shock therapy went. “You want to create a new race of vampires, just so they can be your slaves?” I ask.

“Nothing wrong with slaves,” says the voice. “Your grandfather like slaves, didn't he, Dr. Penfold?”

I down the glass of whisky. “John Tarmey mentioned Patrick today. At first I thought it was a coincidence, but then I realised there must be a link. What's going on?”

“Tarmey's a piece of the puzzle,” says the voice. “An unimportant piece, but a piece nonetheless. You'll see. His time's nearly up anyway. His job's nearly done”.

The phone on my desk rings. I pick it up. “Penfold,” I say.

“Dr. Penfold, it's Malcolm Armitage from Stevenage,” says the voice on the other end. “Your patient hasn't arrived yet, I just wanted to check if you're still sending her”.

Instantly, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “They should have been there over an hour ago,” I say.

“So they're still coming?” Armitage says.

“Yes,” I say. “I'll check up on them. I'll call you back”. I disconnect the call, then I dial another number. After a while, with no-one picking up, I put the phone down.

“Problem?” asks the voice.

“Sophie should have reached the other facility more than an hour ago,” I say. “But there's no sign of her. And the van drivers aren't answering their phone”.

There's more laughter from behind the curtain. “Sounds like the vampire's got a few things to say about your plan, Dr. Penfold. I hope you've got a back-up, 'cause I'm gonna be very unhappy if you start fucking things up”.

“Nothing has been fucked up,” I say.

“Then where's the van?” the voice asks. “Where's the girl?”

“They're on course,” I say. “I have this all planned out. They're just a little delayed, they probably had a flat tyre or something”.

“You really believe that?” says the voice, sounding angry. “The only thing you had to do was get the girl to answer our questions before the fucking vampire turned up. You couldn't even do that. Your grandfather would be ashamed of you”.

“It'll be okay,” I say. “And don't you dare talk about my grandfather”.

“I knew him better than you ever did,” the voice says. “You were just a child when the racist old bastard used to read you children's stories on his knee. I heard his real stories. I knew the real Ennis Penfold”.

I try to call the guards' van again, but there's still no answer. “I'll send someone to check on them,” I say. “One way or another, this is still going according to plan”.

9.

After about twenty minutes, I stop banging on the sides of the van and sit back. There's no point wasting energy now, I might as well wait to see if there's any chance that I can escape once we get to wherever we're going. Besides, I feel like a fool, raging against something that seems totally inevitable. I glance over at the small window that opens into the front cab, where I can just make out the four guards who have been assigned to accompany me on this journey. The fact that there are four of them seems a little excessive, but I guess I'll take it as a compliment. They sure seem determined to get me where I'm going.

Eventually, I find myself almost falling asleep. I sit in the corner and my head starts to droop. I haven't been sleeping properly lately, and the rhythm of the van's movement is quite pleasant after a while. As I start to sleep, I find myself dreaming of a simpler time when I used to visit Patrick and Vincent in their underground home, when Vincent would open out his old books and tell me some arcane story while Patrick would skulk about nearby. It's hard to believe that Vincent's really dead, and I can't help feeling that Patrick has changed since that terrible night. It's as if Vincent kept Patrick calm and made sure he made good decisions. Lately, Patrick has seemed more wilful, more determined, more... dangerous...

Suddenly there's a loud bang and the van skids to a halt. I fall onto the floor and bang my head against one of the other seats. Sitting up, I hear animated discussions taking place in the drivers' cab.

Eventually, I hear one of the front doors open, then slam shut, and footsteps make their way slowly along the side of the van. I go to the back window, and after a moment I see one of the four guards is out there, checking to see if the van has been damaged. He keeps glancing off into the woods by the side of the road, as if he's not sure what we hit.

“Is everything okay?” I shout.

He just looks at me and carries on walking around the van. I follow the sound of his footsteps as he walks along the other side, but there's a sudden loud bang and the whole van shakes, then there's another, then a cracking sound, and then I hear what sounds like someone climbing onto the roof. I stare up at the ceiling, listening to what sounds like someone walking about up there. Did the guard go up to take a look? Suddenly there's a sliding sound, and as I look at the back window I see something fly off the roof and land on the road. I walk over and look out.

Crumpled on the ground, about ten metres from the van, is the body of the guard. Someone just threw him off the roof. There's a patch of blood under him, and he's clearly dead.

I look back at the other end of the van as I hear the front door open again. Another guard has come out to see what's happening. Almost instantly, there's another loud bang, as if something has been slammed against the side of the van, and then there's silence.

I hear the other guards trying to start the engine, but it won't engage. They sound pretty frantic. Finally, I hear the front doors open and then I hear the sound of them running around to the back of the van. I go to the window. One of them is running as fast as he can down the road, jumping straight over the dead body of his colleague, while the other is trying to open the back door to get me out.

As I watch, the one who's trying to get me out is suddenly lifted up in to the air. I look up at the roof, and I can hear what sounds like a fight up there, culminating in some more banging and then, finally, another cracking sound. After a moment, another dead body falls off the top of the van and lands in the road.

I listen as someone walks about on the roof of the van.

“Patrick!” I call out.

No reply

“Patrick!” I'm sure it's him. It has to be him. Who else would – who else could – do something like this? And why's he here? Why did he kill those three guards and let the other one escape? Is he here for me? Is he here to stop them taking me to the electro-shock therapy? Or is he here because he wants to do something to me himself?

“Patrick!” I shout for a third time. “I know it's you! Let me out!” I go to the back door and shake it. “Let me out, Patrick!”

I wait. Silence. Then I hear a creak up on the top of the van, and I know he's still there. What's he doing? What's he waiting for?

I grab a box from the corner of the van and throw it up against the roof. I figure I've got to get his attention somehow.

“Patrick!” I shout. “For fuck's sake, Patrick, open the fucking door!”

Silence.

I wait.

Nothing.

Usually, when he's being quiet, I can at least see his face. I can at least work out what he wants, and to some extent what he's thinking, by looking at his eyes. But I can't even see him this time. All I can tell is that he's obviously angry, and... I look out the back window at the two dead bodies on the road. I'm pretty sure he killed at least one more guard as well. I've seen Patrick kill before, but never... Did he have to kill those men? Couldn't he have just let them run off?

A sudden chill rushes up my spine. What does Patrick want with me? Why is he here, and why is he delaying coming down to see me? Is he trying to avoid something?

“I need to talk to you!” I shout.

Nothing. But I know he's still up there, I don't know how, I just know.

“You have to tell me what happened!” I shout. “You owe me that! Why was I missing for a year?”

There's a slight creak as he moves a little up on the roof. I grab the box and throw it up against the inside of the van again, to get his attention.

“You can't just ignore me like this!” I shout.

Nothing.

And then -

The sound of him jumping off the roof and landing on the road beside the van. I listen, and after a moment I put my hand on the inside of the van wall.

“Talk to me!” I shout.

After a moment's silence, I hear a rustling sound as he walks away into the forest.

I step back. Looking down at my hand, I see that it's shaking. I'm not sure why... Anger? Fear? Maybe a little of both. I walk back to the van wall and start banging on the side. “Come back!” I shout. “Patrick!”

I turn as I hear a noise nearby. Going over to the little window, I see a car has stopped further back, and someone is checking one of the dead guards. I guess they must have scared Patrick off. He would have come down and listened to me, wouldn't he? He owes me an explanation for what has been going on. And why did he attack the van, and kill the guards, only to then walk away and leave me once again at the mercy of Dr. Penfold and the staff at the psychiatric hospital.

The back door of the van opens and Dr. Lucas stares in at me.

“What the hell happened?” he asks, shock written all across his face.

“Patrick,” I say.

“No kidding,” he replies. “All the guards are dead. Who did that?”

“Patrick,” I say again.

“This isn't...” He pauses. “This isn't supposed to happen”. He looks around at the forest. “Where is he?”

“You believe me?” I ask.

“I have no fucking choice,” he says. “There are four dead guards on the road”.

“Three,” I say. “One of them escaped”.

Lucas nods. “We'll find him. But we have to get out of here. Come on”. He reaches a hand out, waiting for me to take it and follow him.

“No,” I say. “I'm staying here to wait for Patrick”.

“Patrick... If he was here, he's gone. Come with me”.

I shake my head. “You scared him away. If you leave, he'll come back”.

“And do what?” Lucas asks. “You think he came to save you? Then why didn't he save you?”

I open my mouth to argue back, but the truth is: I don't know what to say. I have this dark, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me Lucas is right about this.

“If he's real,” Lucas continues, “then you pose the biggest threat to his secrecy. Do you really think he wants you wandering around, telling everyone about him?”

“He wouldn't hurt me,” I say.

“For fuck's sake, Sophie, you've got to come with me!” He states at me, and I can't help feeling that he actually cares. He's not like Dr. Penfold, who seems determined to just keep on doing the wrong thing at every step of the way. I don't trust Dr. Penfold, but there's a part of me that thinks I can trust Dr. Lucas.

“Patrick would never hurt me,” I say. “Never in a million years”.

“You want to risk that right now?” Lucas replies. “Do you want me to leave, and leave these doors wide open? You want to wait until it gets dark, and see if he comes back for you? And even if he does, are you really sure you want that?”

Slowly, reluctantly, I climb out of the back of the van. Lucas wraps his coat around my shoulders and guides me over to his car. Once we're inside, he starts the engine. As he turns the car around, I look out at the dark woods. Am I really scared of Patrick? Do I really think he'd hurt me? After everything we've been through together, I want to say that I have total faith in him. But...

I...

10.

“Take her to her room!” I shout at Dr. Lucas before putting the phone down. I turn to look out the window. It's already starting to get dark, and spots of rain are falling.

The plan was that by tonight she'd have been through the electro-shock and she'd be ready to talk. Now we have to waste another day until we can find a way to get her to the other facility. And there's the question of what the hell happened to that damn van. Four guards overpowered, three of them killed and the fourth still missing. Why? And by whom? Well, the answer is obvious: Patrick. He wasn't supposed to start interfering, not yet, but it seems he has picked up on the scent.

I sit at my desk. We don't have time for this. I have to think of something.

The phone rings. I pick it up.

“Dr. Penfold, we found Styles,” says a voice I immediately recognise as one of my assistants, Davies.

“Who?” I bark.

“Styles,” Davies says. “The fourth guard. The one who got away. We found him”.

“Is he alive?”

“No, sir,” Davies says. “He's dead. Very dead”.

I think about this for a moment. “How did he die?”

“Blood loss, I think” Davies says. “His neck's been ripped open, his chest's been all messed up, he's barely got any blood left in his body at all. But there's not much blood nearby. It's like the blood's just... gone”.

A shiver goes up my spine. “Keep this to yourself,” I say. “No-one else needs to know”.

“Understood”. There's a pause. “Sir, it looks like... I've seen people who've been killed by animals before, sir. I've seen bodies where bits and pieces have been eaten. But this... it's like whatever killed him, was just playing with his dead body, sir. For fun”.

I nod slowly. There's a clap of flash of lightning in the grey skies outside, followed a few moments later by a clap of thunder. “How far did he get from the van?” I ask.

“That's the other thing, sir. The body... it's nowhere near the van”.

“Where is it?” I ask.

“Sir, come over to the window”.

I stand up and walk over to my office window. The sky above looks ominously dark. There's going to be a hell of a storm tonight. But then I look down and I see something that truly horrifies me. Davies is standing right below my window, phone in his hand, looking up at me. Next to him, on the grass, is the mangled, ripped-apart body of Styles.

“Here?” I stammer.

“He was killed right here,” Davies says. He looks around. “I'm coming in,” he says. “I don't like it out here”.

“Bolt the doors,” I say. “All of them. We're going into a full lockdown. No-one leaves, no-one enters. And check all the windows, all the alarms. I want this place secured”.

“Okay,” says Davies. “What about the body?”

I look down at the corpse below my window. “It's just meat,” I say. “Leave it there until the morning. Unless you feel like staying outside all night after the lockdown starts?”

Davies disconnects his phone and hurries inside. I walk over to my desk, pick up the microphone and hit the blue button to make an announcement to the whole facility. “This is Dr. Penfold,” I say. “Due to a possible escaped patient, I am instituting a complete lockdown, effective immediately”. I put the microphone down.

“Do you understand?” asks a voice.

I look up.

Standing in my doorway there's a boy. I recognise him, he's one of the patients, but I've never really spoken to him. Dr. Lucas looks after him.

“Go away,” I say.

“Do you understand?” he asks again.

“Yes, now go away”.

The boy smiles, then turns and walks away. The phone rings again. I answer.

“It's me,” says Dr. Lucas. “What's going on up there? John Tarmey just started screaming”.

I push open the door to the treatment room, and Davies wheels the heavy equipment inside. This is old machinery, something I tucked away in the storage room many years ago and never, ever thought I'd be using again. But needs must as the devil drives. If I can't get Sophie Hart to the other facility for her electro-shock treatment, I'll just have to be inventive. This machine worked just fine forty years ago. Sure, it's a little less subtle than the modern methods. But the blunt truth is, the long-term prognosis for Sophie doesn't really matter. Just as long as we get the information we need in the short-term, I can live with the fact that she might end up as little more than a vegetable.

“Get her,” I say to Davies.

As he leaves the room, Dr. Lucas arrives. “What are you doing?” he asks. “Are you coming to help me with Tarmey?”

“Is he in his room?” I ask.

“Of course”.

“Is the door shut?”

“Yes”.

“Then there's no problem,” I say, starting to set up the equipment.

“He's screaming,” says Dr. Lucas. “He's never screamed before, not like this. Not when he's in his room. He's terrified, and I can't work out why. He just started”. After a moment, Dr. Lucas starts to recognise the equipment I'm preparing. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Emergency treatment,” I say, hooking the system up to the main power outlet. “That girl really needs her treatment tonight. I can't afford to wait”.

“This is unethical,” says Dr. Lucas.

“So's this,” says a voice from the shadows. Before I have a chance to react, my dark visitor reaches out, grabs Dr. Lucas by the neck, pulls him to the side and snaps his neck. He lets go, and Dr. Lucas falls to the floor, instantly dead.

“You could have let him live,” I say.

“It was irrelevant,” says the voice. “It was mildly inconvenient to have him alive, he was wasting precious seconds. You know that Patrick is here, don't you?”

“He's outside,” I say. “He's not in the building yet”.

“Isn't he?” says the voice. “Have you checked all the doors and windows? Do you really think a creature that can kill four security guards in less than a minute will have much trouble getting into a dilapidated old hospital?”

“He won't stop us,” I say. “The equipment is ready. I'm just waiting for Davies to bring the girl”.

“Saving the girl is an afterthought,” says the voice. “Not even important to him. He's after John Tarmey first”.

I power up the machine. Despite being old and unloved, it's working rather well. “What's so special about John Tarmey anyway?” I ask. “Why does Patrick hate him so much?”

“Patrick has always hated other vampires,” says the voice. “Especially ones he thought he'd killed hundreds of years ago”.

11.

“Do you understand?” asks Alex.

I'm sitting on the edge of my bed, trying to understand everything that has been happening. “No,” I say. “This time, Alex, I don't think I understand at all”.

“That's understandable,” he says. “Things get pretty complex around here”.

The door opens and one of Dr. Penfold's assistants, a stocky man named Davies, waves at me to come over.

“See you later,” I say to Alex, walking over to Davies. “What now?”

He grabs my arm and pulls me along the corridor.

“Get off!” I shout, trying to slip out of his tight grip. “You're hurting me!”

“We're going downstairs,” he says. “No fucking about”.

“I'll come!” I insist. “Just stop hurting my arm!”

But he won't let go. He leads me down some stairs and soon we're going into a room in the basement. Dr. Penfold is waiting, with a bed laid out in the corner and some kind of machine nearby.

“You can leave us now, Davies,” says Dr. Penfold. “But keep checking the perimeter. Don't stop until I tell you it's safe to do so, do you understand me?”

Davies nods and leaves the room.

“I'm very sorry about the little incident in the van,” Dr. Penfold says. “I hope you're sufficiently recovered”.

“It was pretty weird,” I say.

“Yes,” he replies. “I expect it was Patrick, your vampire friend, taking out some of his frustration”.

I stare at him. “You don't believe Patrick is real,” I say.

“It's nothing to do with believing or not believing,” Dr. Penfold says. “I know he's real. I even saw him once, out of the corner of my eye. And some of my friends have had considerably more involved dealings with him”.

There's a noise behind me and I turn, but I don't see anyone. All I see is the dark shadows on the other side of the room.

“There's nothing there,” says Dr. Penfold. “Now listen, I've decided to finally admit to you that I believe you because I have something to offer you”. He turns to admire the machine. “This is the most amazing gadget. It's good old-fashioned electro-shock of the variety used in the days when we were really allowed to cure our patients. It's not as subtle as the equipment I was hoping to use on you, and to be honest, the potential side-effects are a little more strong. But I'm assuming you want to know what happened to you in that year when you were missing. I'm assuming you want to know what happened to the baby?”

I stare at the machine. It looks old, like something out of a horror movie. Wires are sticking out the top, and the arms of the bed have thick leather straps.

“I can wait,” I say.

“This can't wait,” Dr. Penfold says. “It's becoming too serious. I hope you understand, Sophie, there's no time to lose. That baby could be dying. You might have left it in some remote abandoned house, or in a cave, or anywhere. This is a matter of life and death, and the survival of your child – your son or daughter – is at stake. Won't you accept a little pain and risk in order to safeguard your child?”

“I don't have a child,” I say.

“Sit down, Sophie,” he says, gesturing towards the bed. “I know that you accept the truth. Somewhere out there, you have a child. We have to find that child before it's too late. Either the poor little thing is all alone, or it's with Patrick. Which of those options do you really think is preferable?”

“I don't have a child,” I repeat. “It's just not possible to -”

“There's a year of your life that's missing,” he says. “In your mind, you went to this Gothos place last week and then you woke up here. But in reality, you were away for a year and then on Monday you were found outside your house, bleeding and almost dead”.

“What?” This is the first I've heard of being almost dead.

“You don't remember, do you?” he says. “You were rushed to hospital. You had wounds on your arms, on your neck. Haven't you seen the scars, Sophie?”

I look down at my arms. There are scratches and cuts, but I... I touch the side of my neck and feel something odd. Stitches! Something did happen to me...

“I think he did this to you,” says Dr. Penfold. “I think you put your trust in Patrick, and he stole your baby and he almost killed you, and now you're willing to let that baby suffer and perhaps even die because you still have some misguided loyalty to this selfish, arrogant vampire who believes he can just order you about”.

I look at the electro-shock machine.

“This machine can unblock your memory,” he says. “Yes, it's crude. Yes, it will probably be extremely uncomfortable. But it will work. And then we can help you to find that baby and get it away from the vampire. What do you think he plans to do with it?”

I have this horrible, hollow feeling inside. I feel like I should sacrifice my safety, perhaps my sanity, to undergo this treatment and try to help my baby. I should care enough to do that. But I don't. I've never seen the baby, I have no memory of being pregnant, and I have no connection with this... thing that they keep saying is my child. So how can I sacrifice so much to protect something that I don't really know?

“Do the right thing, Sophie,” says Dr. Penfold. “The vampire almost killed you. There's no way you can believe that you owe him anything any more. The only person to whom you owe anything is that child. Be a good mother. Be a good human being, and sit down so I can perform this procedure before it's too late!”

From somewhere else in the building, there's a crashing sound. The lights flicker.

“What was that?” I ask.

“Probably just Mr. Tarmey having another one of his fits,” Dr. Penfold says, looking concerned. “Don't let him distract you”.

I take a deep breath. “First, you have to tell me about John Tarmey. Who is he? What is he?”

“He's a patient,” says Dr. Penfold, sounding somewhat annoyed that I'm delaying things. “Just like you, just like everyone else up there”.

“But he's not up there, is he?” I say. “He's down here. All the time. What's so special about him? Why is he treated so differently to everyone else?”

“It's just a matter of procedure,” says Dr. Penfold.

There's another distant crash, and the lights flicker again. Somewhere off in another part of the building, something's happening. I run to the door, pull it open and immediately realise something's very wrong. There are shouts from another corridor.

“What's happening?” I ask, but suddenly a hand is placed over my mouth and I'm pulled back into the room as the door is kicked shut. Dr. Penfold drags me across the floor to the bed, and although I try to fight back, I can't stop him from shoving me down. Before I can react, he has strapped one of the leather restrainers around my arm. As I struggle, I see something in the darkness of the other side of the room. I can't quite make it out, but it seems to be a person.

“Patrick!” I shout. “Help me!”

The figure doesn't move. It just stays in the darkness.

“Patrick!” I shout again.

“It's not Patrick,” says Dr. Penfold, who has got my other arm strapped down. “Shut the fuck up”.

As I stare into the darkness, the figure moves slightly and for a moment I get a better view of its face. It looks damaged and dead, like a walking charred and burnt corpse, with vivid round white eyes staring out from a bloody face.

I feel something being lowered onto my head.

“This will only take a moment,” says Dr. Penfold. “It might hurt a little, but it will save your child's life”.

“I don't think I want you to know anything about me,” I say.

“Too late,” says Dr. Penfold, and he flicks the switch.

12.

All the lights go out. I look around the room and realise that there has been a complete power cut. The only light is coming through the small window at the top of the wall. I stumble over to the other side of the room and, in the darkness, I try to find the torch that I know is one one of the shelves.

“Finish the job,” hisses a voice close in my ear. I spin around. It's next to me. I can't see it, but it's closer to me than it has ever been. “Make her speak,” the voice says.

I fumble around some more for the torch, and then I stumbled back over to the bed. I feel that she's still strapped down.

“I'm going to find a back-up generator,” I say. “You're going to stay here”.

I turn and find my way to the door.

“Don't leave me in here,” Sophie says. “With that thing”.

I open my door and make my way out into the corridor. “You'll be okay,” I say.

In the corridor, I can see a little better. Although we're in the basement, each end of the corridor has a little window at the top of the wall. Moonlight is streaming in at one end, and some of the wiring on the walls seems to have gone haywire. It's sparking and fizzing.

I make my way along the corridor. In the distance, there's the sound of someone banging on a wall. John Tarmey is clearly having another of his panic attacks, but right now John Tarmey is not my concern.

“Davies!” I call out. “Davies!” I need him. He'll know where there's a generator I can hook up to the power system.

As I turn a corner, I pull up short. There's something hanging from the ceiling straight in front of me. There's a moment of light as one of the wall panels flares, and I see with horror that Davies is dead. Something has ripped open his throat, and he's hanging from the ceiling, his head almost completely removed from his body.

Sensing something behind me, I turn, but there's nothing there. I turn back to face the dead body of Davies. There's only one person who could have done this, who could have done all of this. Patrick is clearly inside the building, and he's angry. He knows what we've been doing here. He knows who and what John Tarmey is, and he's determined to get his revenge. But sooner or later he'll also realise what we're doing to Sophie Hart.

For a moment, I consider my options. And then, finally, I realise that I know what I have to do.

So I run.

I run along the corridor, up the stairs and into the main recreation room of the facility. All the patients have been put to bed by now, but I can hear them shouting from their rooms. With only the moonlight to guide me, I make my way across the room and out into the office area. Hopefully Patrick is downstairs now, trying to break into John Tarmey's room. That should give me enough time to get out of here.

I try the main door, but it's jammed shut. As I try to force the handle, I realise that the whole mechanism seems to have been fused together, the metal melted and then reformed. There's no way out through here, so I head over to my office. Once inside, I push the door shut and lock it, then I head to the window.

“Don't leave so soon,” says a familiar voice from behind me. I turn to find the dark creature lurking in the shadows. It has followed me up here, and it clearly has no intention of allowing me to leave. “The girl is useless. She's never going to remember what happened to the child. We have to be more subtle. We have to use John Tarmey against the vampire”.

“Tarmey will never engage another vampire in combat. That's the whole reason he's been hiding down there in a lead-walled room. The lead prevented Patrick from sensing that Tarmey was still alive. Tarmey's a coward”.

“No,” says the voice. “Tarmey is a realist. He knows he can't defeat Patrick in a straight fight. Like me, he has been waiting to find some other way to stand up to the last vampire”.

“There is no way,” I say.

“There is always a way,” says the voice, stepping towards me. For the first time, I see its face: burnt and hideous, scratched and damaged, with two white eyeballs slowly twitching in wide-open sockets with no eyelids.

13.

“Sophie?” asks a voice in the darkness.

I'm still strapped onto the bed. “Alex?” I ask.

“Where are you?” he says.

“Over here,” I reply. “Follow my voice”. Suddenly I feel, in the darkness, Alex's hands reaching down to untie the restraints. I sit up. “What are you doing down here?”

“Dr. Penfold gave us express orders not to come down to the basement under any circumstances,” he replies. “So I took the back stairs. Do you understand?”

The lights blink and fizz.

“We need to find John Tarmey's room,” I say.

We carefully make our way out of the pitch black room. In the corridor outside, the lights are occasionally blinking back on, though never for more than a fraction of a second. As we head towards Tarmey's room, we hear an increasingly loud banging sound, and eventually we turn a corner and there he is.

Patrick.

He's slamming himself into the door to Tarmey's room, trying everything within his power to get that door down so that he can get in and... what? What exactly does Patrick want with Tarmey? Whatever it is, it's driving him insane. He's like an animal, just throwing himself against the door again and again.

“Patrick,” I say.

He doesn't hear me.

“Patrick!”

He slams his whole body against the door, creating something of a dent, then he steps back and looks at me. In the dark corridor, with the only light coming from the moon and the occasional flickering of the lights, Patrick looks... fierce. It's almost like his human side has completely vanished. As he looks at me, he bares his teeth and I see those two little white fangs that I once felt slide into my body.

“What do you want with him?” I ask. “You need to talk to me. You need to tell me about what happened after we left Gothos. Where did you take me for a whole year?”

Patrick looks away, slams himself into the door again, and take a moment to rest.

“You're never going to break down an iron door,” I say, approaching him slowly and cautiously. “Let me help you find the key. It's probably up in Dr. Penfold's office. And then you have to talk to me”. As I reach him, I realise I'm almost trembling with fear. I've never seen Patrick like this before, so animal-like and angry. It's genuinely as if I've never seen him before, at least not properly.

“I need to know if what they've been saying is true,” I say. “They say I gave birth to a baby and I don't remember it, and they say they found me almost dead. Is that true?”

Patrick stares at me.

“For fuck's sake!” I shout at him. “You have to talk to me!”

He just stares.

“This silent thing,” I say, “it's kind of cute sometimes, but right now you owe it to me to talk to me and explain what's been happening. You owe it to me to be honest and tell me if it's true that I had a child, if... we had a child. Did we?”

I step closer to him.

“Talk to me!” I shout, pushing him against the wall. I'm sick of the way he refuses to say anything. He has a mouth, a tongue, a brain, why does he just keep staring without every saying anything. “Tell me what happened! Tell me what you did to me! Tell me... Tell me if you're sorry!”

For a moment, I think he might be able to say something. But then he just pushes me back against the door.

Suddenly something appears between us. It takes me a moment to understand that it's Alex. He's stepped in Patrick's way.

“Leave her alone,” Alex says. “Don't hurt her. Do you understand?”

Without any warning, Patrick grabs Alex and throws him head-first into the corridor wall. There's a sickening crunch and Alex falls to the floor. I run over and roll him over, and for a moment I stare at his face.

“You killed him,” I say, unable to believe what just happened. I look up at Patrick, and for the first time I see him as the monster that he really is. “He was only trying to protect me, and you broke his neck”.

Patrick stares at me, impassive as always.

I stand up and walk over to him, pushing him against the wall again. “You're not the only one with a temper!” I shout. “You're not the only one who's angry!”

Ignoring me, Patrick continues to try to break down the lead door. I can hear John Tarmey screaming inside the room. Turning, I walk over and look at Alex's body, crumpled on the floor.

In the distance, there's the sound of people running, and I start to smell smoke. There's a fire. Whatever's happening here, it's getting worse by the minute.

“We have to leave,” I say to Patrick, going back over to him as he continues to try to get through the door. “You have to come with me. We can still work everything out, but you have to calm down. Whatever's happening, you have to stop it”. I grab his arm and try to pull him away, but he snarls at me.

“What are you going to do?” I ask. “Break my neck too?”

He stares at me in silence.

“Is that what you were going to do at the van?” I ask. “Did you come to kill me? Did you get what you need from me and then you thought you had to kill me to keep your precious secret?”

I step back and start trying to drag Alex's body away. “Come with me!” I shout, but Patrick just resumes his relentless attempts to get into John Tarmey's lead-walled room. He's like an animal, unable to do anything other than use his brute strength to try to solve his problems. As I reach the stairs, I realise there's no way I can drag Alex with me all the way.

“Sorry,” I say to his body, and I abandon him.

As everyone evacuates the building, I go to Dr. Penfold's office. I need to find the key to John Tarmey's room. It's the only way I can get Patrick to come away with me. But as soon as I get into the office, I find Penfold dead on the floor. Kneeling down to take a look, I see that someone has sliced open his neck and chest. For a moment, I assume this must have been Patrick, but then I spot a blood-covered knife nearby. Patrick would never use a knife to kill someone, he'd use his bare hands. So who did this, and why?

Going to Penfold's desk, I open the drawers and eventually I find a set of keys. I've no idea if any of them open John Tarmey's door, but it's got to be worth a try so I turn to head back down to the basement. At that moment, a team of firefighters run into the corridor. Seeing me, one of them races over and grabs me, pulling me towards the door.

“Let me go!” I shout, but as I struggle, I drop the keys and soon I've been pulled out onto the lawn, where the other patients and various staff members are being kept away from the building, which is going up in flames.

Before I have a chance to try to find a way back in, there's a loud creaking sound and I watch in horror as the roof of the entire building collapses, sending the upper floors crashing down into the main part of the building. Firefighters usher us all away and within a few minutes it's clear that the whole facility is going to be destroyed. There's nothing the firefighters can do except keep us back and wait for the flames to die down.

As I stare at the flames, I can't help wondering whether Patrick is still down there, still trying to break down the door to John Tarmey's room. I've seen Patrick survive some pretty serious injuries, but the entire building is collapsing into the basement now. There's nothing I can do to try to save him, all I can do is hope that he finally got out before it was too late.

14.

I close my eyes and wait.

The chase lasted almost a century but finally, today, I lost. I always knew I would. As the door starts to crack an smoke fills the room, I can do nothing but wait for the inevitable. I always knew that Patrick would find me, that he would set himself loose against my body. I will try to fight him, of course, but I know there is nothing I can do. He will tear me to pieces, just as he destroyed all the others. That's how he earned his reputation all those years ago. At first, no-one feared him, he was seen as just an annoyance. But by the time he had killed ten thousand of our brothers, he was the most feared vampire who had ever lived. He thought he had killed me too, but of course I was able to get away and hide. Until now...

With my eyes still closed, and the smell of thick smoke in my lungs, and flashes of intense heat coming into the room, I hear the door finally come off its hinges. There's a loud clatter of metal as it hits the floor, and now I can hear the flames from the corridor.

I open my eyes.

Patrick stares back at me, his face up close to mine, his eyes filled with absolute malevolence. I don't blame him. For so long, he thought he was the last vampire. But I was here all along, hidden in this little lead-walled room where he couldn't sense me. He thought he had killed the rest of our species, but he was wrong. I remained. I hid down here, using the lead walls to shield my presence from him. Now he will have to kill me properly, and all his guilt and grieving will have to begin again. All the pain and anguish that he spent decades suppressing will have to come back to the surface.

Think about that. He has lived for so long with the knowledge that he committed genocide against his own people. The knowledge that he slaughtered us all. Eventually, he must have come to some form of peace with himself. And now he finds that one of us escaped and survived this long. So he must kill me again, and all the guilt must be borne a second time. No wonder, then, that as I stare at his eyes, I see nothing but madness.

There's a loud creaking sound from above, and I hear something crashing towards us. It's the building, collapsing in on itself. I look at Patrick and I can see that he knows what is about to happen. I smile at him, but the smile is not returned. I hold my arms out wide to welcome him.

He launches himself at me.

The entire burning building crashes down on top of us.

15.

“I'm sorry,” says Shelley, sitting on my bed. “I figured that if I started saying I'd met Patrick too, they'd think I was crazy as well”.

“It's okay,” I say, sitting next to her.

“It's not,” she says. “I'm really sorry. I had this big plan to come back later and break in and rescue you, and then we could go off and find Patrick together. But I couldn't find anyone who'd help. Rich was fucking useless, Adam's not even in town at the moment. I totally let you down”.

“You didn't,” I say. “It's all fine now”.

There's a pause, and finally Shelley puts her arm around me. “You don't have to go back to hospital?”

I shake my head. “They're so busy trying to work out what happened with Dr. Penfold and the facility, they've just said I can stay home unless there are any more 'episodes', as they call them. Basically, as long as I shut up about Patrick, I'm good”.

“Where is Patrick?” Shelley asks.

“Don't know,” I say. “Last time I saw him, he was in the basement of that building”.

“Yeah,” says Shelley, “but he's a vampire. They're tough. He probably just dusted himself down and wandered out”.

“Maybe,” I say. “I'd like to know for sure. And... there's something else”. I'm not sure whether I should tell her, but eventually I work up the courage. “You know that year I was missing? I don't remember any of it, but apparently I had a baby while I was gone”.

Shelley's eyes open wide. “You? A baby?”

“With Patrick,” I say. “And I don't remember any of it, but if it's out there... I don't know what to do. Patrick's not gonna tell me anything, and I can't find it by myself”.

“We'll find a way,” says Shelley. “I don't know how right now, but we'll find a way”.

I smile. “So you're not going out with Rich any more?”

“Fuck no,” she says. “He got a job at this electronics store and now he's totally boring. He cut his hair, and he threw out all his cool clothes. Doesn't dress like a vampire at all. He's got this short haircut and an earring and a little beer belly, it's like... It's like he's a totally different person. He can just fuck right off”.

I nod. “Is it possible that I could have given birth... that I could be a mother... and I don't remember? I don't feel any different, I don't have any kind of connection with the baby, but my body feels different and... Is that possible?”

“Dunno,” says Shelley. “Remember that time I was pregnant? That was weird, but I guess it's not the same thing, is it?”

“Not really,” I say.

“You need to find Patrick,” she says. “You need to find him and make him tell you what happened”.

“I don't know where he is,” I say.

“You need to find him,” she replies firmly. “If he's still around Dedston, if he hasn't fucked off completely, there's only so many places he could be, especially if he's looking after a baby”.

She's right. So why do I feel so lost? “The firecrews found some bodies in the basement of the hospital,” I say. “They found Alex, he was my friend in there for a while. And they found Dr. Lucas, and they found an unidentified man who I think must be John Tarmey”.

“But no sign of Patrick?”

“No sign of Patrick”.

“Then he's out there,” Shelley says. “And we'll find him”.

“I'm scared of him,” I say. “Actually scared of him”. And it's true. I look over at the window. I used to long for him to appear there every night, but now I'm terrified that he wants to hurt me. Still, if he's been messing me around, and if he really did get me pregnant, steal the baby and then wipe my memory, then he kind of owes me an explanation. So I'm going to find him. Even though I'm terrified of him, I'm going to track him down. And I'm going to make him talk to me. If it's the last thing I do, if it kills me, I'm going to make him talk. I'm going to make him tell me everything.

NEXT

Dark Season VIII – Dead End

In the final part of the first series of Dark Season books, Sophie sets out to discover what happened to Patrick and John Tarmey after the fire. Meanwhile, a mysterious figure from the past is conspiring to turn her against Patrick. Will Sophie work out the true identity of her new friend before it's too late? Did she really give birth to Patrick's child? What secret has been given to Shelley, and by whom? And as a final battle looms, will Patrick finally speak and tell Sophie the truth about everything before it's too late?